Whoa. Read the paper today about that girl who said to those mugger kids, “whatcha gonna do, shoot me?”, and so they did. Makes you think twice about being super saucy to thugs with guns. I have waivered back and forth over the lines of thinking that these kids should be locked away for good after pulling their first offense, because a creature with no regard for individual life or pursuits should not be allowed to breathe the same air as those who have that respect, to then thinking maybe rehab works, education, you know.
The bitter part of my brain gets pissed off that these little kids have the ability to walk free and murder and ruin people’s lives because they feel like they have some insane justification to do so. The rational side says, well, maybe they didn’t get the same upbringing as you, maybe they don’t know any better. But, murder is murder, life is life, and it should be a requirement in a free society to know how valuable life is. I guess that’s what they consider the justice system to be, a division ensuring that this requirement is met. But, it’s not, and little gun-toting thugs are still committing murders because they think it’s fun. Maybe (this is bitter and vindictive deanna speaking) if you killed members of their family in front of them they would understand what real pain was. Hamurabi’s code and all that. Eye for an eye? It seems to make sense, though I am not advocating murder. I think it far more painful to lock someone in a cage away for life than to give them the easy way out of death.
Stories stories. Everyone and everything I see inherently is a story in the making. I was speaking with Sir D about this yesterday and whether I should feel badly about utilizing these things I see in stories because they have the potential to hurt the people who are involved in the situations. It’s not about hurt but my obsession with human psychology which is the base root of any interest I have in writing anything down. I have become many people’s psychologists over the years because I spent so much time being nasty and ugly and being the girl who never spoke for roughly the first 24 years of my life pretty much. Yeah, I was a butt ass ugly kid, zits zits zits, greasy hair, huge bushy eyebrows, ogilve home-permed hair until 15 because of my lovely mother, flat chest (that’s still me), no ass (sometimes atill yeah), taller than all the boys. Oh wow, you say, I wish I was taller? HA. Try being called an Amazon by most everyone you know, and feeling less than delicate with the boys that happen to be smaller than you (which is also a majority of the population mind you). Anyways, so the point is, because I was nasty nasty as a kid, I never spoke. I literally thought I was too ugly to have anything worth anyone hearing. And so I didn’t bother, I martyred myself at parties (I still do to a point) by hiding behind the couch and reading, or just leaving. I did this at my own birthday parties for crying out loud. I never initiated contact with anyone for the most part. I just watched. I observed. And I learned so much watching people that I gained a good knowledge of psychology and motivations. I know when I am doing something screwed up, and when others are 90% of the time I am right, or at least “on to something”. I haven’t been able to fix my own mental booby traps but I can figure out everyone else’s. Not because I don’t know what they are, but because I guess I have always been the strong one. And the strong one cannot be the one looking for help. My friend Erin used to say when I was a kid, I was the strongest person she had known, like a rock, nothing can break you Deanna. Child abuse rape heart surgery, I am a plethora of experiences.
So I write. I write what I see what I know. I write not to hurt people, but to help them. And even when I stir it up, at least I am opening up discourses and lines of communication between people my writing might touch.
Or not?
January 28, 2005 at 11:37 am
i am gonna be “King Dick” here(would you expect anything less from me?), and kick you something:
why are you SO concerned with helping other people, but running in place as far as helping yourself?
and it’s pretty egomaniacal to think that by writing about people you know, you’re actually helping them.as someone who has seen the needle and the damage done, i would say you’re wrong.dead wrong.
now…that does not mean i think you’re crazy, or an asshole.it just means i do not agree with your reasoning for “writing what you know”.
know YOURSELF.
that’s the starting line.
now let’s race.
xo.
January 28, 2005 at 12:17 pm
hahahah King Dick
I never think you are really King Dick, nerd. Just you.
And I still disagree.
Aside from the fact that I would say this, this is my Journal. Mine. And the minute someone decides they have the right to sweep in and censor me, then it becomes there’s, their concern, their drama. I do not tell people to spy on my page and read my shit. My birth mother reads my page, my friends who don’t have livejournal read my page to see what is going on in my life, hence my anonymous postings every once in a while. How about you all unfriend me, and then I don’t have to appear as an associate of anyone that I know.
and honestly I would say this, if this were such a big fucking deal and continues to be a point of contention with anyone that I know, I will remove myself from livejournal as me, and then none of you could read my shit, and sit happy that I didn’t say anything bad about anyone.
Because I would be “shit talking” in private, I guess. Maybe that is the answer.
yeah…I think so. prepare for the exit, fucktards. my journal is now owned by other people’s opinions of how I should act and what I am allowed to say and at what time.
January 28, 2005 at 12:33 pm
Re: hahahah King Dick
slow down there, young gunslinger!!!!
i wasn’t telling you NOT to do it.
i was telling you that an important part of being an “observer”, is to be thoughtful of the feelings of other people.
and, if the people you are writing about, ARE your friends, speaking about things that you are INDIRECTLY a part of(like, you had a conversation with them about it), does not give you artistic license to drag THEIR dirty laundry into cyberspace.friends don’t(or at least, in my King Dick opinion) do that to friends.
it’s like “drunk dialing”.
nobody likes the “drunk dialer”, do they?
either way, shit talking, is still shit talking.
and i will not lie, and say that i am not entertained by your shit talking.
but it’s entertaining in the same way that “american idol”, or a car crash with midgets in it is.
it’s interpersonal rubbernecking.
and there IS a difference between “writing what you know”, and being a part of what the fuck you are writing about.
it’s a precarious perch, my little friend.
so precarious, that i sometimes teeter on the edge of good taste and accountability my damn self.
precarious indeed.
all actions have equal, if not more powerful, reactions.as we both know.
and i am not trying to be Senator Mc Carthy.
i am just trying to tell you that drama, is still drama.
*smooch*
love,
King Dick.
p.s.- kiss my gangsta ass, if you thought i wouldn’t call you on this one!!!