Explicit Warning

I cannot read the Bible. I literally can’t (I’m taking that word back for myself ‘cuz there was nothing wrong with it. Try one pumpkin spice and everyone’s throwing up the same sentences – vague warning!). The Bible is in a language I don’t want to learn and uses archaic words.

Personally, Bible quotes can represent a slur to me – not callin’ anyone out. I’ll let you know. Remember who’s got the fucking wheel. And I hate slurs. Slurs are of a class of words to be shunned. The only class to be looked down upon.

Have I used a slur before? What do you think? Does it matter? I will tell you, I try not to use them now. I have felt guilt before. Many times. But I don’t go to confession. I don’t lay my heart bare if I don’t want to. You never know who could steal it.

Remember reality? Yes, there is one here, on the blogverse, and there is one where you’re typing your posts from. Which one matters more? Which one has more of an effect?

Life, and the blog, need explicit language. Not everyone understands implicitly. We don’t even speak the same language. Which is what I hope for my children: to speak one language with all – full of many parts of each.

I know, I’m writing too much, reading too much of my own stuff. But it’s really getting hot in here, and I have to take this shit off.

A Scientist is a Sinner. Or Is It?

Can you be so full of yourself? To believe in science? Can you be so arrogant? Sure, anyone can. Who owns the trademark on a moral? A value? An idea? A word? I don’t. But my thoughts are copyrighted because they’re original. Yep – there’s that arrogance again. But I never said I was a scientist. I said I invented things.

An inventor uses the scientific process: what profession doesn’t? Do you know the process well?

But is this an experiment? Are you my test subjects? Absolutely not. I’m not even doing anything. Life wrote this shit. She can spit words better than any rapper, singer, writer. She can dance, as well. Something that she and I are still struggling to learn to do together.

And other people are doing most of the work, too. I said I listened didn’t I? A fog has rolled into my mind, and I’m freaked out by ideals. I don’t like them. I like dirt.

This is not an experiment in expressing my beliefs about atheism. But it is a huge part of me. I have to be upfront. And did you come here for blessings? Or pictures of flowers and silly, rhyming words? Don’t we all like the same things? Laughing children, a blooming garden, jokes that are (hopefully) for all?

Listen, wild out. This is all for you in the end. Contrary to popular belief, an atheist is always quieted and my vision is full of red flags. People show them to me because I belong to the most hated group. Is it? I don’t think that it is – I have a lot of privilege. That’s how these words are borne – the privilege to sit around and think, write big words, dream about philosophy. But is it a privilege? Do you want to think all this dumb shit? Probably not. I’d rather be a bank teller.

Honestly, I’m just pushing the envelope (what all atheists do) and you can toss the junk mail if you so choose. And be a troll if you wish. What do you think I am?

The Next Morning

Did you cry after? Nah, I never do. I need nicotine, though. And the blackest coffee you can make.

The only thing that can make me really cry is writing what I’ve just been keeping. Keeping for what? For who? Because why?

You won’t like all that I have to say. So, I’ll get back on the road. All a man wants is a ‘like’ anyway. Whether you make that click or made him a sandwich.

Men have more heads to think with, but usually only listen to the one. Nah, I’m not mad. I’m just furious.

Is this about you? About him? About me? I don’t think so. Actually, I do. But does it matter? Sure as hell not – which is only a construct that’s supposedly full of fuego. Even though fire is an earthly element.

Can I be a bitch? Oh, you don’t even know. The word bitch is mine. And belongs to every feminine bulldog, woman, girl, or female runt of the litter.

You feel taken advantage of? Oh, honey, please don’t. Don’t think on those words ya dicho between the pillows.

I didn’t mislead you. And anyway, are you sure I wasn’t just thinking of flower talk?

Do I live to write? Do I write to live? Eh, that’s too philosophical. Jump out of the clouds, and come look at the real ones with me.

Alright, I’m off. To roll down the windows, to turn off the radio.

You know there’s not much of the world left. I tell you all the time.

P.S. Díos mío. Did I just challenge you? Well, are you on a different Earth? Anyone can be challenged. Only the true fighters rise to it. And only we will fix this god-damned dumpster fire of a polluted, destroyed life.

# that (Admittedly, I probably won’t. Nor really want you to. I’m just as afraid as everyone else).

Easter Eggs

So, I’ve been looking at my writing (who doesn’t read their own stuff?) and finding that I’ve got some puns and/or plays on words that I didn’t notice upon first draft, or even final edit, which never catches all of my errors (but who can pay an editor that knows their grammar well?). I’m not here to brag; some of ’em might not make sense and I might come off as estúpida (new non-native speakers of Spanish: don’t use this word. Not one native-speaker that I know has ever used it (around me) because it’s connotation is that much stronger than ours [como me han dicho]). I’ve also missed a few witty word combinations, but I hate to edit an original work. Alas, what can be done?

Well, it got me thinkin’ on post topics. Most of which I scratched. I scrap a lot of stuff. I’m always cleaning something. Easter egg. Why do they call it that? Isn’t it mostly the Swifties? Don’t put words in my mouth; I can jam to T. Swift any day, but Drake, you’ve always had me in my feelings. Ever since Best I Ever Had. (No innuendos there, I just love that man’s music). I simply don’t understand why they applaud Taylor Swift (or anyone else they apply this reference to) for leaving “Easter eggs” when it’s something that all good writers do: leave a little to the imagination, tell a suspenseful story, create some drama.

I’m not accusing anyone of anything. I watch what the celebrities do, but they live their own lives (in the same world as mine) and theirs are not something I should judge, or worry about. I just find a lot (not all) of celebrities shallow.

Sure, celebs write catchy songs, dance like hell, act better than I ever could, or know a lot about make-up, but I just want ’em all to stop arguing. Quit engaging on Twitter (the only way to beat a troll) and focus on the big problems that are only beginning to surface (like icebergs. Because no, I don’t care where you’re flying to in your private jet, or what kind of flooring you have). We’ve got a White House full of chuckle-heads, shooters at festivals, concerts, malls, schools from Florida to California, Ohio to Texas. There are people questioning other people on their whereabouts, with skin color as the only probable cause. The LGBTQ community aren’t allowed to decide who they want to like or love, and there are others that think sticking to one language is better than knowing two (or more).

You might think but Alex, you don’t know any of the answers. I don’t know ’em all but I know how to research on Google (and what makes one source fake, and another legit). You need more sources of information if you don’t believe in climate change. You need more sources of information if you aren’t aware of patriarchy and all of it’s dangers. You need more information if you think there’s only one religion, one god.

I’m disabling comments on this one, because I’m not asking for an argument. If you want a conversation, go outside and listen to the trees. Because they’re all starting to fall.

If you really want to talk about this, don’t go trash my other posts’ comment sections (I know what the trolls do). Post a response and tag me in it. #inventmyplace. I’ll read it. I have no qualms with listening to the opinions of others. And that way, you just might contribute to the discussion that’s happening all around us, rather than be stuck at home in awe and fear, confusion or rage, like I usually am. Celebrities have much louder voices than everyone else, and those of us that don’t speak make even less sound.