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The Times, Theys a’ Changin’ Sis

Ten years ago, I was a hurt, lost, stupid, angry person.   This was the first time that I began to write.   It was on a blog site called opendiary.com.   When I was that age, around 16-17 I was so angry.   It was eating me up inside like a cancer.   There were all those cliche’ feelings that one normally associates with being a teenager.   The largest and most prominent feeling was that no one cared about or understood me.   My family and I had nothing in common, and in being adopted, I discovered that in some way I felt like I didn’t belong.   Still don’t.   Likewise my school days were awkward for the same reasons, but in the group of misfits that hung around with they were loyal to me and they understood me, to a degree.   I lost contact with a lot of people that I really got along with, time rolls on, you know.   I turned to blogging because it was anonymous, I could say how I really felt to people and see what they really thought about me without the fear of being lied to or used or whatever.

The schools.  My parents, my real parents.  My life.   How I looked.  There were a lot of things that were wrong with young Chris.   My adopted father left me.  My mother made me live with my control freak grandparents, and this is where the story began for a lot of people.   One thing that I have noticed about personal blogs is that most people speak in vague generalities about their lives, delving rarely into the specifics.   It’s like how you would imagine a support group meeting would go.   Everyone already knows why they are there, everyone already can infer the details based on subtext.   The ones that didn’t do that were the ones I read.   People who were there to infer through subtext.   People I could relate to.

People like Morgan (aka Dublin Sublime aka Lachlan), who became a lesbian stripper sometime between then and now.   Nothing wrong with that, she seems happy about the whole thing.   Fanboy wanted to be a journalist, he said it was to ‘give the weak a voice.’   I don’t know if he was successful in that endeavor.  When I first posted my story, Monolithic Horizon, the first chapter, unedited, raw, sloppy, he read it.   I always assumed that because it was so awful he avoided reading me from that point on.   Probably wrong about that.   There was old real life friends that between then and now have faded away.   There was Serenity, no seriously that was her name, whom wrote about being so lost and confused that when out with friends she ended up in car wrecks and drinking binges.   Sometimes I wonder what ever happened to her and if she’s alright.  Belowblackstar, Jesus Chrysler, and Wire were all roommates.   Blackstar became an egotist who hurt his friends with his selfish behavior.   On my last site I eventually had to rid myself of him.   Jesus was a mysterious figure, he faded in and out again.   I don’t remember much.   Wire… Wire is a bastard.  That’s all I’ll say on that matter lest I go off on a tangent.  Doomed, doomed was an odd fellow from Australia, humorous and weird, but ultimately dropped off the radar.

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Ghost Exist, Rly

When I was around eight years old I was laying in my mom’s bedroom since she had the largest and most comfortable bed in the house.   We had just got home from seeing Ghostbusters 2, and I was getting sleepy.   In my state of mind, as plain as day I could have swore I saw Slimer coming from my mom’s bathroom at me.   I tried to scream but I could not.  Pinned with terror I simply waited for the vision to go away, dreadfully fearful of a possible tentacle ravishing or even more so perhaps of a possible sliming afterward, and there was no guarantee that it would be the green kind of slime.   Here’s the thing about that, I could have swore Slimer was really there.  It was obviously my imagination/sleepy state  but there are people, lots of people actually, who take things they see in a moment of say, sleep paralysis and believe it was real.  Another good example of this was one night in my old apartment where I started falling asleep but woke up mentally but not physically, so that my body was lying prone due to the aforementioned sleep paralysis and I hallucinated that a ghostly woman was coming out my closest at me and making my body cold.   When I finally managed to get my ex girlfriend to wake me by breathing loudly (it was the only way, I couldn’t yell and I couldn’t move) I discovered that the cold air being blown on me was the damn A/C vent was blowing right at me and my ex had rolled over and taken all the covers off me.  One of the big things I’ve noticed on dealing with the majority of individuals is that people firmly, and often stubbornly believe things.   Not because they need to, not because it makes sense, and certainly not because they’ve spent a great deal of time rationalizing why, but because, quite simply, they want to.  When someone wants to believe something, you’re about as likely to convince them, even in the face of overwhelming evidence, that it doesn’t make sense to go on believing whatever it as, as you are to convince them to stop drawing breath.  It’s practically a doomed enterprise.

Images like this are proofs that ghost exist.

You see, believing in things is wanted, because, well, in reality there’s no magic in life… unless you can find a certain wonderment or joy from simply meeting different people and learning new things.   Otherwise, like I said, no magic.   There’s no spirits walking around trying to wrong the bad things that they did or had happen to them in life.   Psychics are just low-level con men that have convinced themselves that the bullshit they believe and sell to other people who believe is in any way something that is actually legitimate and not a series of loose-guesses, perception and deductions that they can wrap in flowery words and package to people.   People who believe are sort of like a cult, because they all secretly doubt in some small way, and need to constantly get around people who believe and convince themselves that what they are saying makes a damn bit of sense.   It’s all about the appeal of the fantastic, real con men know all about the fantastic and the amazing, that’s their bread and butter.  How do you think famous con men like ‘Yellow Kid’ Wiel or Count Victor Lustig convinced people that they had machines that can duplicate money or that The French government has decided to sell the fucking Eiffel Tower?   They both knew one thing, people want to believe.   Those men they conned?   They believed too, and look where believing in the fantastic got them.

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