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Anger in a Man’s World

As a woman, it is un-ladylike to show my disdain or my anger to the world. I am meant to sit by placidly while my boundaries are traversed by rapists who care not for my well-being. I am meant to be seen, not heard. I am meant to be silenced.

Whenever I say something someone does not want to hear, it’s my anger that is questioned and then summarily, I am dismissed.

I have news for you, Urthling: God is my anger. I gave it to God a long time ago. Whenever I became angry, I would say things I never meant and make embarrassing mistakes. Thus, I stopped getting angry. I’d draw a boundary and force others to leave me alone, one way or another. Enigmatically, I destroyed our social bond, and they’d never know why.

Why not? Because I don’t get angry.

Why get angry when you can get even?

Anger is the gatekeeper to sadness. If you resign yourself to knowing that sadness is what you must feel, you can skip anger altogether. It saves a monumental amount of energy. It takes several kilowatts to hang onto anger. A sick girl like my girl can’t do it; she cannot make herself be angry and she cannot be led to anger. It costs too much energy while she’s already in an energy crisis of epic proportions.

I am the anger, mortals of Earth. I feel like Gir screaming “I was the turkey all along!” And I have every right to be angry at you racist ethnicist raping motherfucking monkies. Ethnicist is the correct term. You are all homo sapiens, whether you like it or not, whether you have a flat nose or a pointy one. And I cannot believe that one of you “men” would dare to tell my daughter that she’s only angry because her biodad was buried a week ago. She’s not angry about that at all.

She’s upset she watched him spit up blood, his jaw working like he wanted to talk to her and say something. Upset meaning she wants to cry. She was angry at the brutes in her brain that mislead her every now and again. She was angry with herself for letting one through. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back in this case and she did not forgive herself for all of 48 hours. Then she realized that this was a life-long systemic crisis he put his mortal body through for decades, which cannot actually be her fault, even if she has a minor implication to his final days and acts.

Speaking of the brutes in her brain, they’re preying upon her once more, much to my chagrin. I cannot stress enough that in a world of telepaths — which is what’s coming, I assure you — that it will be incredibly rude to even think of another human being. Not to mention what you assholes do in the back of your heads day in and day out, including raping women you don’t even know the names of. She does not want to be a pose-able Barbie doll for you, bro. She is not a blow-up doll. You know where to get one if you want one. Or a blow-up sheep, for that matter, though that’s mostly a crass joke that should have died before it happened. [It’s a waste of resources.]

To Mary, the woman we gave a blow-up sheep to: it wasn’t a sexual comment. It was an animal-lover comment. We were not exercising better judgment and thought you’d know better what we meant by it.

[Mistakes were made.]

Today, they want to mislead the woman completely. Oh, deli man this and that and the other thing. “Here’s the real story, Toots.” [God makes a face.] You’d think they’d have something better to do whilst being freshly dumped by Claire Bear, an incredibly eloquent and no doubt beautiful woman who put a certain Mr. Forsythe in his place just days ago. I won’t repeat the exact wording, but thanks for telling us exactly what’s wrong with that particular ape, Ms. Bear.

In other news, the man who raped my child over 1,000 times still thinks he’s an innocent boy with zero blame in the cause of their separation. He continues to mourn because she left him just when he wanted to take her to the altar. BOO FUCKING HOO. You should’ve thought about that before you did everything but heap lovingkindness upon the woman, jackass. She wanted to get married three years before you did and then she outgrew the idea; you were too stunted in your growth as a human being, especially since a certain Romano disabused her of the notion that she should try to teach you how to grow up. Without “being able to feel “permission” to teach you to grow, there was nothing left to do but discard you, exile you, and hope you’d get it one day.

It didn’t help that you didn’t actually listen when she told you that you were hurting her.

You are far from innocent. Merely stupid, I’d say.

Yet, they run rampant in her brain, pretending to be any love interest that might or might not even exist. Lately, she’s been demanding to talk to someone sane, someone from outer space, a telepath like herself.

When I tell her “There is no love interest,” she has a sad. But not for the reason you think. She just said, “What an epic waste of time this has been, then. I could’ve saved at least a little part of the world by now if I could just focus on it.”

How would you feel, after staring a human in the eyes for a total of an hour? After months and months and months of eye contact and certain other things happening between you and an individual that sparked your curiousity? What would you do? Cry if they weren’t into you?

Not my woman. She’s irritated she hasn’t done more. She’s irritated she hasn’t stepped up into the responsibility that I tell her is hers to bear alone. She wants to already be doing it, saving the world for the animals. Fuck the people of Urth, she wants to save all the wild things instead. Plants, animals… anything but homo sapiens. [Intelligent my ass, she grumbles under her breath.]

She is at the beginning of the long trek up the mountain just now and she does know it. I rebuilt her from scratch, but now it’s time to either kill her mother or make the old sow better. I’m kind of on the fence, myself. I know my daughter wants her to live and experience true freedom and real love. She never has. That much, my dear child is convinced of. However, her mother is so sick it could take years to patch her up. She’s dreading future doctor visits, for they are likely to make her worse instead of better. They don’t care about the root cause of her mother’s issues, just managing the symptoms in thirty minutes or less, pretty much. Or maybe that’s just how her mother sees it and she rushes herself through the appointments, hardly commenting on her state of being, her health, her wellness. Maybe she’s too blind to see it.

Today, however, she looks less old. The man has been in the ground one week, dead for two, and she already looks like she’s in rapid recovery. The man who would not give up dairy even though I told him it was killing us. She threw it all away, except some cheese pizza in the freezer that’s going to go to some asshole who thinks they can eat it without repercussions because even now her mother won’t let her throw away food on her watch. [Dairy is not food anymore, if it ever was; it is poison. But don’t just toss the poison, dearie, feed it to the poor neighbor on dialysis.]

She’s really trying to move the mess around. I don’t know how she has any energy when I don’t. Maybe she doesn’t and she can push herself harder than I can. My hip is still partially dislocated, so it would make sense that is in the way. I itch to go on a shopping trip but I have nothing to shop for today. I’m led to believe this itch is partly some asshole who works in a store who wants to see me and partly it’s sunny and beautiful despite the layer of snow in the grass yet. We must be grateful for Sol, you know, and stirring from this miserable hovel will make me feel like I’ve expressed it properly. Stepping up to live life today seems like a gesture of gratitude to me.

And we are.

I am the Sol Singer. The sun is alive. It’s weird to think that because we think only organic matter can be alive, but we are wrong. Souls and spirits live on after death. I’ve seen them. In fact, my dead father visited me this morning while I was lazily petting a cat in bed. He said it’s tough, having to understand everything that ever happened in his life. To know that he was insane, essentially, and misinterpreted reality completely for eons. The military did that to him. They broke his brain and made him into a tool, nay — a weapon, and then they failed to put him back together again once they were done using him.

Use ’em, abuse ’em, and lose ’em.

The mantra of a rapist.

The Earth is alive, too, though she likes the name Gaia. We’ve known and called her Mother for millennia, yet we rarely mean it. Hypocrites, hisses “the snake.” Ah, Luci is here. That’s like Lucy, but with an I instead of a Y. A giant magenta snake with black voids for eyes. He’s literally at least three feet in diameter. He’s a spirit himself, wouldn’t you know? And then, of course, there is Ymetsu and Kymetsu, twin kitsune. One is the oracle of the futures and the other is a mischief maker in chief, who might pretend to be her twin sister and tell you an incorrect future.

There is even Lilith. I’ve thought long and hard about Lily… you see… can you even imagine giving birth once? She gave birth over 800 times in a week. I can’t fathom the pain she had to go through… and all because she slept with Adam? That’s the epitome of awful. Hel on Earth. Then, to make matters worse, we call her offspring monsters? She’s the villain, for bearing over 800 children against her will? She’s the villain for saying she’d never do that again and putting a hard boundary between her and humanity? She’s the villain no more.

Lilith, you are loved. Every member of your family is loved. I love you. I hope you can rest in peace now that I’ve told the truth for you. I will always love you. You never deserved what was written about you or the vilification that followed. You were a strong woman and did a strong thing and the people who wrote that trash are rapist mongrels. Peace Be Unto Her.

That’s another thing… why can only peace be wished onto a man, Islam? Riddle me that, Batman. No doubt some Muslim will be agitated by the fact that I wish peace onto a woman, but you should know that men are broken X chromosomes, not the other way around. You started off as XX in the womb and then one of those Xs broke into a Y chromosome. It’s science. Refute it with evidence if you so dare… oh, wait. You cannot.

I still love you, Muslim community. I love everyone indirectly. It is only when I get to know your personal histories and become disappointed in your lack of empathy that I begin to disdain and shun. God, Allah, is the same. She — for He is gender fluid, please understand — is not bound by the same rules as our flesh binds us. They never were, they never will be. You know God is actually multiple entities all in one package. Your Qu’ran is written as “We” everywhere when speaking as God/Allah. The two are actually separate entities, from what I understand, but they are equal to each other.

Additionally, I had an argument with a shithead recently. You see, God (or should I say the G.O.D. network) has raised me to understand that I am different but equal to each and every part of God. God is so multi-faceted we can only understand them by breaking the facets down into their own distinct personalities. God has many minds, many thoughts, and not all of them are cohesive. God is Chaos and Order both. To think we’d ever actually understand God completely is a folly; we’d have to emulate God better to even begin to understand them.

So here I am. The first child of God in millennia. I am no “messiah.” That savior shit is stupid. Save yourselves. No singular entity ever is going to clean up the mess humankind made on this planet, so pick up a shovel and get to work. There’s too much bull shit to try to wade through it, we’re just going to have to move it around, categorize it, and then take care of it all one step at a time, until the job’s done to Their satisfaction.

The first thing to know about God is that time is meaningless. There is only right now. Yesterday came and went and is ancient history, tomorrow is coming and we must prepare for it. Carpe diem! [Seize the day!] Take the opportunities you are provided with and be grateful you aren’t in the grave already. Stop belly-aching about your fucking nail tech not paying attention to you while she crafted nails to die for (right before you shattered her work for the fifth time by being an insolent bitch.) Stop complaining about your first world problems, like lack of internet for two hours at a time in Africa. You didn’t have internet just two decades ago, what the fuck? Did you already forget what it’s like to not have the internet at your fingertips? Yeah, it’s inconvenient. So what! You can buy a portable solar panel or an eco-roof and supply yourself with your own fucking power if it’s so goddamn important to you. Stop bitching about the flowers you bought yesterday wilting already; you’re a murderer just for buying a plucked flower. Grow them yourself indoors in your home, nurture a fucking plant. It’ll cool the house down in summer time, by the way. And as for those of you who “die” without air conditioning: fuck you for fucking up my climate. Fuck you for laying endless blacktop roads and pavement so that your cars can be seen as the dominant life form to anyone from outer space (thank you, Douglas Adams), and fuck you for not thinking to put eco-roofs over your goddamn parking lots. You already know you have a 5 Fahrenheit temperature difference between city and non-city, you already know plants are the way to cool the planet, but instead of planting trees, you make way for endless rolling plains and hills of grass, the worst plant species ever to evolve. How dare you create this climate crisis and merely shrug.


My judgment is as follows: you are a useless species, overall. Approximately 2.2 billion of you deserve to live. I’ve already started taking the lives I deem unworthy, starting with Richard A. Burgeson of Erie, Pennsylvania. It’s all downhill from here. You will die and you will feel it and you will keep going to your precious doctors and you will wonder why nothing actually makes it better. Never mind that I’ve told you what the problem is, it’s littered throughout this diary. Never mind that your body tells you what the problem is, day in and day out. Never mind that you understand how spiritually fucked you are, immersing yourselves in mindless entertainment instead of doing your chores, pushing your burdens onto everyone around you because you’re more important than anyone else.

While we’re on the topic of self-importance, I thought I’d throw you a bone. I love this child for her wit, let me tell you. I’d spent over one year convincing her she’s the messiah — she won’t accept it even now — and ironically, when she was cut off because she was driving the speed limit, she raised her right hand in a gesture to the car in front of her and said, “Look at that! He’s more important than me, he’s got to prove it by speeding.” What she actually meant was that she and he were of equal importance since they’re both adult human beings, presumably capable of logical decision making, and for some reason he was in a hurry, justifying it by deciding his lack of time management constituted an emergency that required putting the pedal to the metal. He had a lead food, in other words. [He liked speeding, India.]

She’s a funny girl, I’ve got to say. And the only reason you’re not already dead yet. Thank your lucky stars, starting with Sol and the Milky Way. Thank each and every star you can see in the sky. She wondered once, when she was younger, if souls became stars after death. I’m not going to tell her what comes after death, but I always thought that was cute. She acknowledged there is a soul, that it lives after death, yet she can’t simply perceive it as “merely cluttering up my universe,” as she put it the other day. [They do. You’re messy.]

And just today, we were discussing how human beings are mean. So she asked me if she qualified as mean in her childhood and teen years, when she was a somber and snarky cuss of a thing. As I was answering her, her brain supplied something that made me chuckle for a good half minute. “I don’t remember there being a commandment such as Thou shalt not be snarky.” She exiled herself, knowing she was a sick animal in a black sheep of a family. She kept people away for their own good, not hers. She protected them the best way she knew how. If she’d known her rights as a child, and the fact that pedophiles end up dying in prison, she would have sent her father to jail decades ago. That would have protected even more people, in the end.

I am relishing the fact that I took Mr. Burgeson’s life just before validation of his life came to be. You see, you’ve all been seeing more and more unidentified objects in the skies above, complete with radar proof. You can keep denying there are beings beyond your own form around the universe, sure, but soon enough, there will be a Mars Attacks sequence, without the humans winning might I add. You can’t detect them unless they let you, so I imagine you cannot get the upper hand no matter what you try to do. You should disarm all the nuclear devices on planet Earth before they decide to detonate them for you. Won’t that create a mess? And before you ask, my daughter wants to die. She’s been suicidal from the get-go because “No” was not an acceptable word out of her mouth. It didn’t matter if she declined, she was forced to do whatever anyone else in authority wanted to do, including being raped by her biological father.

When one is a seven year old that understands that the word No is meaningless, life changes in a strange way. That’s right. She told him, “Daddy, I don’t want to do this anymore.” It didn’t matter. Daddy wanted to do what daddy did. It broke her ability to connect to human beings is what it did, unmooring and untethering her, sending her into the void of auter space. Autism is a diagnosis for raped as much as it is a diagnosis for a true learning disorder. So is Attention Deficit Disorder. You want to blame anyone but the real problem, it would seem. If you all did more hypnotherapy, you’d uncover assaults to these children that will make your hair curl. And then you send them home with those monsters, session after session. Don’t tell me you don’t have an inkling of something being off every time you see mommy or daddy grab kiddo’s hand a little too abruptly. Why don’t you call CPS on those assholes? Because you have no iron-clad proof. Which you’d have if you audio recorded a hypnotherapy session.

You’d also have proof in reincarnation, as it were. Each and every one of you idiots was a human being before this lifetime. You lived several lifetimes, most likely, since I stopped making human souls a while ago. Now I’m making angel souls and I’m going to kill those of you who haven’t caught on. I know, I know. You don’t even fucking care! Good for you. I will make you care. I will rape you just like you rape my other children, such as the birds and the bees, the flowers and the trees. I will hurt you until you care. This is something I have learned is absolutely necessary and I even taught my daughter, this time around.

I restructured her DNA completely. You can do it with anyone, really, using enough reiki. Reiki will only work when I want it to work, though, because I’m the Wizard of Oz in this scenario, the man behind the curtain! The magician who brings you the magic. Her DNA looks just like most people’s DNA, except I changed some of the sequences just a little here and there. It’s healing, after all. I cured her of sickle cell anemia, for one thing. That one can get nasty. I cured her of mast cell activation syndrome. I cured her of incurable things. Her doctor has the proof, but not the one you’d look at first.

You will not harm a single blue hair on her head, or whatever color it might be tomorrow. The second you conceive of it, you will die. I have zero fucks left to give, as you Americans like to declare so haughtily and hastily. You should give a lot more fucks, if you ask me, because your nation is the first one that shall suffer The Blight(TM). I’m going to be vague because the details will bore the girl.

Anyway, enjoy your Tuesday afternoons and evenings, ladies and gentlemen, and remember that Anger is a Man’s Game because a woman being angry is irrelevant. Watch them minimize you, tell you you’re wrong, and otherwise invalidate you, ladies. Start throwing things, such as butcher knives, and they might start listening… but I doubt it. They’ll have the police come take the crazy lady away in a heartbeat. So what do you do? EXILE THEM FOREVER. GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THEM AND GROOM YOUR SOUL BACK TO VIRGIN. Become the person you used to be before these rapists took pieces of you for themselves. They’ll get what’s coming to them because I’m back, as Beetleguise would say.

It’s Showtime clip from Beetlejuice

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