The Myers-Briggs

The Myers-Briggs test is a realy destructive thing in our society. Not only does it indicate that people’s personalities are “fixed” it also indicates that we can’t change or do well under different kinds of situations.

Vox video on the Myers-Briggs

It’s a spectrum apparently, Introversion versus Extroversion but the idea of “Introversion” is inherently flawed. It’s just another label to understand how people interact, one that’s “binary” and uninfluential but somehow pervasive. This is pop-psychology. And I mean the thing is that psychology is complicated, but it’s not something that can be understand by crunching numbers or understanding physics.

Humans have feelings and our feelings play into how we will interact in EVERY situation, perhaps not in our choices but definitely our interactions. Even saying “I don’t care” is as potent as sucking “I fucking hate it”.

An intuitive person can understand what someone is actually saying, from their tone, their eyesight and just their all around demeanour. But many of us are blocked by trauma and emotional stunting, handed down by our parents or superiors. We can break free of that, as I’ve discussed in other posts…

But what is the Myers-Briggs? It’s a test that employers use to define their employees by a rigid standard. Now people might say “But sixteen is a lot” (that’s how many types exist) but truly the types aren’t all that different. If you’ve ever taken the test, you’ll know how wonderful and individualistic you are. See that’s the problem with this test, it’s makes everyone sound special.

That’s the problem with our culture, we’re always looking for a way to explain our behaviour. But if we learned to not explain ourselves, not apologise for our actions and just sit with the guilt and frustration that comes with living life we would come to see that this world is not for us. It’s built to work against us.

I think it’s hilarious that organisations use personality tests when they themseles have no psychological training, and also no psychological involvement in their own trauma and baggage. But that’s the problem, people don’t know how other people work! Don’t you think as human we would have the best understanding of ourselves? It’s true, our autonomy has been taken away.

Our sense of knowing things that others don’t! Our sense of well-being, of taking risks and when to hold back. We each know what the “correct” choice is, so why don’t we listen?

Some crummy test isn’t going to help employers be better, it’s not going to help anyone.

I used to get so obsessed by the idea, with my “type”. First I was an ENFP, then I was an INFJ. Can you believe how excited I was to be an introvert? It finally explained all my flaws, all my awkwardness in situations! Well perhaps I just didn’t want to be there… perhaps I didn’t want to flirt or “try and make friends”, perhaps I just wanted to be ‘myself’.

My explorative and loving self!


Fake Happy

So I’ve been listening to Paramore’s new song “Fake Happy” and although as touching as it may be, it really got me thinking about my own life. What do people mean when they fake smile? Do they do it with intention or are they just afraid? Anyway, I thought I’d transcribe the lyrics and dissect them for my pleasure (and yours). Enjoy!

I been doing a good job of makin’ ’em think
I’m quite alright
But I hope I don’t blink
You see its easy when I’m stomping on a beat
But no one sees me when I crawl back underneath

See what I love about this first paragraph (or verse) is that you get the feeling Hayley has been in many situations where she just doesn’t fucking care, but she has to pretend to be happy. Correlate this with another song on the album “Rose-Colored Boy” in which she says:
“Just let me cry a little bit longer
Hey man, we can’t all be like you”
And you get the sense that Hayley has had to put up with some real bullshit. Heavens knows I’d slap a bitch if they didn’t let me cry. You gotta let it out man, holding it in hurts. People tell me to “be happy” (or well they used to), all the time, but those people have no idea what the pain feels like. When you don’t want to do something or you feel violated by someone elses stupidity and aroggance. I can imagine Hayley being in the car, not wanting to go into this party where she has to be “fake happy”, telling her boyfriend to just let her cry. Funny.

If I smile with my teeth

I find this interesting because I used to never smile with my teeth. I must have always looked Glum, haha.

Bet you believe me

And the funniest thing is that I think people do actually believe you. Or at least they don’t care because they feel pain too, and your pain makes them uncomfortable and frustrated. So just smile, and it’ll be alright.

If I smile with my teeth
I think I believe me

This is pretty fucking creepy if you think about it. Because we do believe ourselves when we smile, “oh this is me being happy”. Actually I’ve seen that given as advice on tumblr and shit, “smiling makes you feel better”. Well if I’m being abused every day, smiling isn’t going to make me happy, haha.

Oh please don’t ask me how I’ve been

I feel you Hayley. I’m so over being asked “how I am”, it’s a very invalidating thing that the English language expects us to answer with “Good”. Sometimes it’s just a greeting, other times I feel like I’m actually being questioned about my wellbeing and health, and yet I’m expected to answer “GOOD!” when I’m feeling bad. Otherwise I’ll pity and stupidity. “Oh what’s up schnookums”… Fuck Off.

Don’t make me play pretend
Oh no, oh what’s the use
Oh please, I bet everybody here is fake happy too

This is the funny thing, we often do feel that others are making us play pretend and yet we don’t recognise our own involvement in the situation. The double entendre in this line is quite fascinating. “Playing pretend” is something children do, but in this instance it’s something trifle and horrible, to be avoided. The meaning of “pretending” has flipped in adulthood. We pretend to keep other people happy and into “it”, whatever “it” may be. But usually I would feel exhausted and never feel “into it”…

And if I go out tonight, dress up my fears
You think I’ll look
alright with these mascara tears?

The idea of dressing up one’s own fears is very unusual. But if you look at it closely that’s what we do. We wear designer clothes and fancy jewellery in order to not b judged by those around us. We want to impress in order to be accepted. Our fear of innacceptance is more potent than our desire to be free. So Hayley says, “how about I draw my face on how I want”, with her “Mascara tears?”, and in this way people will be able to see “the truth”. That she’s been crying and is vulnerable. There’s nothing more vulnerable than showing people that you’ve cried. If you let them, people will really ridicule you for it.

See I’m gonna draw my lipstick wider than my mouth
And if the lights are low they’ll never see me frown

This part of the song is definitely about performing. To be a good act for the audience. I feel like an audience would respond to you if you were being “real” but how can you be real when you don’t want to be there. Maybe it is time for Hayley to give up paramore? It seems like it’s at the end of it’s rope. It was a creative journey but it’s time for something new. I think she’s gone out with a good bang.

Thanks for listening!

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Dear Men and Boys

It’s not natural to masturbate all the time. If you masturbate constantly then chances are that you have been abused.

Our cultural obsession with pornography is no the problem, it is what drives the obsession.

Before I realised that I had been abused I used to masturbate constantly. Every single night, before I went to bed, almost without a doubt I would masturbate. And when I would stop myself from masturbating, I would feel worse.

See, I thought that my dreams were reality, or maybe it was that reality was my dreams? No, I believed I was gay because I contantly had thought about having sex with my father. They were pervasive, and after seeing a psychologist for about a year or so, I thought they had gone away. But slowly they came back in full force.

The problem with our culture is that nobody talks about sex. Sex is taboo. People now talk about blow jobs like they’re candy. It’s funny because I remember reading in Foucault’s (?) novel on gender and sexuality that we had become subversive of our own subjugation.

That is to say, that while subjugating ourselves and our sexuality we seek to be free from it. Let’s be honest, blow jobs and things aren’t natural. Are they a part of the natural human experience? I don’t know, I’m not a scientist. All I know is that penises were designed to go in Vagina’s. And I hear the masses cry “But the g-spot is in the anus!”.

The g-spot is a cultural myth designed to make you think that you’re gay, I’m sure of it. From narcissists who like to fuck little boys. Little teenage boys. And the world cries: Homo’s aren’t peadophiles! I never said that…

The two are culturally interlinked. The gay and the peadophilic (or the hebophilic) are intertwined in a way that is unrecognisable. They are indistinguishable because both are about controlling another.

Gay men don’t love each other. The idealistic gay man who acts straight but loves dudes, but doesn’t bring his boyfriend around unless they’re married DOES NOT EXIST. And it’s funny that people keep trying to make it exist. The media, movies, everything. Anyone who makes a film about being gay has never actually been to a pride parade, it is hell for anyone who isn’t in it.

Gay men are narcissistic to a fault. There is no one more obsessed with self-image than the homosexual. And that includes women. Because women are obsessed with the masculine ideal just as much as gay men are.

You know how to get hits on Grindr? Pretend you’re a straight man. Sure, there are gay men out there desperately looking for love, desperately looking for “the one”. The one’s that feel they have no value without a man, like a trophy wife.

Then there are the gay guys who seems like they have everything. Who just fuck and get fucked and love to suck cock and eat ass, have a great job and a great apartment. But where are these men? They don’t exist. They’re a weird idealised version of some kind of cultural malaise. They are the new “Bachelor”.

You know, the self-obsessed male who lives on his own in a one bedroom?

They’re no longer after women, now they love men. Because to love men makes them special. “I’m gay, notice me!” and it’s funny because nobody says it, but gay men are the most attention whorish of them all. They think that they’re so wonderful, they’re on the brink of cultural evolution! Well we folks, are on the brink of cultural destruction. History deems to repeat itself and it certainly already has, and because we know nothing of history, we are doomed to repeat it’s mistakes.

Hitting on Girls

I never used to get it. I would think “of course guys are gonna hit on girls?” like “don’t girls love that shit?” and no, they don’t. I can see now what would be frustrating about a girl always getting hit on by every guy she meets, especially if she’s just trying to make a connection.

I was just witness to a very similar event. And I analysed my own interactions with a girl based on the interactions I saw of a guy with the same girl. And there is so much miscommunication it’s ridiculous. The girl ends up just being “nice” and when the dude sees that the girl doesn’t want to put out, they think she’s stupid or a prude and immediately lose interest.

Hate loses power quickly and that’s where lust comes from, it comes from hate. It doesn’t come from a place of understanding or Love.  We love to touch each other’s bodies, sure, but is that of curiosity or because you want to “eat” someone. It can be both? (When I say “eat”, I’m talking about “lustful desire” but to me, lust is like the urge to eat, the urge to quench undying thirst). And I mean, I think that’s what Greed is, it’s taking something for the sake of having it.

Our bodies want things, they want food, they want objects. They think that if they can get all this stuff then they’ll be happy. But we all know that’s not true, satisfied maybe, but we can find true satisfaction by listening to our “true self” by listening to our “heart”. See the body will eat 10 thousand hamburgers and be happy with that, but the spirit never will be. That’s why we have to keep eating burger after burger in order to satisfy ourselves. It’s “accumulation” of things, our body understands that it needs to “accumulate” stuff in order to be happy, so it needs more and more every time. However, we know better.

We know that we’ll suffer if we eat ten thousand burgers. We know that we’ll suffer if we let men take advantage of us. And I do mean men, because I’m not sure if a woman could take advantage of a man sexually if she wanted to.  But I’m open to persuasion on that point. But the body lusts after sex, and it lusts after food in much the same way. In fact, I think these desires are one in the same, the desire to consume.

So how can you want to consume someone and have it be love and kindness? You can’t. In fact, you’re doing that person quite an injustice because you’re not even treating them like a human. You’re treating them like and object, like food that needs to devoured.

Hate loses power quickly, it loses motivation and it’s gone in a flash. Ever heard that phrase “lost in a moment of passion”, you were ravenous for a second and now you feel guilty and hateful. You don’t need to feel guilty but you definitely feel much better if you don’t lust after people like they’re objects. Here’s me looking at you men!

So let me just say for the record that the desire to fuck everything that moves men is not “natural”. Usually guys only do this to be cool in front of their friends. If they get to “fuck” then they’ve achieved something. But really you haven’t, you haven’t achieved anything. You’ve just left yourself feeling sad lonely and desperate.

I hate it when people invite me somewhere out of loneliness. I’m not lonely! Leave me alone! I like sitting at home with my cats (I don’t have cats!) and reading a book! (I love books. But I also love TV). You’re just inviting me because you feel lonely! Blurgh! Bleh! Blah!

But that’s another story entirely,

Thanks for listening.

And stop hitting on girls!

Peace Out!

Sullivan Skandi


Stop calling me Bro.


Just stop it and I’ll give you a cookie alright?

Fuck, seriously, it is so annoying to speak to someone and one of the first words out of their mouth is “What’s happening BRO”, like I’m not your brother? I don’t even know you.

People who will defend this bullshit will tell you that it’s “all in good fun, harmless, just a thing we say”. Funnily enough those are the same kinds of people who will tell you that everything you say matters cause it impacts your psyche, in order to stop you from say… swearing at them when they call you bro?

And that’s another thing, “mind your manners”, Or “don’t swear”, “no swearing please”. FUCK OFF. It’s just a word and it expresses how I feel. What are you? My mum. Stop giving words so much power over you. “Oh he said fuck, so offensive! I’m triggered right now!” says the alt-right while they drink their coffee from a take-away sales cup.

Who told you that it was bad to swear? I read articles everywhere that say more intelligent people swear and fuck yeah we do. But that’s not it, more “intelligent” people are just in tough with themselves. See there was this push in the early to late nineties to make “smart” kids, well, unfortunately, you can’t “make” smart kids, you just have to let them be.

Just because someone’s a truck driver doesn’t mean they’re not smart. Maybe that’s just their experience. You always need something to prove your worth in this world, whether it be your intelligence or your income… I’ve been thinking about the sharing economy. Isn’t it ridiculous that you call it that? You’re not sharing anything. It’s a fucking economy. You’re paying for shit. People propose that this makes the world better but fuck, it doesn’t. It’s driving up house prices in every cpaital city in the world making affordable living more innaccesible to people on the bottom level all in the name of “sharing”.

The real people who need to “shared” with are the ones who have nothing. But unfortunately that rarely ever happens because you need to *have* something before you can *share* it. So if I don’t have anything to *share* then I’m not worth *having* something from you either. And that’s just ridiculous.

So we subjugate the masses because we’re all too afraid to tell people that we’re poor. Why is it such a fear that you have no money? It seems that in America almost noone has money and they’re fine. But here we have savings up our rear-end and ten bank accounts full of unused funds wasting away at the sight of your credit card and you can’t even spare ten bucks for that guy on the street?

That’s another story though, I don’t give money to people on the street because I don’t feel sorry for them. I don’t show them pity so that they know they’re worthy of love and affection and that they don’t have to beg for it. If we lived in a kinder world, people would just give their stuff because they would realise those things are coming back around again?

Seriously, we have too much shit. And this is why I hate being called Bro because it symbolises a relationship that we do not have! Do you think we can be friends because you are my financial or societa equal? I doubt it. You are stupid, and I’m tired of people trying to manipulate me. And that is manipulation! Telling me I feel like a brother to you when I don’t even know you make me feel guilty for thinking less of you! It’s a trick! Indecent and exploitative behaviour that needs to be quashed. I’m done with it. No more Bro and no more taking people for advantage just because they don’t exist on the same “plane” as me, whatever that plane may be.

Thank you for listening,

Joshua Thompson.


via Daily Prompt: Puncture

I’m punctured, I feel like a punctured balloon most times. I feel like I’m mostly trying to keep myself afloat through this world that I live in.

I noticed recently that my inner-dialogue didn’t really match reality, but it’s always been a bit like that for me. Not having a path, not having a future just kind of meandering along and letting people take advantage of me.

But now I’ve spun the other way so that I won’t even communicate with people if I think they’re going to harm me. The thing is I think you can let people harm you and show them how that makes you feel. That’s kind to express your emotions fully.

I can’t help but think how my life would be different if I had just recieved some kindness on my journey. I knew something was wrong because I felt ultimately anxious. I felt like I was spiraling out of control and just barely able to keep it together. I avoided everything that made me sad or angry unless I had to go.

I realise that that is just not a way to live. You can’t go around expecting people are going to hurt you but you also can’t go around expecting that people aren’t. You also can’t avoid people or avoid situations that make you feel bad, which isn’t necessarily what I was doing but I would avoid people up to a point.

I got to the point where I was avoiding people so much that I’ve barely had a coversation with anyone in almost a month. And I mean a real conversation. A loving heartfelt conversation and I thought everyone in this world was crazy. Turns out I was the “crazy” one.

But that’s not being crazy, I was still in touch with myself, I just wasn’t in touch with my reality. And the reality was that I was feeling paranoid. Paranoid about the world, paranoid about people. Can you blame me? I’d been manipulated into thinking I was nuts and then being instituionalised.

The funny thing is that if I’d just said “I feel paranoid” then they probably would have let me go. But I avoided the question or the suggestion altogether and I’m sure that made me look nuts. But I’m glad. I’m glad I’m at this point.

Because, I have the strength to do what I want to do. I have the strength to heal and this realisation is a testimony to that. I’m grateful in a matter of words. I’m grateful for the wonderful life I live. And I’m grateful for the strength to be the best that I can be.

Thanks for listening,

and as always, stay true to yourself,


The Story of Paranoid Me

Now here’s a story that I’m not very proud of. This happened to me long ago, or it seems like long ago. It seems like a different solar system actually, haha, but I’m going to tell it anyway because it’s important.

I have been institutionalised before, I think I might have mentioned this in a previous blog post but anyway, I’ll mention it again. I was put in a mental health facility because well I won’t go into the details. But it all accumulated from my housemate being scared of me because I threw a potplant out the window (not even through the glass, just onto the footpath from an open window and not even because I was angry at her).

My parents showed up at my house and I’m guessing if you’ve read my previous blog posts you’ll know that I don’t have a good relationship with my parents. In fact, I don’t have any relationship with them except in court proceedings currently and that has taken a lot of courage. I’m not even up to the final part yet but it still feels so scary.

Anyway, I was institutionalised because I showed up at my friend’s house wearing business attire and talking about why I needed to speak with him that day, right then and there. He wasn’t home, so why didn’t I just leave?

Well the thing is at the time my intuition told me not to leave, I was there for a reason. But I remember being deathly afraid of his parents. I later found out that he was at my house with my friend Nick. Uninvited.

See what had happened was I was walking around trying to figure out where Jack lived (don’t ask me what brought me to this point, because then I need to go into this whole deal about being on a bus and thinking I’m superman or something). Anyway, I’d been to Jack’s house before and I had gotten into a “kerfuffle” with Nick earlier in the day. Nick and Jack were good friends so I thought we could talk it over.

Immediately Jack replied (to my message which I had sent him): No, I’m not home, can we meet tomorrow?
Well it turned out that was a lie. Jack was actually home because what happened next was my phone died (forutitously) and Jack then tried to call me and messaged me “Where are you” and a few other things that I forget. So I walked around for the next two hours on some kind of forbidden quest to find where Jack lived.

So I arrive at Jack’s house and rock up to his back door, his parents answer and I’m immediately greeted with apprehensiveness. They were scared to see me. And sure I would be too if some random guy showed up at my door. But surely they knew who I was because Jack had been talking about me (this will become clear later). This is where it gets a bit blurry and I know I was acting a bit erradically. I had to ask his mum five times before I was able to get her to call him. (She said he was with his girlfriend Taylor).

Well, that was a lie as well. Because it turns out Jack was at my house, waiting for me. With Nick.

Now what you need to know about Me and Nick (and even Jack for that matter) is that we had never hung outside of social circles. Sure Jack and I had messaged a lot at the beginning of semester but now I only saw him when Nick picked me up for school (we studied Law together) so I wouldn’t have called us “friends”. Not that I didn’t want to be closer, I strived to be closer to people but I didn’t know how to put my boundaries up properly. I didn’t realise my own strength and my own need to protect myself against intruders into my inner world. But anyway, that’s what happens when you’re abused.

So Jack was at my house, with Nick. And I found this all out by tripping Jack up on his words. The thing is that during our conversation, I saw this like a video game, like Jack was the final boss on my day. And I mean Jack is smart but I didn’t have to manipulate him to get the truth. He would’ve told me if I let him.

Anyway, in a convoluted fashion I was able to devulge that 1. He had been home when I messaged him 2. He had waited to get a car so he could go to my house 3. He wasn’t with Taylor like his mum said. Now this is where the paranoia comes in because at the time, I truly believed this meant that there was some master plot to get me. And in a weird way there sort of was but I was scared Jack and Nick wanted to rape and murder me. I even visualised it and I spent the next days avoiding them but for some reason staying nearby where Jack lived. Am I starting to sound crazy yet?

The funny thing is that the next day I went to the doctor and I told him about the story on the bus. (I saved this girl whil also freaking out a bunch of other passengers -_-) And he told me I was paranoid.

Now you have to understand that my Father is a very paranoid man. He is scared of being broken into so much that he keeps a club by his bed and bits of wood around the house for easy access. I feared for my safety when I would go home on weekends.

He also keeps CCTV of the surrounds of the house on a monitor below the TV so that he can watch it constantly.

Does that not sound crazy?

So when the doctor said to me “you are paranoid”, I immediately remembered how I felt when people would say my Dad’s paranoid. “Oh Paranoia’s bad, so I can’t feel paranoid otherwise I’ll be bad so I have to shut it out. I don’t wanna be like my dad so I won’t be paranoid”. Well as you know, you can’t selectively block emotion, so I began feeling anxious. Very, very anxious and this was because I was paranoid. But I was genuienly paranoid because I had something to be afraid of.

See being paranoid isn’t bad until you don’t realise that you’re being paranoid. And fuck, I was going around town acting like a Schizo-maniac. I would talk to the most random people and say the most random shit.

It didn’t that only days later I was put into a mental health ward where it’s “bad” to be paranoid. I thought I had to pretend to be well in order to get out of there. All I needed was for someone to say to me “hey, what you’re doing is a bit nuts, what’s wrong?” and actually listen to me for it to go away. I had moments of pure consciousness and I’m better now but it took a little while to realise that’s what it was.

Should I feel bad for not realising my emotions?

Saturday’s are the Worst

As I sit here listening to a sporadic musician play out cover after cover of the same shit in the pub downstairs I am brought to a conclusion like none other. Saturday’s are shit.

Now I’m not some Saturday hater, in fact I Love Saturdays, I love all Saturdays and I love all days. But what I don’t like about Saturdays is everybody’s desperate attempt to make it the greatest time “of their life”. I feel it come about everyday Saturday: “The working week is done and Girls (or Guys) just wanna have fu-un”, Girls just wanna have fun! etc.

And unfortuntely that’s just not the case for the most of us. I feel it peter out in the afternoon when everyone is sitting on their couches sighing at the relief that they don’t have to go outside anymore. Then the slow upswing as they get ready for the pub and the inevitable downturn as you get through a few too many pints.

Let’s be honest, going outside is terrifying. I used to think that I was a bit of an anxious nob who didn’t like people at all and now I realise that I just don’t want to be judged. And that is pretty much all you get outside, Judgement with a capital J. The eyes of onlookers judging you on your clothes, the sight of cash attendants judging you on what you’ve bought. You always have to be on the defence to not let them get in you.

Now some may say that I’m being paranoid but the thing is it doesn’t worry me, I know who I am, and I love myself. I enjoy my own company and I’ve gone days without greeting the outside world to the bemusement of others. “Why doesn’t he hang out with us?” Well, because I don’t know you and I don’t care.

See there seems to be a presumption in this world that we should care what others think. We are a “social species”, no we’re not. We can get along just fine on our own, although the desperate need for affection becomes unberable at one point, but if you never knew of the existence of others you wouldn’t miss them. I think the only reason I feel sad at any given time is because I know there’s other people outside who I might want to talk to, if they’d give me the chance.

See the thing is, no matter much how I think other people are idiots, I do love them and I think the best of them. I just see that they are lost and I’d rather not get caught up in their stupidity and angst. I don’t want to sit around contemplating what a shit world we live in. I don’t think the world is shit! People are shit! But they want to talk to me, which is the funny part, when you ignore someone or go off to do your own thing suddenly they get all antsy. But the minute you turn around and look them in the eye and ask them something about themselves, they run in the other direction.

And there is no shortage of people in this world who will make fun of you. I don’t think they’re even doing it for their own satisfaction, because who gets satisfaction out of that? They do it because they’re sad, because they’re lonely. People are scared of me because I’m not lonely, although I do feel loneliness but it’s not the end of the world and I’ll find someone to fill my gaps with. I just don’t “need” them. I’ve got to work on myself. And this is what other people don’t understand.

I once had a conversation with a man who was down on his luck about dating. He’d gone 3 years without any substantial relationship and when I asked him what he’d done with those three years he said, “dived in a shark tank” to which I promptly replied: “why would you want to do that?” This man believed that the way to open yourself up was through experience and he’s right but he’s also wrong. Are you even afraid of sharks? I used to be deadly afraid of them but now I just don’t care. Why do we even go in the water? To get eaten?

You can’t go on a spiritual journey with frivolous experiences. What about doing something hard? Yeah sure diving with sharks is scary but there’s a cage between the two of you. How about diving without a cage? Now that’s scary.

That’s the problem, nobody knows how to break the barriers. We go out into our lives in a metaphorical cage. Our clothes, our jewellery, our makeup (or cologne or hair products for the guys), it’s all a disguise. A disguise of who we truly are because we’re afraid of being judged, afraid of doing something wrong in front of others. Well if you don’t go to the pub on a Saturday then you won’t need to dress up. Why don’t you stay home? And be sad and lonely and see what that feels like, because I promise you, on the other side of that there is hope. Hope for a better you, hope for a better life.

And that is why I dislike Saturdays. Sort of. Mostly.

Thanks for listening,

and as always, Love You!

xoxo Gossip Josh




When you have a bad relationship with your Parents.

Trigger Warning: Child Abuse, Anger.


It literally clouds your everything. For those who have great parents, the ones “who want to break free and do their own thing” as some might say, you will never know the truly crushing despair that is disapproval from your caregiver.

It is truly draining, it destroys the life source that you hold so dear. All of your autonomy, your individuality is taken away. Your capacity to make decisions about your own life is eliminated because you never felt like your voice was being heard.

You constantly put yourself down because “what kind of person do I think I could be” or you constantly undermine yourself “I need to stop” or you break at the chance of happiness. “Why is this person being so nice? I don’t deserve it”, or at least that’s what mainstream media would want you to think. Because the truth is that nice people are dangerous, nice people are generally bad people. People who are willing to do something for no gain other than to “feel good” usually want to hold it over you.

When I do something for somebody, I do it for no purpose and with no intention. I see something needs to be done, I see that they are struggling or I see that they need something that I have and which I myself don’t need. Some may say that’s altrusitic, but that is not the case. I am merely being kind because I seek kindness for myself.

Now this may be a complicated subject for some. Especially for those of us who are damaged, who aren’t the bearers of good fortune. Those of us who aren’t welcome at parties because we’re “too negative” or we’re put down because we “have too much to say” or we’re “just a saddo”.

Yes we are sad, sad because the world has treated us wrongly and we can’t just “get over it” because you’ve told us to. Especially not in a world that doesn’t need to heal its own wounds. We go to therapy, we go to the drugstore but nothing makes it feel quite right. Nothing seems to fill that yearning for a supportive father figure the way a gentle hug at the end of the day would.

That’s why so many of us turn to religion, “the son, the father and the holy ghost”? yeah sure, that’ll protect you, the father. Well you never had a good father so you’re interpretation of “the father” is all fucked up, I’m sorry to say. And turning to some mythical being in the sky or following some stupid ritual every sunday isn’t going to cure you. Don’t you know you can make your own ritual?

Religion prays on the weak, I hate to say it, it takes those of us who have been beaten by the world and takes away our souls. Live by the flesh and eat our saviour. Doesn’t it seem awfully demonic that Christianity celebrates the rising of a dead person? And then eats their flesh and drinks their blood? I’m certain if Jesus actually lived, he did not say that. Fuck you King James.

I recently watched The Book of Eli and I was shocked that they so openly said the book he carried was a King James bible, when I realised that that’s all we can relate to. The movie is trying to tell the story of Jesus through a new lens, a new scope but unfortuantely the damage is done, the translation is fucked and now we’re here. If you’ve ever read the bible you’ll know that much of what it says is incredibly fucked and nonsensical. Most of it doesn’t make any sense whatsoever, there are clear lines of dialogue that point at something, followed by a destructive paragraph that any high school english teacher would gawk at amorously trying to decipher its meaning. It’s poetry. Well a book that is meant to give me “guidance” isn’t supposed to be misunderstood and be up for interpretation. The meaning should be obvious and clear. But we can’t go back now because we’ve come so far forward, we need to find a new way to be.

The sad thing is many of us (who have damaged and damaging parents) don’t know how to be. We don’t know how to make our voices heard or how to let ourselves feel. We’re all broken in sadness and we shut off that little bit of ourselves that says “hey, I’m here to help”. Because we can help ourselves, we’ve just forgotten how!

But maybe it wasn’t a parent, maybe it was a school teacher or a minister or even a catholic priest. In the end it doesn’t matter because the damage is done, and we’ve been destroyed but the magic is that we can start anew! But we can’t start anew by rehashing the old dialogue over and over again. We need to be nice to ourselves before we can be nice to anyone else. And we need to be kind because fuck being nice, nice is horrible, I’d rather someone slap me than “be nice” to me… You might understand what I mean once you’ve broken free of that haze you live in. The haze that tells you you’re worthless and dying of everything from cancer to rheumatoid athritis.

You can’t go to a therapist and cure yourself in a flash, it doesn’t work like that. But what you can do is start on your journey today and understand that you journey up to this point has been dictated by somebody else. And you need to find out who that somebody was before you can move forward. So take a break, take a load off and learn to be what it is to not have shitty parents. And to not always wonder, will they ever love me?

‘Cause the answer most definitely is, no, they won’t.

Polish or Polish?

via Daily Prompt: Polish 

See, I would read this is as Polish. As in the country and I’m not sure really what to write about Poland, except that they were heavily involved in WWII.

I once heard someone say that Polish people are depressed or depressing and that Warsaw was a depressing place. Well, for a place that houses a Nazi camp, or the remnants thereof you’d think it’d be a little bit depressing? We were in high school and she was 17, speaking through her 12 year old self who had visited Poland. But it got me thinking, do all places have the be happy fun and cheery?

I had a bit of a moment this week where I relapsed into a bout of sadness. Now it wasn’t depression because I know how depression feels and that is a lack of emotion. But this was definitely the cool drag of sadness. The kind of sadness that only Slavic hostiles know.

You know the ones who survived the war and lived through capitalism when it first arrived. I felt sad and I wondered why, but I more wondered why I wasn’t letting myself just feel it? I was still doing stuff, everything was just shaded by this cool blue that coloured everything like a dark cloud. I guess all those poets and centuries of literature has been right about how sadness feels and impacts your view of the world. But it wasn’t something I could come out of. I knew it would pass.

And this is when I realised that sadness isn’t bad, I actually kind of enjoyed it. It was quite a change from blissful anonimity that I mostly feel. I got to enjoy things in a different way, see them in a different light, all from the comfort of my loungeroom. And it also gave me a reason to stay in bed. “I feel sad” is as good an ailment as any I suppose.

We live in a world that doesn’t allow us to feel, that’s scared of people getting angry and even angrier at people who feel sad. Aren’t I allowed to feel my emotions?! No say the workforce, no says your local baker, stop telling me about your life story, I’ve got customer to serve. I was watching a video in which a spritely millenial used the term: “Don’t you have anyone else to talk to” No, I don’t, that’s why I’m telling you? That’s sad? what’s even sadder is my dad’s just died. So how about that? FFS.

That’s what happened in the video, a woman talked about her dead dad to the sandwich maker and he was perplexed as to why she was telling him her life story. Maybe it’s because she thinks you’re a good listener you selfish prick. Seriously, it really gets on my nerves that selfish and pragmatic millenials believe that they don’t have to give even their time to people in need. Haven’t you ever heard of volunteering you little fuck?

Where was I? Oh right, Poland. I don’t think Polish people are so bad. Sad, maybe but homely, sure. They know kindness. Or as my favourite character from The GoldFinch would say “Swedish, very unhappy people” Okrzyki!