Scrappy Earthling

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wish to be essayist, storyteller, poet-singer, filmmaker, social entrepreneur, originator and ward off (evil) …

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The missing 90-days notice

4 months ago |

When I was a toddler, I guess probably cuz I went to a wedding in the female section with my mom, I learned to dance. I can't pinpoint when, my brain is exhausted at the moment, but when I was told the restrictions on dancing in public, I end up keeping my skills to myself ...

But now, after all these years, there is this image my subconscious wishes to bring to reality: dancing to P!nk's 90 Days near the water. You see ...

P!nk. "90 Days (Official Video) ft. Wrabel." Hurts 2B Human. Jun 18, 2019.

When I was younger and my 2 years younger sister was 17, and her favorite music were a few Persian pop music, I usually made fun of her cuz to my judgment it was ridiculous: a girl who has never touched a boy thinks songs that are about romantic relationship between young men and women are speaking her state of mind and emotions ...

But here I am. I fucking never was in a relationship. And mines is "90 days".

It's not my conscious judgment, you see ... these past days my brain is someone else ... to be frank, I think I have only authority over 1% of my brain. At least 30% of it is aliens, and in between 90% of it is in darkness from my awareness ....

So, we have a complicated coexistence, to say the least. But "90 days" has no part, or almost no part my part of brain's contribution. That's the only thing making the difference between being a vegetable and seeming like a living human being in the eyes of others ...

But here we are, you know. So, let's make sense of a subconscious:

God, Jennette ... God, Jennette.

You know, I really wished she had given us a heads up about not posting anything from her daily life: I mean, fucking yeah, Honey, you don't want me/us to have even that almost nothing interaction; of course Honey, I'll cut my system off it in 90 days.

Fuck it, Honey, you know, regardless of how ruined I was, I would search a video with your name, when I could remember Jennette McCurdy is the most important living person on the Earth to me ... but when I did remember it, a few minutes in your video and I had enough pieces of me back together to go on for a few hours ...

But now, when I break, there is nothing to bring pieces back together ... just a heads up Sweetheart would have saved lives, I mean, at least 90 days in advance though ...

It's funny. In fact, it's fucking ridiculously unbelievable: we never had a relationship, I'm not wearing her jacket, and we are definitely not driving in her fast cars ... in fact, perhaps she wouldn't even be able to point to my face between a handful of other men my age ... perhaps even if I called her, she wouldn't know it's my voice, and of course, I would fail to pronounce her names appropriately. That's how far away we are from any real relationship, and still my existence rather had begged her for a 90-days advance notice to cuts its dependence on her updates about her life.

If the young me had known, I would be in a fucking worse place than my 17 years old sister was back then. Yeah, I had received warnings, like Amy MacDonald's song for her sister/friend who was obsessed with a celebrity:

MacDonald, Amy. "L.A." This is the Life. Feb 23, 2010.

Look, making everything fucking clear: I never wished a relationship with someone without all the rest of the conditions attached to it, the easiest: marriage. Of course, I asked her hand, what, you think I'm fucking nuts! Loving someone and keeping it a secret cuz, rejection, or what would people say?

I'm not mad honey, these fucking people wouldn't even care I was raped, I should care about their opinion regarding my romantic choices? You gotta be kidding me. As the principle goes: you have to plant a seed and care for it accordingly, for there to ever be anything to harvest!

But okay, there are background philosophies & views beneath the surface of the words on that text, that makes it a worked, required to be explained once upon a time ...

But I'm not sure if that time is now and the venue here.

PS. Sometimes when you tell someone, you wish to trust with your secrets, that you wish to become a singer/songwriter, they think what you mean is "I want to be famous and fuck teenage girls," use your fucking brain mate: people who walk underneath the rain while avoiding the protection of the umbrella their friends offer them, cover drop of tears on their face. I'm fucking public about being raped in childhood, but a grain of dignity in adulthood shouldn't be stripped away from me. So, is it better to be treated like a street-preacher gone wrong case for screaming out emotions residual from trauma, or should I do the exact same but be regarded as a singer? A little bit of dignity is the difference I sought after ... the fame & teenage girls yours!