Tuesday, July 12, 2016

White, Black, and Red


I have a lot of arguments with myself in my own head, regardless of whether I'm feeling good or awful.

Sometimes it's about trivial nonsense, but it happens more frequently on more serious matters. And since I've been trying to wrap my head around so many unsettling ideas lately, there's almost constantly a mental argument going on, at least in the background. It occurred to me, at some point quite a while back, that most of the points I make in my head can be grouped into one of three categories, and I unintentionally wound up identifying those thought groups as colors: white, black, and red.

Red thoughts are the severely unpleasant ones. They range from blinding, violent, white-hot rage at others to utter despair and self-loathing to the point of self-destructiveness. Red thoughts are often cynical, hateful, prejudiced, jealous, or hopeless. Edgar Allen Poe coined the phrase "The Imp of the Perverse" to describe thoughts like these. Like Donald Trump, red thoughts tend to be both very very wrong and VERY VERY LOUD. Red thoughts tell me that I'll probably wind up dying miserable and alone in my late 40's or early 50's. Red thoughts imagine that a cop giving me a (hypothetical) speeding ticket had been aborted as a baby, or killed in a car wreck. Thankfully, red thoughts tend to be by far the fewest in number, unless I'm severely upset. If red-colored thoughts could be personified, they would be Batman's enemy, the Joker (probably Heath Ledger's take).

White thoughts are the opposite of red. They're the peaceful hippie thoughts. When I'm arguing something in my head, the white thoughts remind me that all human beings are flawed and make mistakes, that we're all just doing the best we can, that feminists make valid points sometimes, and that violence is rarely the best solution. White thoughts bloom when someone tells me I'm sexy, or when Steph tells me she loves me. They remind me I'm lucky to have her. They remind me about all the political and technological advances the human race is making toward a world that is free of pollution and poverty and death. If white-colored thoughts could be personified, they would be Mister Rogers.

Black thoughts are in between the two. Black thoughts are aggressive, confrontational, assertive, vengeful, and defiant – but not irreverently harmful, sadistic, or evil. Black thoughts are not ill-intentioned, but they do not take an ounce of shit from anyone. They tell me to get my ass off the couch and get to the gym. Black thoughts demand that I tell someone else to go fuck themselves if they try to push me around. Whereas white thoughts try to push back against red thoughts through kindness and love, black thoughts want to punch red ones in the throat. Black feels the most like my natural state, admittedly where I am the most comfortable. It's my "inner Spartan". These thoughts are the most plentiful, and they're often the most effective suppressors of red thoughts. If black-colored thoughts could be personified, they would be Master Chief, from Halo.



This whole idea operates as sort of a deranged version of Rock Paper Scissors. For example, the biggest drawback to black thoughts is that they sometimes they go too far - in these cases, black becomes difficult to distinguish from red, and the only thing that can pull them back is white. When my mental health is at its peak, black and white thoughts work in conjunction to keep red thoughts almost entirely suppressed. But when I'm upset or angry, red thoughts begin to squeeze out the whites, and it's up to the black thoughts to offer any sort of resistance – unless I experience something positive, like a nostalgic song or a much-needed hug, which helps white feelings to flourish and push back against red.

God damn I'm fucking weird.

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Sunday at the creek


On Sunday, Steph and I spent the afternoon at her dad's house, out in the country. We brought Cortana along with us, and went swimming in the creek out behind his house. (Apparently Cortana loves to swim; who knew?) Some of the fish in the creek were surprisingly pretty, too. We also brought her dad's grill, and I grilled some bratwursts and hot links (SO GOOD).

I told her it felt like I had spent the afternoon in an episode of The Andy Griffith Show :p

Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Have you ever accidentally spilled black ink on something?

Not that we're all sitting around writing with feather quills, or anything. But when I was in high school, I threw a fancy black ink pen at my bedroom wall in anger. The pen broke, and black ink drips splattered all across a small part of the wall, and a couple other things.

Knowing my mom would be mad at me if she saw it, I tried using every solvent I could find to get the black ink off. And after a ton of elbow grease, I actually managed to get most of it out. But not all of it, unfortunately. There's a small patch of black ink on the wall of my old bedroom in Enid to this day.

As of a few weeks ago, it feels like I had a couple bottles of black ink splattered all over the inside of my head. I've been scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing since then, and I've managed to get most of the ink out - but not all of it. Like my old bedroom wall, I have small little patches of faded black ink stains that just aren't going anywhere, no matter how hard I scrub.

But I can manage that. I'll just hang a nice picture in front of them, or something.

Monday, June 27, 2016

Shhhhhhhh!


Haven't you learned yet that you can't post stuff like this publicly?

It means you're a delusional asshole of a human being. Moron.

Friday, June 24, 2016

Spit Out The Blood

These are the lyrics to a metal song I wrote as a junior (I think?) at OSU.

I still like it.
It's a sucker punch from god, another knuckle to my jaw
My skull is splitting open and my skin is ripping off
The blood is flowing freely, and no one to give a tourniquet
I'm a fucking human being, as you always liked to forget

My wounds are not just external, and they're not just physical
You can break my body and my heart, you'll never break my soul
You didn't need to mutilate me, my looks were never quite as good as his
You laugh and think I'm dead, but the voice inside me says

Spit out the blood and stand back up
Break through the chains, force yourself to
Spit out the blood and stand back up
Fight through the pain and get the fuck up

Spit out the blood and stand back up
Dig deep inside, find the strength to
Spit out the blood and stand back up
Fight through the pain and get the fuck up


No more room in my back for another round of knives
No more room in my life for another round of lies
Broken ribs and taste of blood, it's clear you went the extra mile
But nothing hurts as bad as the god damn fucking broken smile

I take another shiv from you, and another punch from him
You both just stare and wonder why the fuck I won't give in
My heart just won't quit beating, sorry to ruin all your dreams
I finally get my smile back as the voice inside me screams

Spit out the blood and stand back up
Break through the chains, force yourself to
Spit out the blood and stand back up
Fight through the pain and get the fuck up

Spit out the blood and stand back up
Dig deep inside, find the strength to
Spit out the blood and stand back up
Fight through the pain and get the fuck up


I am my own damn shepherd
I am my own damn shoulder
I am my own damn savior
I am my own damn soldier

I am my own damn shepherd
I am my own damn shoulder
I am my own damn savior
I am my own damn soldier

I am my own damn shepherd
I am my own damn shoulder
I am my own damn savior
I am my own damn soldier

I am my own damn shepherd
I am my own damn shoulder
I am my own damn savior
I am my own damn soldier

Spit out the blood and stand back up
Break through the chains, force yourself to
Spit out the blood and stand back up
Fight through the pain and get the fuck up

Spit out the blood and stand back up
Dig deep inside, find the strength to
Spit out the blood and stand back up
Fight through the pain and get the fuck up

Spit out the blood and stand back up
Spit out the blood and stand back up
Spit out the blood and stand back up
Spit out the blood and get the fuck up

Monday, June 13, 2016

Three Years


Steph and I celebrated our three-year anniversary this weekend. We got a pretty awesome couple's massage at R&R Massage Therapy in Edmond, and later went out to eat at Whiskey Cake (because the wait time at Red Rock Canyon Grill was insane); then we came back home to drink wine and do some painting and whatnot.

Because of some personal stuff that had happened in the week or so prior to that, my nerves had been pretty severely frayed for several days in a row leading up to that day. Steph was able to go a long way toward soothing them. On days when my brain is being especially venomous, either toward others or toward myself (or both), she is my antidote.

I love you, Steph.

Three down, infinity to go <3