Bound and Soul

Bound to a rock
Shackles cut my flesh
Sins and burdens
I carry
Even unto my death
One by one
They torture me
The Gallowsmen taunt me
Of my past
They remind me
I hear the whip
Cutting through the air
Metal barbs and wires
Sever muscle from bone
My blood pours
And pools around me
I am almost extinguished
To the Almighty
I pray
And ask for forgiveness
My burdens to Him
I surrender
My shackles break
And the Gallowsmen
Are no more
A gentle wind
And soft voices
I hear
As my life slips
From this mortal shell

-The Average American Man

Burdens

My shoulders are breaking
My arms are sore
With back bowed
And aged face
My soul fades

Barren landscapes
And dead trees
The souls of those
Who fought and lost
Surround my feet

My knees break
And my heart stops
As I lay in the dust
The harsh wind blows
I will be forgotten forevermore

-The Average American Man

I Can

I can pray for others, but when it comes to praying for myself, I cannot find the words. I can give other people encouragement; try to help them see their eternal value, but I feel worthless. I can cry for others, but have to feel incredibly overwhelmed to be able to shed a single tear. I can advise others on what they should do, but can’t even advise myself. I can give love and kindness to others, but can’t give a shred of decency to myself. I can tell others that they need not feel guilty for the sins of their past, but I feel heartsick over mine.

Is this the epitome of humble?

The Average American Man

What’s on your mind? Part 2

I deactivated my FB account yesterday. I don’t know. I just got tired of feeling like a fucking zombie. I’m just as bad as anyone else, but after several posts a day, you have to wonder if your time was well spent. People bitch and air out their garbage on FB anyway. I don’t want to see that shit.

At least here if you don’t want to read what I wrote, you don’t have to click on the link to my blog. My feelings ain’t gonna be hurt none. Besides, I believe that FB is a tool for the FBI, the CIA and the NSA to snoop on Americans; free of oversight via Congressional hearings. One day, earlier this week, I googled safety razors. A couple of days later, safety razors showed up as an advertisement on FB. What the fuck?!

I feel more suicidal than usual. You know, it’s like, what’s the fucking point? Nothing ever changes, nothing ever gets better. You pray to God and he doesn’t answer. He must be preoccupied with other people’s problems that are worse than mine.

Here’s a thought: in the book of Genesis, the Lord said of Sodom and Gomorah, “it has come to my attention.” If God is all-knowing, why would it have to come to his attention? Shouldn’t he know already?

Writing on here is about as big a struggle as it is writing in my journal. My craft isn’t anywhere near what it used to be. Shit happens. Things change.

I’m been off my depression meds for the last few days and my head is feeling loopy. I wonder how long before it levels out?

As I’ve said on here before, and trust me, I’ve tried to figure out why I’m so obsessed with monkey videos, but I have a YouTube account solely devoted to them. I hate cats, but I love dogs, so why don’t I watch dog videos? Who knows?

I don’t know. For some reason, I find these videos fascinating. Some of the monkeys are ugly, some are cute. I think people bathe their monkeys so they can hear them screech. And others are just downright cruel.

Like this stupid Chinese bitch:

Do you notice how quickly Hua Hua snatches up the bottle? She’s thirsty. And unbeknownst to her, something bitter like vinegar was given to her, just so this cold-hearted bitch can have a good laugh. I’d like to kick this broad right in the pussy, then tie her hands high above her head and pour bitter fluids down her fucking throat.

Cruelty to monkeys isn’t just sequestered to humans. Monkey parents can be just as cruel to their babies. I watched a video not long ago of a father dragging his baby over rocks. The baby was screeching for mercy as his head bounced around like a ping pong ball. YouTube is rife with videos, documenting monkey parents being malicious to their offspring.

I know what you’re going to say. It’s all part of nature. So if you saw a dog pick up one of her pups by the scruff of the neck and shake the shit out of it, you’re telling me you wouldn’t do something to save the pup(s)? I’ll tell you right now, there’s something wrong with that dog. Don’t let it around your children.

Be that as it may, every dog that I’ve seen has taken better care of her whole litter than a monkey does for her one baby.

Again, I’m not an expert on monkeys, but if I’m not mistaken, baby monkeys skin appears to be flexible. Hence the reason why mothers will grab the baby’s by the back of the head and snap their head back. In some of the videos I’ve seen, it looks as though she’s about to peel skin from bone.

Watch the video below:

Granted, we can’t have laws legislating the animal kingdom, but something seems morbid to me when people stand and watch as the mother is twisting her baby’s head clear around. Want to know what I would do? I’d like to take a .30-06 and blow that fuckin’ monkey’s brains out. Have a reenactment of the Kennedy assassination.

Back and to the left….

You’ll have to forgive my sour mood. Life for me here lately has been unbearable. I’m not even sure how I’m still alive. Maybe I feel empathy for the baby monkeys abused? Maybe I feel abused? There has to be a valid reason for this.

Perhaps my own soul reflects the sadness in their eyes?

-The Average American Man

Stupid

Do you ever feel stupid because you know you’re stupid and there’s nothing to save you from your stupidity. To some, this statement not make any sense, but somewhere out in the vast world we live in, some poor schmuck understands what I’m saying. I’m not looking for someone to tell me I’m not stupid. I know I am.

It’s just one of those days.

The Average American Man

When the Mind is Dark

I haven’t felt any real peace here lately. My mind is dark and listless. Like traversing an unguided trail in the woods, that’s how I see my life at this point.

I just smacked my son for screaming at the top of his lungs. It’s so loud, you can feel your ears crackle. It isn’t really recommended that you smack or spank an autistic child, but their behavior can be overwhelming.

A lazy wife and financial problems! I don’t know how much more of this shit I can take!

I don’t know why, but here lately I’ve been stuck on watching videos of people who own pet monkeys. Now I’m not the type of person who get all pissed off because people own exotic animals or animals being caged in a zoo. Fucking tree-hugging animal rights hippies! Better to be in a zoo where people can learn about them than to be hunted by poachers!

Videos like this one:

I can’t decide whether or not the monkey is cute or ugly. I wonder what this guy does for a living to not only afford such a nice house, but to be so buff! Never mind. It doesn’t matter, really. Just asinine questions.

And then, there’s this monkey:

I feel for her. Trapped in a situation beyond her own making. Notice how she snatches the food and hoards it in her mouth like it’s her last meal? From my understanding, the Chinese aren’t very kind to pet monkeys. They feed them enough to keep them alive, but the hunger is still there. And for some reason, they train the monkeys to walk on their hind legs by trying their front legs behind their backs.

Such a shame.

I’ve become addicted to these videos as well. If this post seems forced or rushed, that’s because it is. At any rate, that’s my nonsensical thought for the day.

-The Average American Man

Journal Entry No. 3: Suicidal

I need help. I’m suicidal. But I won’t get help. And for a number of reasons. Okay. Two that I can think of.

The first one is that I’m afraid of the reactions that my mind and body may have with the medicine. I would hate to have a panic attack or nervous breakdown at work. And I would hate it if the medicine made me worse. I can’t think of anything worse than trying to kill myself while I am on medicine that is supposed to help me not to.

Second. People are vicious. Are you have the suicidal tag on you, no one wants to be around you. Kind of like what Mel Gibson said, “I’m fucked!”

Did you know that men make up 80% of the suicide rate in the United States? While women are three times more likely to attempt suicide and fail, men are more likely to attempt and succeed. Do you know why? Because women are crying out for help and men figure that if no one paid attention the first time around, they ain’t the second.

We, as men, don’t express ourselves very well. We internalize things, we meditate on things that bother us, and when we find someone that we think we can confide in, and it turns out wrong, we shut down. We retract deeper into ourselves. We lock ourselves in a maze and we swear that we will never be vulnerable again.

That is why it is so God damn frustrating to a man, that when he is trying to tell his woman how he feels, and she reads into every statement, every word, every syllable and letter. Then she takes what he says and turns it around and uses it against him.

Men are more likely to commit suicide in their 40s and 50s. And I am 33.

Journal Entry No. 2: Exercise

I used to exercise most everyday with in-home workouts. Then it went to every other day, to a few days, to whenever I felt like it, to not at all. I blame my wife for it, partially.

I got guilt trips for exercising when I could have been spending time with her. I got asked who I was trying to get in shape for. It got to the point that it wasn’t even worth the effort.

The other culprit that is partially to blame is the fact that I don’t like to finish projects. I have no problem in starting them, but not finishing them. I guess I could go to the gym. However, I would face the same old guilt trips and the same old self-discouragement.

Despite not doing any cardio, I had gone for about a month where I would try to meet my goal of doing at least 200 push ups and sit ups a day. That soon fizzled out, too. And like a switch going off in my head, I quit doing it.

Now, I’m not doing anything. Here’s to getting fat again!

Journal Entry No. 1

What is the dividing line between doing something that you enjoy and spending time with your significant other? Obviously people have different perceptions on what quality time is. Be that as it may, is there a healthy balance?

For instance, I like doing things on my own; like reading a book or watching something on Netflix. My wife? Whatever she’s watching, I have to watch.

Like right now (or at the time of this draft), she’s watching the American version of Being Human. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an okay show. It definitely doesn’t have the depth of characters that Vampire Diaries had (is that weird that a guy in his 30s like that show?; I’ve always considered Damon to be the prototype ass hole that all men should aspire to be) but it has an element of intrigue that can keep you watching.

However, if I were floating through Netflix, it would not be on my short list of things to watch. Being Human, that is.

So, here I am, with the Netflix app installed on my phone and I can’t watch anything that I want to watch. Why? Because apparently it robs my wife of quality time. That, and she believes that I use it to tune her out.

Can’t I do that while watching TV?

Hi there…

Dear reader, I thank you for clicking on this. Although, I am sure that you were perusing through the latest posts and either intentionally clicked on my site, or accidentally did. Whichever way it is, I am glad you’re here.

Nothing special about this pic…I just liked it.

I’m no freshman to blogging. In fact, I love blogs. I’ve tried various sorts of blogs and none of them can quite hold a candle to WordPress, in my opinion. Unless you want to saturate your site in porno stuff, then Tumblr might be along your lines.

If I’ve held your attention long enough and you’re still reading, then I intend on using this blog as an online journal. It seems that having a paper journal and keeping one on your phone isn’t safe enough from the prying eyes of an insecure wife. At least with this, if I want to hide what I wrote, all I have to do is log out.

I don’t know if I will give my blog posts titles or date entries, but I hope, at the very least, to get connected with other like-minded people and share perspectives. After all, I do lie awake in bed at night and wonder if there is anyone else out there that is going through the same turmoil.

Until we meet again,

Wet Master 84 (p.s. this’ll change when I get better inspiration)