Why?

So this is what I think about Hillary…I’ll give you an analogy: say you have a 16 year old daughter—let’s call her Annie—who for all intents and purposes is a model student and teenage girl. She gets A’s in school, volunteers at the animal shelter on weekends and is an all-around nice person. You trust her but more importantly, you like her as a person.

Now one day you’re driving to the store to get some milk and as you’re passing a notorious biker bar—known for fights, prostitution and drugs and the associated arrests—you see Annie’s bicycle laid against the alley wall of the bar with her backpack still hanging from the handlebars. You slow down and stop across the street to look closer and you spot Annie through the window of the bar. She seems to be talking to several of the bikers, smiling and laughing. 20 minutes later you drive home.

Later that night when Annie gets home you ask her what she was doing out. Her reply is that she was riding her bike from school to home but that she stopped to talk with some friends which is why she was late…and she starts to walk upstairs to her bedroom. You stop her and ask her who the friends were and she replies that they were some boys she met at the animal shelter last weekend. She continues up the stairs and you stop her again asking where did she stop to talk to them and she, getting a little exasperated with you by now, explains that it was in town…and she wasn’t breaking any rules by being in town!…and can she please just go upstairs to do her homework?

You let her go but you’re sure she was in that biker bar so later you go upstairs to her room and confront her directly. You ask her point blank if she was in the biker bar earlier that day and she replies that she was near the bar because she had to stop…her phone fell out of her backpack when she was taking a shortcut through the alley next to the bar. She then goes quiet.

You look at her for a second and you finally tell her “Listen, I saw you when I went by that biker bar today, you weren’t in the alley, you weren’t looking for your phone, I saw you in the bar for at least 20 minutes talking to several of the men.” You say “Tell me what was going on!”
She looks at you for a second and finally explains “Well, I was riding home through the alley past that bar when a few of the men called out to me having remembered me from working at the animal shelter. They had adopted a dog the weekend before and they had some questions about feeding and training so I went in and we talked about their dog. They told me about the funny things the dog did and we laughed. I gave them some pamphlets I had on me and then left. That’s it. I did nothing wrong.”

The questions that would keep running over and over and over in my mind are:

“Why the fuck did it take so long to get to the final answer?”
“Why all the other partial answers?”
“Why couldn’t she just say that when I first asked her??”
“What the fuck do I believe now?”

Imagine that happening 8 times with Annie in 8 different situations where the final answer always seemed innocent…but all basically the same scenario…

…that’s what I think about Hillary.

Choose

You. You are important.

You are probably the most important person you know. Wait, not “probably”…you *ARE* the most important person you know.

But…to you. You are the most important person to yourself. There is a difference as every other person on the planet is the most important person to themselves that they know. This is how it should be. And this isn’t about power or money or jewels, cars, investments, cars, jobs…this importance has nothing to do with anything external. You cannot buy this importance.

It simply is not for sale.

You make this importance inside of you. You do so by recognizing that you ALONE are responsible for all and every decision in your life…regardless what others say or what you might feel from parental or societal conditioning. You make the decisions that affect how you live your life…and ultimately what your future will be.

You decide if you believe in religion.
You choose whether to fight in a war.
You decide to eat meat…or not.
You decide if the individual’s wellbeing is less important than the state.
You decide which political party speaks for you.
You choose your mate.
And on and on…

All of these choices and decisions affect you deeply and explicitly control how you live your life, how you interact with people, who you love and protect, the job you have, the school you go to, the food you eat…simply; who you are.

I’d call the person making those choices pretty goddamn important…

…wouldn’t you?

Believe. Go. Do.

~TrevorZen

Trash Day

Imagine a world where what people said to you could not possibly make you feel bad about yourself. Not possibly. Regardless if it was corrosive, hurtful or evil, whether it was born from psychosis, jealousy or spite, whether it was willfully intended or not…nothing anyone could ever say to you could ever come close to damaging your self-esteem or self-image.

Nothing.

You’re too fat, you’re too skinny, you’re wearing that? Why are you such a fucking asshole? Your ass is huge! How the hell can you vote for that douchebag? No way can you do that! You’ll never win. You’re not even close to being in my league. Did a homeless guy give you that haircut? You will never be good enough. No one likes you. You can’t possibly believe that you can win. You’re too bad an influence to be around the kids. Your dick is too small. Hey, where’d your tits go? No one will ever, ever love you…

…nope…nothing.

Imagine that world as being real…because at one time—in your life—it was. It was for you. And you. And you and you and you… That world was real, it existed, it was your world when you were 1 year old. At 1 year old you existed on this planet but could not understand what people said to you. They could still say all of those horrible, shitty, soul destroying things but you couldn’t be hurt by them because, quite literally, there was no way for you to understand what the fuck they were saying. They still said them because that’s what people do…

…but you were completely unaffected.

Do that shit again.

Become the person that just doesn’t understand when people say stupid, hurtful things. Whether they mean to rip your soul out of your body or not, simply choose to not understand what they are saying. Watch their lips move, feel the frequency of the words they say, watch their facial expressions as they say what is an obviously fucked up thing…and smile. Learn to sift through the words you hear and grab the facts and the words that are based in objective reality but dump all the subjective, opinionated and totally useless words that are meant only to hurt, to degrade, to destroy.

Think to yourself; “I have no idea about a lot of what this person is saying but I’m sure they mean well so I’ll just nod and smile so that they don’t feel bad about not being understood.”

Unlike being a 1 year old, you have the ability to pick and choose what you understand and what you don’t. You get to decide which words will have an effect on you and which ones simply float away in the air around you. It’s not ignoring people, no, it’s actually listening to them intently for the constructive and civilized bits and pieces of their conversations…and disregarding anything that veers into spiteful and demeaning territory.

You are simply filtering out the trash.

I know this to be ABSOLUTELY TRUE; you are an amazing and beautiful person, unique in every way possible, and you were born with all the tools and knowledge needed to love and be loved in return.

There are no words on this planet—not a single one—that can be uttered by any person, regardless of who they are, regardless their relationship to you, regardless of how much money, friends, wealth or twitter followers they have…

…that can change any of these facts.

Believe. Go. Do.

~TrevorZen

African American

When I was growing up (we grew up in north Detroit (12 mile) in a tiny suburb called Roseville) I was a lucky little bugger because my parents were as progressive socially as you could get. Their best friends were a gay couple—they showed me what true love looked like—and my mom being an artist and active in the arts community had a wide circle of friends and acquaintances from every imaginable walk of life.

Black kids made up about a 3rd of my elementary school and my parents had many black friends who were over to the house for dinner, overnight guests, etc. The reason I tell you this is not to show how unbiased and colorblind I am but, in fact, to do quite the opposite…I want you to know that I am prejudiced and that I make sweeping judgments about people without having ever met them personally.

It’s just that the color of a person’s skin never quite makes it as a characteristic I judge.

Liberalism, progressivism, socialism, elitism—stuff that you generally make a choice to be—are the kinds of things I make sweeping generalizations about. The color of your skin, your sexual orientation, height, wearing glasses, physical handicaps, etc. are things you didn’t choose so they simply don’t make the grade for me to judge you on them. I mean, why would I…or anyone? The point of judging you (see above) is to get you to alter that which is being judged…to get you to better align with my idea of reality.

If there is no possible way for you to alter what I am judging you on, what’s the point?

Anyway, I was reading an article on Black Lives Matter/All Lives Matter and it struck me a little strange; the world as it was when I was growing up to the one I live in today. We didn’t have the words African American so we just called black kids, black kids and that’s what they called themselves. We were white kids by the way, it’s what we were called and what we called ourselves if we needed to make a distinction.

The point is that we recognized that there was a difference between a white kid and a black kid but that that difference was as meaningless as that between a blonde kid and a redheaded kid…just kidding, we all know redheaded kids are weird! Ha ha, of course I’m not serious but neither should anyone be when they judge another person by the color of their skin. Yes, you’re not fucking colorblind, a difference exists…

…it just doesn’t goddamn matter.

And that I think is where everything went to shit. Once the progressive, politically correct class decided that in order to change racism they needed to give black people a new name—African American—they essentially gave their blessing for racism to continue. Because once you acknowledge a difference by camouflaging it, you agree that you’re hiding it, not resolving it.

And as long as it’s “hidden” then no one is going to step up to try to fix it.

What I want

 

This is it.
This is what I want
from you.
It’s not simple, easy
or ordinary.
It’s damn
fucking hard
in fact.
It’s likely the
hardest thing
you’ve ever done.
Ever.
Or will ever do.
Ever.
I want you
to love
you.
Accept
you.
Believe that you
are deserving.
Are worthy
of your
own love.
Fuck what I think.
What
they think.
You’re here for you.
Not by choice.
Not
For riches, money
fame or
anything else.
You.
Get right with
you.
Become best friends
with you.
Do that.
Now.
Please.

Lazy

I’m A-OK being a lazy bastard because being honest with myself and everyone around me is a fuck-ton easier than lying. I don’t have to remember which story I told to whom and when or what version that I told. I just tell the truth. No need to think about the person I’m talking to, what they know or don’t…just the facts. But…also associated with being lazy…I don’t necessarily say everything I’m thinking…

“Do I look fat in this?”

“Honey, you’re a beautiful woman in anything you’re wearing.”

…I’m lazy, not an idiot.

words

My words will do you no good
even though
I have too many for me to use alone
my words will tell you that
you are beautiful
sweet
strong and
they might be true
honest, predictable
but they are my words, they
were born of necessity
of a need to describe
define and
communicate…
…not to save
not to create light where
darkness prevails
not to replace empty
with full
they are my words so only really
apply to me
but
I don’t own them, have title or deed
to the results
the endings or the beginnings
I share them…gladly…
with 7 billion others
and extend rights and responsibilities
to you
and you
and you
because this I know is true:
it is words, your words,
the ones deep inside
words that are yours
the simple ones you believe
with everything
with conviction, with fatalist consistency
it is these that define you, make you
who you are
beautiful
sweet
strong and
I am happy to share.