Like anything, like everything, filtering the world through your own lens is hard work and often your view is distorted. I think anyone clever enough to figure that out, has at least part of the battle won. That has been my challenge: To step outside of myself and remember who I am, what I’m made of in the face of a tragedy of impotence, a comedy of fears.
Putting anything as fucked up as this whole thing with PHG/ImFuckingFedUp/SweetThing behind me takes work, and like anything and like everything, it’s a process. A process of revealing emotions, setting hearts to spin, and pulling the truth, ugly-beautiful though it may be, into the open and skinning it out. I’ve been working through abandonment, fear, hurt, love, horniness, frustrations, myriad ten cent words for agony over this thing for months.
I suppose what hurts more than anything, what little is left to hurt, is that he didn’t care, never cared about me if I believe the things he’s said. Now, two months after this ‘confession of his, I also feel I need to own up to my anger over the things that ImFuckingFedUp said to me in my comment box. A friend told me she doesn’t believe in airing her dirty laundry in public, but I personally think context is important and the relevance of shame is also involved.
My friends and family read my blog. These are all people who know what the fuck is going on with me in any case, and who know me well enough to know I will say anything. The others are people I don’t know beyond my JS and online experiences. So in the context of my blog, I think it defeats the purpose to censor one’s self in order to deflect the verbal floundering of people who don’t have enough goddamned sense to belly up to the bar and take ownership of their bullshit. By now though, even this is becoming repetitive, and I’ve repeated these things often enough over the course of the last eight months. Forgive my reiterations in this post. Remember, this is part of my own process.
To create and maintain a journal, any kind of journal, is about filtering your world and recording your journey and observations during the same. I don’t do things half way. I think unless you get down and dirty, you’re kind of just keeping it superficial, and the one thing no one can accuse me of is superficiality. I have blogged my bitterness, my frustrations, my disappointments and my all out anger about all this. Not just about this situation. That is what blogs are for! This recording of emotion and feeling, logical thought and progression, belongs to me and not to ImFuckingFedUp. So for the last two months, although I had more to say about my feelings, about my surprising ambivalence and the strange marriage they have created within me, I haven’t.
I have been portrayed as the worst bitch to walk Planet Earth, and they’ve both (him and his girl) said some very nasty things to and about me, that personally I don’t think has any basis in actual fact and more in their own emotions about the thing. I suppose I’ll have to forgive them both for that, because I’m sure they didn’t like my own comments and thoughts about their behaviour either, even I personally think what I have said has much basis in fact even it was fuelled by my own emotional stance about this. Perspective is also important. I am entitled to mine, they are entitled to theirs. I am picking this apart for my own satisfaction.
I guess at this point, The Baddest Bitch on Planet Earth (like that’s a fucking insult to me) would like to point a few of the fallacies in this situation. My first reaction to ImFuckingFedUp’s all round nastiness, was one of forgiveness and understanding, not because what he said hurt me, it really didn’t, not in the way it should have considering the mean-spiritedness of his attack. No, my reaction was initially born out of my relief of receiving an opportunity to get some closure in this situation. Besides, any Good Bitch knows the power that comes from transference of bullshit, and that’s exactly what’s happened. On the real, who is broken hearted now? Certainly not me. Like I said before, that motherfucker can’t make me cry anymore. Bitch Goddess Avatar is on with this one now.
Even though ImFuckingFedUp’s nastiness didn’t hurt exactly, it was like the difference between a shot with a .44 caliber pistol and a .22. They say a .44 can open up a serious hole in your ass, but a .22 in anything but the brain and heart is like a little sting, something you can survive. His attack was like a .22. It didn’t hit the heart or the brain. Hers was just laughable, definitely the mean pulings of a petulant infantile individual. Did I forget to mention she dissed bluey because bluey and I have been friends in real life? I mean, I don’t get that. I also wonder if she told keifel the same thing?
I was stung by ImFuckingFedUp’s comments, because this was someone I was sure I was inlove with, someone who occupied a great portion of my thoughts for months and months, someone who I had cried buckets of tears over. I think if I was completely free from feeling anything, I would be more worried about myself. There was a definite feeling, at the first deeply rooted in ambivalence, and over the last two months simmering in an strangely detached anger, but anger nonetheless.
My ventings in this journal are just that, venting about the shit that moves me, me (please remember that, because I am going to come to it a little later in this post). So for him to say some of the mean spirited things he did, would sting at some level, even if it isn’t quite the kill shot he had hoped it would be. It requires some kind of defence. At least, if only for my own records, I need to answer some of the shite things that he said.
The things is, I have to admit to myself that I gave him the ammunition. I gave him everything he needed to say the things he did, and provided him with a wide target for his ire. I was open. I was always open and he knew it. I never denied it. Everybody I knew, knew how I felt about this situation. I never hid my feelings about it from him or anyone else. I am also not ashamed of myself, although there was a great deal of self-doubt and internal struggle along the way.
As pissed off as he has made me, it’s like cold fury not a hot passion. I have not responded with the kind of real heat I thought I would have; especially with regards to some of his more outrageous displays of spinelessness. It’s strange, because to be honest, this is the worst emotional trip I’ve been on in a long time. I’ve learnt so much about myself at the same time, but this was a rough go of it, because he made it so fucking difficult from the beginning right down to the bitter end. His recent nastiness has been an eye opener, if only it’s hard to imagine someone changing so completely into almost the opposite of what he professed to be.
I don’t regret what happened between us, never did. I do however regret his behaviour in total. Always will. I’m just glad that my defences had been put back up where he was concerned, because if he had said those things like five, six months ago, I think it would have devastated me. I can’t lie. However, he had the power to bring a reaction in me to the surface, his best attempt at hurting me, it seems did sting me somewhere, like a graze shot from a .22 would piss off any real fighter, I am pissed off.
It still kind of stupefies me that he had the audacity to play the victim and offended party in this situation. Not just him, but his uhhh, ‘girl’. To act as though I did him something, as if I did her something. This entry doesn’t contemplate her, I think I’ve said all I had to say regarding her specifically and the demise of this situation. I must deal with the punk, because his comments in this journal were the first real answer or response he has given me, in all these long months of emotional distress, grim determination, disgust and ‘getting over it’.
In an attempt to prey on my own insecurities, the things he said revealed his own insecurities. It’s the arrogance of the thing that boggles me. Who does this motherfucker think he is? Who does he think I am? What keeps niggling me is that there is more I have to say and didn’t, still trying to deny my inner bitch. I mean, if you listen to mizzthongs, I am an Evil Bitch, and if you listen to ImFuckingFedUp, I’m a Fat, Yellow, Bajan Bitch.
Well, in response to that, all I can say is, I never said I was nice. There’s some shit I’m taking, and some shit I don’t think I am taking, and it’s not really related to either of them, I think it’s definitely related to my own journey at this time. They are at this point reduced to instruments of my own learning process. I doubt I was a part of theirs. They certainly have exhibited no signs of it.
I wrote this long, long response–in bullet form—to ImFuckingFedUp’s accusations and below-the-belt-hitting one night, but lost it the next morning, and then waited several weeks again before this entry came out. In fact, by the time this is read by anyone else but me, it will have been crafted and re-crafted, portions expanded and deleted and refined as much as possible, because if nothing else, this is not to be a clumsy response.
I’m not saying these things hoping to get a rise out of either mizzthongs or ImFuckingFedUp. I don’t care to enter into another insult-fest with either one of them. This is about my own purging of these feelings. What is more, I think I would laugh out loud (and not in a nice way,) if either one of them responded to this post, because while I have been marinating in my own thoughts and feelings about this thing, and not deigned to venture into either of their blogs, mental space or any other such method of connection and interaction with either one of them, they would still seem to find it necessary to connect and interact with me. I have no such compulsions.
I don’t believe that thinking about these things or writing about them is evidence of anything more than my artistic journey into my own internal landscapes. For them, it seems neccessary to strike at me in that space, hoping to devastate me and therefore gain a scrap of validation for themselves and their passive agressive, co-dependent behaviour. But let’s not toss about pop-psychology terms.
I don’t think I feel the need to be gentle or indulgent anymore. I think when ImFuckingFedUp and I first began this ‘Thing’, I gave up a lot of my own power. I let him choose when and where and how. He called when he wanted, came to see me when he wanted, fucked me the way he wanted without ever asking me what I wanted, or evidently caring what I wanted at all. I regret that I did that, considering his unworthiness to have and hold that kind of power over me. His words, to come to him, to leave him alone, one way or the other, kept me in sway for so long. I can’t believe that I allowed that to happen to myself! In any case, I did it to myself, in that respect, he didn’t do it to me at all.
What is more, for him to turn on me so viciously, especially when I showed him a great deal of kindness and understanding, is further evidence of not just a weak mind, but a weak spirit. I just don’t appreciate some of his sentiments; but I’m coming to that.
I’m saying these things, because this is my blog and this is an attempt to purge myself of these things I think but haven’t committed to binary yet. I just can’t bear to think that this pissant boy and his child-bride are getting the better of me. I know that is not the ‘martyr’ type thing to do. I know that if I was a perfect person, I would truly feel ambivalent down to the marrow of my bones, and well, my ambivalence runs deep, just not that deep. Too many of the things they said, especially him, demand an answer, and although I said some of what I felt last month when I responded to them both, I held back a lot because I just wanted it to end. I just wanted him to fuck off and forget about the whole thing. In the end though, I decided I am not the type that martyrdom appeals to. All the pride I thought that fucking idiot had burned out of me, has blazed back into roaring life.
I am both defensive in places and dismissive in others… I am responding to the part of myself that felt something like a stinging sensation when I read his words, if not quite pain. I am replying to please myself, and not because I really want to enter into more dialogue. I don’t think I am really saying these things to him. I think of it more as saying these things into the ether and defintely to myself. I was angry with myself for a long time, I smoked cigarettes during the worst of the angry part. Angry because I let such a twit have so much control and I’ve been trying to find ways to forgive myself for being so willing to drape my dreams over someone; for being so accommodating and ‘nice’. I’ve been angry with myself because I let someone like him under my skin. I know they are angry words, but sometimes there are no other ways to say things, but it’s the the way they come out.
I have edited out what I felt were relevant to the dialogue, but these comments in whole are buried in the comments section of this blog. He wrote that I was a coward and delete them, ha! How little he truly knew me, how foolish I was to think that knowing someone for ten years in passing was enough to really get a sense of the deep pools of malice they can contain.
Like people feel “dey is big writer” so words can be their shield for their irrational. immature, selfish and psychjotic behaviour… well bajan bitch – yuh wrong dey…
Uhh, who is ‘people’, and who is a ‘Bajan’? I am Trinidadian, born in POS General like more than half the population of the island. And you say ‘bitch’ like it’s a bad thing.
Immature? I don’t live at home with my parents because I don’t have the impetus to stand alone and do my thing. I pay my own way in the world.
Selfishness? This a human curse, we are all guilty of it. Some of us more than others. You would know, you accusing me of selfishness is like laughable, because you are one of those that are more guilty of this than others.
‘psychjotic’ …… well, you’re entitled to your own opinion I suppose. Except, if I was truly ‘psychjotic’, I think I really would have firebombed your bedroom, and burnt the bed we–hmmm… and it this point, this is all I can call it–fucked, down to ash and not cared what else in your life got decimated in the process. Don’t you think I showed remarkable restraint? Don’t I at least get brownie points for that, weakling?
The thing is, these words reveal all, don’t shield me, and as I begin the dissection of your little display in my comment box, I find myself increasingly aware that I am not the one with the shield up and hiding behind nasty words. You know what they say baby, sticks and stones and words…. about 0’s and 1’s (binary code, because I doubt you know) and swords.
I have a few choice ones for you, some sense, some nasty as well…. but you will see.
Oh shucks – I forgot, when you’re blogging all of a sudden you can’t understand dialect even though you spit tons of Bajan slang when you talk normally.
Don’t be alarmingly pedestrian! Although I speak slang in real life, I also speak proper English in real life too. This is said to try and show me you come to play with a big gun right? Forgive me for my mother and grandmother’s insistence on ‘proper’ English. I am not one of those people who happen to think that writing in a conceptual space such as this is best served by slang and cyberisms. However, you shall see. I plan to have fun with this part.
Stop attempting to disguise your furstration at not being able to use your pussy as a snare to catch your prey. It didn’t work – move on.
Now, now… think back… when did my pussy ever control you or try to control you? I never disguised my frustration with your silences, your emotional shutdown, but never did I ever try to control you. It’s amazing, because I must be one of the few women in the world that doesn’t use my pussy to get what I want. I never, ever tried to control you. I’ve always given you all the rope you needed to swing yourself from the convenient tree of your true self, which you show so readily in my comment box.
I have already addressed the moving on thing. This is merely the dregs of the pool of swamp I am draining. I am planning a beautiful garden for the space that is cleared.
First and foremost you keep whining and insisting that you wish to be left alone and you need mizzthongs to stop “harassing” you on your blog. Darling, this is not a little notebook hidden under your bed where you can verbally harangue whomever who yuh want without it affecting anybody.
This is a public blog on the internet accessible to all that YOU yourself take great pains to advertise on all your precious websites.
You cannot expect to lanbaste whomever you desire and not be rebutted.
What manner of petty author are you anyway. You’re writing a book but you panic if a “little girl” rebuts your silly little online diary. How pathetic is that?
You’re always “shouting” about being a “goddess” and a “mature woman” and “handling your own” and yet at the first sign of confrontation you run for the hill and cry harrassment.
This is my blog and I am entitled to my opinion about things, all things I feel moved to write about. I think you miss the point of blogs and blogging. That seems quite clear and obvious, because the only reason you have a blog on Journalspace is so you can give this comment (the one where you’re saying all of these pissy things to me,) a permanent home.
You can both feel anyway you want to about the thing, but you aren’t free to come into my space and vomit your emotional and intellectual masturbation and mediocrity in it. It is also certainly not the first sign of confrontation you mupse, since this has been going on for a long time.
Even when the sister was proclaiming my ‘Evilness’ and sprawling out everything, I never came into her journal and left comments about anything she wrote about me. That her response to my own writings in my own space, was to come and threaten me and demand answers from me, constitutes harassment to me. It would to anyone. She and I had and have no relationship beyond that of the electronic ether. You and I are another thing. If this dialogue has to happen in a public space, then my only real comment about it is that I have done nothing to be ashamed of, no matter how nasty you get. (We know how nasty you get though don’t we?) I have never hidden anything. Being circumspect is thing apart, and I am guilty of that.
Another thing, if she has to come into my blog and demand I answer questions about you and I, means you are still not doing the right thing by her, and in which case I question all professions of love for her, spoken and unspoken you make. I don’t need you to do right by me, I don’t need anything more from you ever again.
As for manner of author, petty or otherwise, I’m the kind that knows the difference between effect and affect, you fucking moron. See, I said I was going to come back to that. I also know it’s spelt ‘lambaste’. What manner of author are you, buddy?
If you are so wily with language – wield it.
It’s a fucking crying shame that you could not do the same. To offer me such paltry and meager intellectual commentary, or in lieu of that, some kind of emotional revelation, is to add insult to injury. This is just thoughtless spewing. However, I would have had so little pleasure in crafting this response… real commentary, real dialogue would have made this so much harder to write. I did mean what I said before, in my first reply to your comment. I mean this shit too.
Ahh but then you would have to admit the truth.
That you are not important to me. That you ruined a good friendship by turning into a stalker overnight. That rather than accept that Iwas not interested in you or your pussy, or – worse yet – any kind of longterm involvement with a megalomaniac (and possibly shizophrenic, judging by your actions on Tribe, Miss Timu… and good knows who else you are there) I preferred to shut you out of my life.
I rarely shut people I consider friends out of my day to day life completely. But when they attempt ti call me phone more than 13 times a day… call at all hours of the day and night with nothing to say but some sick “i need you” bullshit and constantly invent illogical reasons to see me or “need (my) help” then I not only fear for myself but my son as well… and even in the delusional and jealousy-intoxicated state you are in, you know I don’t play with my child’s welfare.
Crazy bitches running after me mean crazy bitches potentially being around him. I won’t stand for that.
Hmmm… this was one of the passages I had the most difficulty with. It took me a long time to be able to think of what to say.
I surmise you and I were never friends to begin with, and as for your revelation of the ‘truth’, I hate to break it to you, much of it is months too late. I wrote in this blog, months ago that I realised I was never important to you. So saying it now, in this way in this forum, only goes to prove how much of an asshole you really are.
As for the shutting me out, I was never in your life. I was just pussy one night on the beach remember? Not important to you. Isn’t that what you said? So how can you really say you shut me out? I still say you should have picked up the phone and told me to fuck off early o’clock and this would have caused a little less ‘crimp’ in your designs on the naive mizzthongs? You see how emotional impotence can rear up and bite you in the ass?
Speaking of calling all hours of the night, are you for real? I seem to remember more than a few phone calls at four and five o’clock in the morning. You calling me to engage me in sex talk in I remember, because when I wanted to talk about more meaningful things, you shut it down, and could only engage me if it was on a sexual level or a safe, ‘neutral’ non-threatening space. So maybe all that talk about pussy wasn’t just idle talk. Maybe something you wanted to connect with something a little closer, and less expensive after Ms. Virgin had worked your ass up. I see through you now, motherfucker. You’re like smoke and mirrors.
What is more, after our night on the beach, and then later in your bedroom, when I called it fucking, sex and what not, you said to me it was always more than fucking to you, and that you never considered it to be fucking, didn’t want to call it that. So exactly what are your comments now really about? I think the punk doth protest too much. Accusations of craziness and shit like that, all strike me as defense mechanisms so you can justify the way you treated me, but there is no justification.
Jealousy intoxicated? I think this is kind of funny. When I was chewing on my jealousy, I had absolutely no contact with you. Or did you forget who pulled away and when it happened? You see, unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of not taking emotional responsibility for myself. I was jealous I admit it, but when I was jealous, I was dead silent about a great many things and worked my shit out on the internal level and great personal cost to myself.
Now I realise I was worked up over nothing. Who should I be jealous of? A girl who can’t stand up to her mother and a boy who hasn’t left home, I don’t think ever in life? Come on. Who’s trying to fool who here? Who is really struggling with reality? I’ll come back to that reality thing later too. I am going to come back to the comment about your son as well.
Oh and another thing when you’re saying things about people – keep it factual.
Like for instance, of the top pof my head…
You saw me at the bank. I saw you on the bank. I chose to ignore you because you are no longer part of my life.
You went about your business in the bank, I went about mine. You left, passing feet away from me and said nothing.
Then after going out the DOOR, you get to the Promenade and shout “Coward”? You must have been talking about your own fat yellow ass because if i had anything worth saying to you I would have. The truth is you are no longer important enough for me to speak to.
If you had something to say or do you should have done it. but you never would. You are too much of a cward to do that.
You are too cowardly to admit that the problems in your life begin and end with you and your psychological issue – of which we both know you have many.
You are too cowardly to live in reality. Instead you need to rect a world of websites and blogs and online fantasies to hide away in.
You are too cawrdly to admit that you have so many issues that men end up running from you for their own safety or sanity or being broken down to shit ibn the process…
Please, you’re as weak as all the other men I have had the misfortune of ‘breaking down to shit’. Most of you are shit to begin with, and I well realise that is my own failure to value myself more than you silly asses who think that it’s alright to engage in latent misogyny, fuck women under false pretenses and then go, ‘What?’ after it all explodes in your hand.
To be perfectly honest, you are the shittiest of a bunch of emotionally incompetent men I have had to survive. All the others had the balls to be up front from the get go. They didn’t play the little mind fuck games you played with me, and certainly almost every single one had the decency to be ashamed of themselves and apologise to me in some way after.
Your hypocrisy is like the 80 pound gorilla in the room. You can accuse me all you want of cowardice, hypocrisy, and all those things, but I am writing for my life. I was brave enough to tell you what was what from the get go. I didn’t hide my shit, never lied to you, never held back from you, never said I was about one thing and then did the polar opposite. No my dear, those are burdens I’m afraid will have to stay at your doorstep. Own it. Pretend all you want, but it’s going to be that 80 pound gorilla breathing down your neck for the rest of your life. You might as well turn around and make friends with that motherfucker. I hope that stinky-ass breath don’t do you in (some vernacular to make you happy.)
The other thing is this, my fat yellow ass is a beautiful fat yellow ass. I can lose weight and brown into a honey colour as soon as I get me some serious sun. Even fat and yellow, men ask to follow me in the road, men propose, I have never, even at my biggest ever lacked for male attention, and you know it. I choose long periods of celibacy because of men who have the same kind of fucked up issues you do.
I don’t think you can claim that you have women doing the same to you, because even in the best of circumstances, you’re only ‘so so’ to look at, your conversation runs morbid fast, you lack some intellectual fibre in places, and honey that Wingroad don’t quite count as a flash ride, so I don’t think you get opportunities to turn down women on a daily basis. So kiss my fat yellow ass!
It takes a really fucked up female to drive her man to point of impotency, you know. How much of an nagging asshole did you think you had to be for your Bajan boyfriend to end up not being able to make his limp dick function at the sight of you?
Why do you think men always blot as soon as you get them into your “web”.
Because (pardon the essential use of my beloved Trini dialect here) “yuh fuckin tail mad no ass”!
You sound like you are remembering the last time we had sex. There’s so much you seem to have forgotten in this vile little display. Let me help you, don’t you remember how I had to show you what I meant when I wanted you to smack my ass? Don’t you remember that you were so inhibited, that your pitiful attempt barely registered. Don’t try to suck my ex-man into this, because of your own inadequacies. I never had to ask him to smack my ass, he did it and knew the right moment and how hard.
Bringing up his temporary impotence was a cruel thing. Something said just to hurt me because you know sex and sexuality is very important to me. When you go through your inevitable temporary impotence yourself, you’re in your thirties now, you remember my ex-man you twit. Remember you called that shit down on yourself. By the way, I wasn’t the one doing the nagging.
I never told a soul in life I wasn’t a freak. I am a freak. You are like all these other men that try to hold me and my heart to ransom or prisoner because I love sex. What is wrong with you? Do you hear yourself? I’m supposed to take you seriously, why? I can hear your own inability to smack my booty right, like all your many inadequacies, echo like so many peas in a rusty old can.
Hopefully now that you know that you are not the only writer on the planet, you will leavwe this topic alone and proceed to begin actually having a life. In reality. With eral people. And be REAL about it. Instead of pretending to be what and who you are not to gt what and who you want.
Ahhh, back to life. Back to reality.
I am as I am. Saying that I pretend I am what I am not to get what I want is almost laughable. Because I never really seem to get what I want, and I never pretend about who I am. Sometimes I get nothing. Sometimes, I more than expect. Sometimes I have to compromise what I want in order to get something, anything. Just never quite what I want. I won’t lie. I wanted you. I wanted you so bad that I could feel you, smell you, taste you in the back of my throat.
The planet does’t revolve around you.
Would that it did. I imagine all manner of revenge, and if it did revolve around me, I’m afraid you would lack a great many organs and parts and gain extra unsightly ones. I would feel bad after, but during the dissection and additions I’m afraid I would really look and feel like the crazy bitch you accuse me of being.
Okay, that’s just me acting out. I know.
I do believe that the Universe bends to accommodate your picture of reality.
Also, to quote Michael Talbot:
If there is no division between the mental and physical worlds, these same qualities are also true of objective reality. According to Peat, this does not mean the material Universe is an illusion, because both the implicate and the explicate play a role in creating reality.
Oh and one final thing – a word about karma.
You bandy about the term all the time as some kinda warning to all us “lesser” beings and seem to somehow miss the significance of karmic returns when they hit you. How hypocritical is that?
You try to fuck with two people trying to live their lives without your intereference – both of whom were doing so quietly and privately dealing with their issues.
You chose to publicly blow up the issue into a big bacchanal to make YOu feel better about not being able to fuck, love or marry or whatever you wanted to do with the man of your choice.
You end up in a cast in pain…
Oh noooo – karma doesn’t affect you great Orisha goddess… only people you’re annoyed with. How… convenient.
Silly rabbit, don’t you know the reason why I feel was so I could get money out of the Barbados airport for their irresponsible handling of my fall? How self centered is it, that you could find a way to tie this to your own situation somehow? Saying that my breaking my arm was because of the two of you, is like me saying, that one day when some skin eating parasite comes and sucks your epidermis off with sauce and tea, I want you to remember me. I don’t have the power to decide that, and neither do you where these things are concerned. The immaturity of your comment is very telling.
I did not try to fuck with you, with either one of you. This pity party has to stop buddy. If fucking with you is telling the truth when the truth was demanded from me, then fuck you. The only reason it’s ‘fucking with you’ is because I wouldn’t lie to protect you anymore. The only reason you are upset, is because you can’t get your own way; can’t have your cake and eat it to.
I don’t know what private dealing with issues you were doing, but from her blog posts you certainly weren’t speaking the truth to her. It doesn’t seem like you told her the truth if she is still asking me to answer questions for her. That is dishonourable. You have been dishonourable. Accept that, and do what you can to right the things you have wronged.
I also do not like the tone in which you say ‘great Orisha goddess’. Osun is my Mother and she fights to defend her children. Be careful.
And you know you don’t want a war of words with me. For all the writer you THINK you are (and believe me you overrate yourelf) just remember you MEET me writing. And asked for tips as i recall… LMAO
This was a war of words? Or should I say, this was the best you could do? You make me laugh indeed.
I barely remember meeting you, and if I am not mistaken, you also barely made a blip on the writing scene in Trinidad, the Eastern Caribbean or anywhere else for that matter. Working for a fringe publication does not a career make. The same cannot be said about me. So great egos aside, there’s really no need to attempt to lay your ‘writing’ against mine in comparison. I have no interest in competition about this. You see, I write for myself. I always have, I don’t write to impress anyone, I only write to impress myself, all else is gravy. That’s why I always seek to learn from my interaction with others, and I ask questions! Ask questions of myself and of others.
I write because I love the language, and have loved it all my life. You seem to have no real love language in any case, and any writer worth his salt would never write the way you have in comments to my own writing. A real writer would understand that words, and language are a conduit for the transference of thought energy, and would have treated the endeavour with a little more finesse and intelligence. Understanding the rules, gives you the right to break the rules. The spelling mistakes, gross grammatical errors, monosyllabic vocabulary, although ‘harangue’ correctly spelt was quite impressive (all things considering); even if I asked you for tips once or twice when I was nineteen years old, it seems clear to me I have far surpassed you in the craft. I may have met you writing buddy, but I left you back there with my dust a long time ago.
I don’t think I could find anyone on the planet to argue differently, unless you transplant your brain somehow, and manage to actually do better. However that would prove you read this blog on the sly though wouldn’t it, and your last comment included what appeared to be a definite ‘good bye’ and ‘fuck off’. I hope you’re right, because I really don’t see a comeback for you in this instance.
Although I question your memory, I wouldn’t take that asking for tips too personally either, because back then I asked everyone for tips, all writers, good, bad, established and those like yourself, penny ante pedestrians cranking out fodder for the masses in fringe newspapers as well, like I said.
Methinks you have an overblown view of your own talents. Jingles and background vocals do not a career as a musician either. I am two years younger than you and have done a hell of a lot more in two separate fields. Let’s not pretend about who has what going on, okay daddy? I don’t live off my mother either.
Anyone that knows you or has had the misfortune of being sucked into the self-righteous, bottomless pit that is a conversation with you knows that you crave attention and validation.
As opposed to you, where conversation with you run into the ‘poor me’, ‘woe is me’ fucking mode? We all require validation pedestrian, not least of all you.
That is why you blog so graphically and often over-zealously about the sillest and most self-serving issues and situations, all twisted for YOUR benefit and with no hold on actual reality.
Okay, someone needs to re-read the id behind blogging. This is my reality, you don’t have to agree, like I said, you don’t even have to read it. If you don’t see my point or perspective, it makes no never-mind to me. (See? More vernacular.) As far as I am concerned, the Universe bends to my reality, and you don’t have to believe that either for it to be true. Moving briskly along…
In addition you have been known to make up other personalities, issues, “statistics”, “facts” and even apparently bouts of sexual intercourse with people who have no desire to have sex with you at all (me ebing the head of that list).
So the Mr. Nice-Guy-I’m-beset-from-all-quarters personality you tout isn’t a ‘personality’ of convenience is it? And are you trying to suggest that we never had sex? I am continually amazed at the brazenness of that comment.
You will do anything including lie and betray those you “care about” in order to be the center of attention.
It’s interesting that you use the words ‘betray’ and ‘care about’. In this case, who am I betraying? You? I can only smile at that. Here again is one of these statements I find so very revealing. It’s interesting how you perceive me as keeping the secret of our sexual encounter(s) from mizzthongs as loyalty, and admitting to it when questioned as a betrayal. In the wake of that revelation you somehow develop amnesia and catch a case of ‘it wasn’t me’. I remember in mizzthong’s blog, she said when she asked you point blank if you had ‘fucked’ me (no doubt was her choice of words) and your only response was silence. How familiar. It’s interesting how having mizzthongs know unequivocally that you were fraudulent, and that you had hid this thing between us away, equates as me betraying you.
Again, I have to point out that this is a display of unbelievable selfishness, arrogance, emotional projecting, and downright denial I’ve seen in a while. I’m sure you see things differently, but that’s what it looks like from outside. You betrayed both her and me. It’s amazing to me that you both don’t seem capable of seeing that.
It is just sad that non one ever has the patience to sit through your endless self-centered whining long enough to tell you that.
If you think that you share the attitude keifel is talking about… you are even more psychotic than even I thought. And believe me, if i was a shrink you would be in a starightjacket on the way to a padded cell now.
Fuck you, you whiny, snivelling, lying, trifling, solipsistic, infantile, mupsy, fuckwittage-enarmoured, selfish, self absorbed, duplicitous, treacherous, whorey, kunumunu, bamsy fly, scrotum tick, haemorrhoidal sucknavel motherfucking mookum flau and the three-hole perpendicular johnny you rode in on.
I just had to get that out of my system! Whew! I know I was trying to be so big, but sometimes you just cannot help yourself! Lawd have mercy! (Vernacular alert!)
Estrella was right, you only come off as sounding jealous. You’re right to be jealous though, in ten years I will barely remember you and will have fulfilled my potential, while I suspect unless you fool another woman into backing you, and keep her distracted with the dick, you will never achieve your full potential. Too busy with your hypochondriacal allergies (mysteriously permanent since childhood, right?) and your fucking ‘poor me’ bullshit. :deepsigh: I saw so much more in you, but mediocrity is common and the mundane seductive, I know you to be weak so I understand your succumbing to them.
I guess through all of this, my unanswered question is, how can you claim to be a brother who respects sisters; who is trying to raise a responsible African man and do what you did to me and to her? You talk about protecting your son, but who’s going to protect him from you and the toxicity of your relationship with your father, who very tellingly has very little good to say about you to anyone it seems, and your co-dependency and almost infantile clinging to your parental rock? You are teaching him cowardice, and what’s worse, is I think a part of you knows it.
Stop trying to make it seem as though you are the victim; everyone’s victim and certainly the victim in this situation. Your passive aggressive shit does not fool me. The more you try to make it seem that way, is the more you only prove how incisive and perceptive a person I really am, because six months ago I said all these things about this situation. The only reason you are pissed off, is because your attempt to pass one over did not work. You are mad because I got in between you and what you wanted; but you put me there. You put me in that situation. Knowingly and wilfully. Don’t expect sympathy now.
I would like to still think you are capable of happiness, but I suspect you will never achieve it. Not a prophecy, not curse, just a fucking observation.
It would be very interesting if you responded in any way to this at all, but it would be wholly unwelcome. Remember, this is just an overzealous blog entry, that’s twisting things suit my own perception of reality. What’s more, again, it would prove you read this blog, wouldn’t it.
After reading your impotent bitter comments, I realise you really ain’t got shit on me, buddy. You are the shit under my shoe.
**cue sound of stick scraping bottom of shoe**