June 5th, 2013
I’ve always attracted a certain kind of girl. Arms littered with scars like cars cruising down a highway tossing pain out the window because they refused to carry it any further down that road. They’ve always had less than ideal childhoods. The kind you wouldn’t wish on any woman no matter how bad she broke your heart, because she was broken from the very start. The kind that makes you want to Loraina Bobbit or Jodi Arius your own kind in the slowest way possible.
Love is a vicious cycle of distractions and fears. One moment its lifting you up making you forget about the darkness you’ve carried all of these years, but it bleeds through. Rather than those demons knocking at the front door, they creep in through the floor boards. A fear of losing love, the thought of withdrawls from that miracle drug sets in, paranoia kicks in. Next thing you know you’re ruining what you once loved.
When we’re in bed, I always run my fingers on her shoulders. The scars there have the highest peaks. If her scars were brail, her shoulders would be pop up books for the blind. I read these history books every night. Reminding myself, at one point, this girl hated herself more than anything else in the world. I’m not a perfect man, let alone a man. But I try to take these pages to heart so when I’m acting a fool or being selfish I remember this girl has been through enough. She’s seen enough nightmares creep into her bedroom. She doesn’t need another in lover’s clothing.
When I love a woman who hates herself, the first part of the relationship is me piecing her back together. Making her heart stronger, smarter, faster. Able to withstand any break up. Then I lose myself. I become distant. Then an asshole. And I push and push and push until they walk away so I can play victim and say she left me.
Although not as prominent, the scars on her thighs are just as visible. She’s told me the story several times as to which scars came from which hardships and what she used to anchor those moments in her skin. I recall heart aches and liquors the same way. We’re the same except she has these break ups with herself. I see the love and pain on her body. She was in such an abusive relationship, she gave herself Stockholm.
I've seen these girls find great guys after. Some married. Others engaged. I wonder if I ever really helped them at all or if I'm just part of a horrible past. In some cases I'm both. In rare ones I'm neither. The biggest thing is, these girls always have a way of finding me. Like gasoline to the flame. They are liquid with no direction just simply pouring themselves out like the mouth of a river until they reach these match stick arms. Ones so fragile I could never really support the idea of stab ability, but before I break I strike and we both get caught in the explosion. They float like smoke angels. I fall like the devil's dandruff and settle like ashes on "god's bathroom floor"...
I kissed all of her scars. Every inch of her body. Told her I accepted her for her past. But there are still parts crawling underneith my skin. Like things I couldn't accept within myself. Like sins were spiritually transmitted damnation. I learned forgiveness is a gift you can only give yourself. I'm so used to giving it to everyone else I forgot how to hold anything other than guilt and regret against myself. Especially mistakes that others make, I knew things could have been different if I would have changed. Never let her go.
She's the most beautiful woman in the world to me. I think more about her past than my own. Her decisions are colored mistake in my eyes and these blamed shaded glassses don't help when I'm painting my poker face in the window above my bathroom sink.
God I've always asked you for two things. Guidence. And grace. I always forget I tell everyone else salvation comes from within. Where any god lives. But I'm still looking outside for mine like I'm an exception to redemption or forgiveness. Its hard to love a woman who hates herself. Its hard to love when your idea of it is shattered in every relationship.
Its easy to live, just let it. The past won't serve you. Forget it. Don't just listen to your own advice. Take it. Love can be a vicious cycle. Love can be an angel or a devil. Talk to yourself on paper. The conversation could save somebody else.
-DCR
Charles Dickens often wrote in his amazing stories, about injustice, inequality, hypocrisy and the social evils that were present in his day.
His family was actually in debtor’s prison for a period of time and he got a lot of his characters and ideas from observing and listening to what was going on around him.
Oliver Twist, A Christmas Carol and many others highlight the social injustice during the early to middle Victorian period in England.
Of course that was almost two hundred years ago and we have moved on as a society and don’t have things like debtor’s prisons anymore……..or do we?
Actually we do!
This may shock most of you but in the great USA we have a flourishing prison system and debtor’s prisons are actually in about 1/3rd of all states.
For people who are too poor to pay their debts or fines resulting from unpaid debts these illegal practices still occur.
Federal imprisonment for unpaid debts has been illegal since 1833. But as many Americans after the recession find things increasingly difficult, those wonderful collection agencies are using much harsher methods to get their money.
These modern day debtor’s prisons impose human costs that are quite devastating. They waste taxpayer money and resources and totally undermine the ‘Justice system’ (that’s a joke). They are racially biased and create a two-tiered system. Another sad thing is that some people are also required to pay for the time ‘they’ spend in prison, which further compounds the problem.
Studies have also shown that to imprison these poor people actually costs more than their original fines (in most cases).
So with high rates of unemployment and Government fiscal shortfalls induced by the recession, states are looking for ways to bump up their revenue.
The debt collection business is extremely profitable. It is projected that over the next three years it will grow a minimum of 26%.
Great for the shareholders of the prisons and collection agencies.
Does it make sense to incarcerate the poorest people who have no way of paying back their fines/debts which just gets them deeper and deeper into debt, and actually costs the counties and states involved more to arrest and detain them?
Mr. Dickens would be turning over in his grave.
TDB.
IV
My life is filled with so many beautiful things, but one topic I would like to discuss is friendship. Man, I love people, and I love to spend my time with my friends. Ever since I can remember my free time is spent socially. I feel like those interactions with people have saved and blessed me more than I realize. I may remain tough on the outside and expose my vulnerability, but I have truly been broken down by some and built right back up (even sturdier) with the help of my friends. I have people in my life that have stood by me through it all—at times I didn’t feel like they were there—but they are.
When I was little, my brother was my best friend (still a best—but it’s different now since we both have children, etc.). Buster is two years older than me, and growing up we spent most of our time together. He may have been on his bike speeding a hundred yards or so ahead of me telling me to stay home —but I followed. He was popular, older, and people liked him. I gained insight about how I wanted to be, how I wasn’t going to be, and his presence shaped me. I pretended to be extra tough around my brother and his friends because they gave me such a hard time. What I was trying to do was be tough for him so he wouldn’t have to ‘protect’ me, and so I could just chill like one of the dudes. And that’s what I did—I always had girl-friends too—but I liked my brothers company better. Blood is thicker than water. I remember running up to him on the playground in 3rd grade, “Buster this boy just pinched by butt—Buster replies—“Whoop his ass”. That was a new one, my mind went—ok—and that was the day I began chasing the boys back and instilled fear into the opposite gender. I was no longer stood up for. I think I still maintain that aura from time to time. Anyways, I learned A LO T from my brother, and he instilled some of the most vital qualities within in me just by his influence. I may have gotten teased and beat up a little in order to have the freedom to be myself, but I liked it—it was my right of passage--and a choice. He taught me what friendship truly is, and for that I am grateful.
I have friendships, that I feel, have flowed through generations. I have a God-sister, Tara, which is an example of this. Our parents have been friends with each other and have a past. So growing up, naturally, we were around each other a lot and we developed our own bond. My dad passed away when I was four, and Tara’s dad passed when she was 12. Both of our fathers died of the same cause—HIV. The connection and bond that we have with one another based on the history of our parents alone is sacred. Tara’s parents dubbed my Mom & Dad as her God parents. That is why we identify as sisters. It is not a slang term for my ‘home-girl’—she is my hermaa. See, Tara is a gypsy travelling soul—her spirit rambles on like a rolling stone. I love her for that, for who she is. Tara has influenced me in so many areas of my life. One of the main things that I want to comment on is her ability to listen, comfort, and to just be there. I feel like just being around her is therapeutic for me, and I cherish all of the fun that we have. We kill it when we are together, and nobody gets me like she does. She is leaving tomorrow to go and work in California for several months. It makes me sad that she won’t be around, but I am ecstatic for her opportunity to travel and expand her horizons. I wish more people were like Tara, and that they didn’t live their lives in fear. Doors are open, some remain closed, but some things only come once in a lifetime. That is what Tara’s spirit transcends through me—life is happening now—LIVE IT.
-Sunny
As a graduate student, I spend most of my time reading, researching, and writing. Because I am a very curious person, who enjoys words, concepts, and ideas, this is also how I spend most of my free time, with the notable addition of simulating seismic occurrences for my down stairs neighbors…(sorry guys)
Today I can honestly say that I love being learning and being a student, and while I do not always enjoy the subject matter, being a student is something that I have shown a considerable aptitude for, and has heretofore been a source of pride and achievement, and one of the ways in which I defined myself. However the reality that this cannot go on forever brings about a deluge of emotions, that all those approaching the conclusions of substantial chapters of their lives must confront. Despite an ever increasing to-do list, the question of what to do after college/graduate school rings a little louder everyday, regardless of the fact that there is little to know to actually think about that right now.
When I started college I had know idea what I wanted to do or study, so I enrolled in two classes a semester, one core class and one elective, and worked the rest of the time to pay child support for my son who had been born several years earlier. After a somewhat unexpected turn of events in Albuquerque led to spontaneous relocation to Colorado, I proceeded to sling shot myself from Denver to Amarillo, Texas no less than three times, while earning a certification in massage therapy along the way to help me survive college. Somewhere along the way I came across a book titled Lies My Teacher Told Me by author James Loewen, which rekindled a passion for history that hadn't existed within me in many years. Deciding that I wanted want to help change the cycle of lying to children, and avoiding the harsh truths of history and the world, I pursued and earned a BS in history, and the better part of a masters before returning to Colorado to write my masters thesis, get married, and finally develop a concept of home. While my original plan was to teach high school history, after a harsh introduction to the highly controlled manner in which Texas history teachers were supposed to teach, via the state approved “Texas Essential Knowledge and Skills” or Teks, I decided that perhaps teaching at the collegiate level would be a better plan.
In the course of completing my masters I was fortunate to be a Teaching Assistant for three different brilliant professors, and actually run discussion sessions every Friday, where was I was given a wide range of support and control over the class , and learned that I was very right about enjoying teaching at the collegiate level. While I had planned to pursue my doctorate in history as the next necessary step in attaining a teaching position at a university, with the next stage of educational development came an elevated degree of respect form the professors which translated into enhanced levels of honesty and the occasional conversation over adult beverages. In the course of these conversations, the hiring process of university professors was much more elaborated upon, and while nothing negative was ever said, what was touched upon was the overwhelming number of very qualified applicants and the underwhelming number of jobs. For me this was enough to force me to reconsider continuing on to the doctoral level, and foreseeably wasting another half decade plus on a degree that was functionally worthless to me.
Which brings me back to the what to do now (or when I finally finish my thesis), and honestly I wish I knew. As much as I would love to teach, my drive to create and build is almost overwhelming at this point, and finding or more realistically building something to focus all of my energy into seems like the only option. While this will involve education in some respect, and will always be informed by background in history, at this point embracing the the unknown of the future seems to be my only option.
-Joshua Genius
For more on James Loewen and the lies your teachers taught you check out
http://sundown.afro.illinois.edu/liesmyteachertoldme.php
For a great documentary about the insanity that takes place on the texas board of education, see http://www.therevisionariesmovie.com
