I hate confrontation.
Most people aren't fond of confrontation, it seems too close to conflict. Someone's feelings could get hurt, and we all avoid that. People know me as a low key person, and that's true, I'm very nonconfrontational. The exception being if you’re someone I know on a deep level, or you’re a complete stranger that I don’t plan on seeing again. Maybe that’s one of those “all extremes are the same” things. In either case, you’ll get to see my anger problem.
An anger problem, at least in my case, isn't just an anger problem; it's an expression problem, and it affects all of my emotions. Anger is just the quickest to identify when it goes off the rails. Expressing anger is a healthy part of being human. Learning how to do it in a way that’s healthy, however, is very, very tricky. If love is blind, then anger is blind, deaf and mute. It has no interest in reason, being proactive about your situation, or doing damage control. When I’m angry, I want heads to roll.
That’s the reason I avoid confrontation. Even if I’m right and have perfectly valid, rational objections to what’s going wrong, the words I'll pick are pure emotional bile. It’s a phoenix in the fireplace. For the most part, that beast is contained and can even be wielded in my favor, acting as a kind of makeshift confidence I use when my own sense of self worth is lacking. Every once in awhile it blows out of control, then shrinks to ashes while I’m left to sweep up the pieces and rebuild.
It’s not a matter of if, only when, I lose it.
The world is full of complex people with problems of their own, and I'm not breaking any boundaries by having them myself. For the most part, we keep our emotions within socially acceptable range, but once in awhile, something or someone gets under our skin.
That's where I am now. It is a small and insignificant situation to anyone other than myself. For me, it's a frustrating waste of my energy. I find my own behavior childish, and despite the fact that I know better, I simply haven't figured out how to *be* better. There's an interesting correlation to being and behavior; one showcases the other. Having an intellectual nature doesn't stop you from being human or having human emotions. I haven't figured out how to bridge the gap; I can know how my actions differ from my rationale, but I can't align them. When I try, I feel more like a liar than when I'm genuinely lying to someone, does that make sense?
Maybe that goes back to the idea of belief; that a liar wants the victim to believe it. I don't really care if you believe my lies or honesty. I had to come to that in order to deal with my own life. But to try and behave in a way that doesn't align to the way I am as a human being, that feels like a dishonesty I want you to believe; that I want to believe. I haven't reconciled that yet, so that's just going to hang here.
I’m emotionally reactive about everything. If laughter is spontaneous and involuntary, so are my tears and insults. I think I come off as a relatively placid person because I have spent so much time trying to smuggle my time bomb around casually and leave before it goes off.
I only really started noticing this boiling behavior when I looked at it in terms of depression. Depression can keep you in a kind of stasis for a while, and likewise, you can contain it. Much like our firebird, that tidal wave can only be dammed for so long before it spills out into everything.
The only benefit I've ever had from having anger is that occasionally, it becomes a powerful motivator. My first ex told me I wasn't funny. For that matter, so did Jay. Friends of mine who I can't (or don't, to be fair) talk to have had all sorts of opinions about me and what I'm capable of, what I look like, and so on. Being competitive with my older brothers taught me how to harness those criticisms and make them an advantage.
There's other sources for that advantage though, namely encouragement.
So here's the thing about motivation from either source. Self awareness plays a pretty big role, as well as having a pretty good grip on how people perceive you. In terms of spite, you're proving people wrong. In reacting to encouragement, you're proving them right. Whether or not the person talking to you understands that is completely on them. How you handle it is on you.
About a year into comedy, I had hit the point that I think every new comic does where you start doubting if anyone is going to notice you're there. There's a lot to say about that, but I have to save it unless this post wants to turn into a novel. What I will say is that I had encouragement, not flattery. I had a comic I respected tell me I was "consistent". That doesn't say anything about how funny my material was, but it indicated that my efforts weren't being wasted.
There's nothing wrong with telling someone that they've got this if they keep trying. You don't need to blow smoke up their ass and say that they're already great, or that they're ahead of their time, that kind of bullshit. You don't even have to lie and say you like something that you don't, or tell them they have potential if you're honestly not sure they do. In fact, don't do that. You're hurting them more than "hurting the scene" because they can't get better if they're going off of purposeful misdirection in order to spare their feelings.
I highly recommend aiming for encouraging someone to be better over getting them to change out of spite; it's just more constructive and has a much lower risk of negatively impacting someone who's suicidal, which is very common in creative fields if not especially in comedy.
But even if encouragement is ideal, that doesn't make anger, spite, or negative drives disappear. I’m not really sure how to release my internal squall so it doesn’t consume me, but I think the healthiest thing to do with my anger is actually to force confrontation. The trick here is only to be confrontational when I also have empathy for the other person. If I can genuinely feel for the other person, even if I believe they’re in the wrong, I’m much less likely to go for their guts.
This has been a learning process, and I often miscalculate. I don’t realize how mean the words coming out of my mouth sound until they’re circling in the air like vultures. I’ve never been physically intimidating, and when I was bullied as a kid, I learned how to come up with words cruel enough to weaken a fist. I learned how to be the loudest not in volume, but in impact.
When I tried to stop that drive to insult as an adult,I forced myself to wait things out until I figured out how to say what I wanted to. Putting things off led to me not wanting to say anything at all, because I’d burned out for the time being and didn't feel like it.
Someone told me to express my feelings when I had them even if I didn’t have words to, which is both the best and most difficult advice I’ve ever tried to apply in my life. Verbal talons are only one side of having an anger problem; ironically, the other is the difficulty of expressing myself with words at all. It’s tough to formulate a calm, rational argument when there aren’t words in your head, just little pictures of explosions and war footage you’ve seen.
There is no “right time” to say you’re upset, and it makes very little sense to finally verbalize it when you don’t feel it. I get that this conflicts with the idea of “cooler heads prevail”, but cooler heads may not care, or diminutize the issue, or worse, dismiss it entirely. If you never address your anger, you’ll never really be controlling it. The misguided advice of “just let it go” is a platitude people tend to use without realizing that if you want to let an experience go, you have to experience it.
Sometimes I can’t do better in the moment than closing my eyes and telling the other person, “I’m Upset.”
I consider that basic sentence a huge leap forward from being able to look someone dead in the eye during the same rage and coolly saying, “Even when you’re trying your hardest, you’re still a fucking failure.”
I’m no longer looking to attack people when I confront them, and I think that’s why I’ve grown more comfortable doing it. As a result, even if it ends up being a long conversation, uncomfortably public or otherwise inconvenient. The opposite of Anger is kindness, but kindness doesn't mean you have to be nice.
Kindness comes from the root words for "kinship". The roots for "nice" are similar to that for "naive". Being kind to an angry person is expressing patience, not putting up with their bullshit.
I’m convinced that feelings are, and will almost always be, inconvenient. That’s sort of why they pop up, it’s your way of expressing your “being” in the moment. You have to recognize what it means to express yourself and attempt to be aware of why. Asking yourself why will teach you a lot. Trying to be more confrontational is my way of tending the fire. Maybe if I take care of it consistently, it’s less likely to blow out and leave ashes where some of my friendships used to be.
I never expected the “self destruct” part of my psyche to light up once I decided what I wanted to do with my life. I know depression is something that doesn’t simply vanish after an epiphany, but I guess I figured the sense of frustration and aimlessness that I’d been dealing with would wane once I had something that I was passionate about. Earlier this year, I hit a wall. I’ve been coping with the same depression that sneaks up on me from time to time, and it’s been particularly rough lately. I do this dance between not wanting to be seen by anyone to not trusting myself to be alone.
There’s something that seems very self defeating about turning your passion into a chore. There was awhile where I was forcing myself to write, not because I had writer's block, but it had become something I simply didn’t enjoy. The cruel counterbalance to that feeling was this yearning that any creative feels that I wasn’t doing enough; not writing enough, performing enough, getting out there enough. Not only did I stop enjoying what I was doing, I felt like I sucked at doing it. Try hopping out of bed in the morning after that kind of logic.
Sure enough, after feeling run down and generally shitty about the hole I’d dug myself into, financially, emotionally, psychologically-- The suicidal feeling wrapped around me like a worn out blanket. I started thinking about where I could fit suicide into my schedule. That kind of mental gymnastics is how depression works for me; it’s not constant or all consuming. It hangs around in the background like chili farts. I do my best to pretend I don’t have them and it feels a lot like so does everyone talking to me.
I say that last part because I’m not capable of hiding it when I’m unhappy, or happy for that matter. Whatever state I’m in I tend to advertise over my head like some cheap motel; No Vacancy, I’m consumed by my own sadness. That’s part of the reason I withdraw, I don’t want people to have to deal with Sad Kira. You won’t cheer me up, I can’t pull myself out of it, the dark thoughts are on repeat.
There’s a lot of pressure in comedy (and probably most art for that matter) to be seen, to be out at the right occasion, show your interest, whatever the fuck that means. I realized that the days I walk out wearing a storm cloud as a fashion accessory might not be an impression worth making. I don’t want to be seen as a moody, sad person, even if I suppose that’s what I am, if I’m honest.
A friend of mine confided in me with the same frustrations about depression, because it doesn’t go away, it ebbs and flows. It doesn’t make it better to know that other people feel that way, but it's illuminating. Sometimes you’re caught in the deep end and there’s not a lot you can do except ride it out until the chemicals in your brain align themselves. I say that, but I should add that there’s certainly things you can do to make it easier, and likewise things (like drinking, for me at least) that can make it a hell of a lot harder.
When I felt this way last year, that suicidal impulse, I forced myself to view “I want to kill myself,” as “This is killing me.” (Read that one here). Now that the panic and depression has returned, I’ve had to face that I can’t keep doing what I’m doing. I work a day job to support myself financially, hit mics, run shows, attempt to write whatever I assume is “enough”, taking on new projects like sketches and try maintaining ones like cartoons and these articles. After writing that down I still feel incredibly dissatisfied that that’s simply “not enough things”. I don’t really know what I quantify as enough, or if I’d know it when I saw it. It’s frustrating to think you may not be capable of doing everything you idealize as what you want.
I’ve been trying not to withdraw, despite the fact it can’t “look good” to be quiet or on the verge of tears for reasons I don’t even know. That being said, I’ve also had to acknowledge that I have to slow down, rest, and not tackle on every project and obligation I so desperately want to. I’m not balancing anything at the moment, I’m starting over. Starting over one something you’ve been working on for a couple years doesn’t seem to make sense. I suppose if your approach has proven to be ineffective or self detrimental, you don’t have a lot of choice.
I'm not sure where to fit this paragraph into the flow of this article, but given the fact that more than one comedian has comitted suicide in Colorado that I know if within the past year, all I can do is urge anyone who has that feeling to reach out to someone. Even if it doesn't feel like it helps. Even if they say the wrong thing. There's hotlines you can call, which I've never done, but if you need that help just ask for it. One time at a coffee shop I used to work at, I asked this woman how she was doing she told me, "Not great. I have cancer."
20 year old baristas aren't the most skilled psychologists, but we talked for awhile, and at the end of it she thanked me and told me that when you don't give a shit about yourself it helps to know that someone else will for a little bit, even if it's just their job. I don't even know her last name, but I still think about that sometimes. I think about the people that let me sit next to them without saying anything. I think about the people I don't know how to ask if they're okay. We all want to connect to one another, the worst part about depression is that it makes it seem like you're not capable of it any more.
If you’ve read this blog before, you may know some of my crazier ideas, including the one about the Kokadrille. I’ve never felt “whole”, or even like the only occupant of my body. Also, I feel like an occupant of my body and I don’t consider myself to be my body. There’s some pros and cons to this belief but either way it’s not one I can simply concede is false, because that’s how my perception of self works. It amazes that there are people with holistic views of themselves, I can’t conceive of what that would be like. Not feeling whole is part of what keeps me going; I owe it to my body not to kill it, because it doesn’t want to die. Even if I managed to stop caring about that, the monster in my head doesn’t really like the idea of losing the body either, and goes to extremes to stop me from ending it all. I realize that’s probably one of the most insane things I’ve ever written, which is why I hate honesty. Because if I’m honest, I scare myself.
Enter the social circle. It's still tough for me to reach out to friends when I'm feeling upset and frustrated, but thankfully I have people to reach out to, I honestly don't think I could handle myself if I didn't. I've sat with friends while completely mummified by my depression, unresponsive despite their best attempts to make me feel better. I don't know if they felt like they failed, but they didn't. Having someone there when you're that low stops you from ending it. Believe it or not, you're leveling out that sad asshole who's not responding to your jokes.
I don't know if I've ever heard of someone talk about "doing (Insert form of self harm) for attention" since high school, but I think that fear lingers in the back of any major depressive's mind. You can't imagine that people can sympathize with you, in part because you're so out of your mind with sadness that you can't even sympathize with other sad people. You feel like an asshole because your friends are trying to help you and you don't feel better. You're suddenly obligated and the whole idea of them helping you has turned on its head and made you feel worse about yourself. You're afraid of losing the people you have left, who ironically are still concerned about you.
It's hard to know what to do when you're that unhappy because you also don't have a schedule for when that feeling subsides; but it will. Maybe not for as long as you'd like it to, and it might not be replaced with a reciprocal high (sometimes you go from "sad" to "meh" back to sad a few weeks later with none of that bipolar high you hear about), but you have to understand that it is temporary. Once you wrap your head around that, you have to wrap your head around accepting help from people, even if you suck at accepting it, even if they're not the best adapted at helping you.
There's this sappy sentiment you see in a lot of articles dealing with suicide that regardless of whether you know it or not, you matter to somebody. Even if you don't know them, your death will negatively impact somebody. It's hard to learn about someone who's killed themselves, because it's easy to put yourself in their shoes, walk through their decisions, and see yourself doing it, too. If feeling like I'm only one of the residents of my body has taught me anything, it's that no being fully wants to die; something wants whatever is going on to stop.
I don't know the meaning of the word "enough". I don't think we're given that as kids; we're told to work as hard as we can, and we don't know what that means or entails, what sacrifices are worthwhile and which ones aren't. We push ourselves into the ground and feel robbed when there's nothing to show for it. The only thing you'll find when you push yourself into the ground is a grave, pup. You're not showing people that you want the elusive "it" more than anyone else by killing yourself with your lifestyle. This round of depression has been another learning experience, to figure out what it means to do "enough" and let go of the idea that what I'm doing doesn't qualify.
If I am fascinated by lies, I have equal antipathy for the truth.
We have such a bitter image of the truth; it’s cold, hard, and brutal. Even so, we think we want it, that the emotional turmoil that comes from learning the truth is worth the pain. “Because I’d want to know” is one of the most common motives for coming clean, the belief that we’re better off operating with accurate information when it comes to making decisions.
I don’t think that’s wrong, but I empathize with those who create intricate alternate realities through their lies to avoid getting hurt. The truth might set you free, but it can drive you insane.
People who are intolerant of falsehood seem like they’re fooling themselves into thinking they have some superiority over the gullible, when in fact all they’re doing is marinating themselves in pain. Some level of deception, at the very least self deception, is required to begin anything that’s difficult. Believing you have talent tends to hold you over as you hone a skill. There wouldn’t be a point in trying to develop it other wise. The truth is sterile; it breeds little imagination. We don’t daydream about what’s real, we lie to ourselves because lies are rife with possibility. Maybe that’s how we achieve the extraordinary, believing a lie into existence.
I don’t see falsehood as such a packageable thing any more. For one, our brains are champions of not working the way we want and we fool ourselves via logical fallacies and cognitive bias, and no matter how self aware or well read you consider yourself, it’s still likely to happen to you. We’re influenced by other, equally malleable people. It’s tough to consider undeniable truth, which is why we turn to the verification of facts and knowledge; you can know knowledge, but you can’t know any certain truth.
It’s both frustrating and freeing to know that the boundaries are fluid. To me, It’s harder to write about honesty because honesty is, ironically, a trickier concept. Lies need a purpose. Truth doesn’t. Truth simply exists with the burden of interpretation left to our skittish little minds. In the moment, the truth, to me, is a yes or no question, and the answer depends entirely on desired result. If I think I’ll spare someone’s feelings and I don’t anticipate any particular backlash, I’m more than willing to lie. It’s force of habit at this point.
Things are seldom just true or just false, and I think that kind of finite dualism is a luxury of the naive. For the most part, we run ourselves ragged trying to align events into one of these camps but always end up somewhere in the middle. Lie to yourself long enough, and you’re stuck believing them like it really happened.
I’ve had to face some hard truths about myself. I hate them and I’m skilled enough at lying to myself and others that I could turn the truth into a memory that will rot off in my mind, separate and unimportant to everything else. Here’s where I admit the truth and stare at it for awhile.
I cheated on Jay. That’s one of those sentences I rewrote a few times, hoping to make it vague, insightful, or somehow less painful. But the truth doesn’t lend itself to those things, does it?
I never saw myself as the kind of person to do something like that, and the real joke is that somehow my self perception remains the same. In my mind, I’m not a cheater, whatever that means to me, despite the fact that I know, understand, and admit that that’s something I’ve done.
By my counts, I did this four times; one was some sick (and retrospectively, very degrading) view that if it were a woman, it wouldn’t be cheating. Another was a bout of loneliness when we lived in different cities ,and one, which I considered the most dangerous, never got physical; it was a purely emotional connection that got much deeper and important to me than I anticipated. The very last time, which is what ended our relationship, was a bit of both.
In all of those situations, there were moments of clarity where I could have bowed out, I simply chose not to. Not because I didn’t love Jay, either. I don’t know if I’d correlate any time I cheated with a time where we were also rock solid, but he was always first and in my mind. I knew what I was doing was wrong but I wanted to do it anyway. Maybe I simply lack self control, or was drunk and easily led. Maybe it’s more complicated. Doesn't matter if you justify it or not, it happened.
The only thing that pacified my guilt about doing these things was that I was pretty honest about them immediately. I never had any prolonged secret affair. Well, not physically anyway. the ones that I considered dangerous were the ones that I suppose did have that element; because if nothing physical was going on I didn’t see the need to stop doing it, or tell Jay. So they grew into these confusing things that I don’t think anyone involved knew how to handle.
Some could read this and pity him, think he got walked on by an asshole and wonder why he’d put up with it. Could he have just left? Sure, but he was hurting, I’m manipulative as fuck and it’s not like he wanted things to be terrible. None of those things on his part are character flaws, they’re circumstances. It’s pretty easy to see how liars and cheaters get away with what they do. Being duped doesn’t make you foolish, it means you believe in the good in people, people you love. It’s not your fault that sometimes that belief winds up as you lying to yourself.
As for my motives, I don’t know if I could honestly tell you. I’ve read some articles where men cheat for the excitement and women cheat because they desire emotional fulfillment they’re lacking in their present relationship. I feel like it was both and neither. I did what I did because I wasn’t thinking about the consequences; at least I wasn’t thinking they were anything I couldn’t talk my way out of, erego, if I were patient, there were no consequences. I did it because I could. Fucked up, sure, but that’s honesty for you. I like to push things, to see how far I can take them, to see what’s dangerous, to see how close I can get to someone. I struggle with feeling connected to people and often I find myself isolated and lonely even around my good friends. That gnawing feeling drives you pretty insane, and you look for anything to make it stop.
If you’re curious, cheating is just a stopgap; it won’t really stop that emptiness inside you, but you can convince yourself that at the very least you’re being proactive about it. It’s hard for me to believe anyone who does that doesn’t hate themselves at least a little for doing it. I sure do. If you're even moderately functional I don't think you willfully practice hurting someone's feelings.
I’m at the point now where I don’t really know what I want from someone else. I have this incredibly strong sense of emptiness and longing, but I don’t really know what action another person has to take to make it better. You can’t really start off a conversation with “MAKE ME FEEL WHOLE AGAIN!” and somehow expect a result. The reason Jay lasted as long as he did was he effectively answered that question with, “Okay, how?”
Most likely this question is going to be answered with the movie trope, “The answer is in you all along” or some bullshit like that. No one can love you until you love yourself, blah, blah blah. I don’t really have a response for that. I see very few people who aren’t insecure about themselves, sometimes at least. Even so, until I have some sense of control over that seething void, I'm not willing to get close to anyone. It's not even as noble as not wanting to hurt anybody; I'd like it to be, but this is the one about honesty, not the one about lies. Getting close to somebody who you think can take care of or fix you only gets brutal and messy once you both realize you can't save someone from themselves. Ironically, being alone is just self preservation in the face of loneliness.
So is that the truth? I do things I know are wrong because I don’t like myself, and I think I can get away with it? What kind of sense does that make? And by knowing that, does that make the truth malleable, do I have control over it, or how much?
If there's any benefit to the truth, it's that it provides a level of certainty. I don't really have that quality in anything in my life, and the more stable something is the more inclined I am to rip it to pieces. Chaos is easier to maintain; that's physics. I don't really know what to do with being the kind of person I am, but I guess it's my job in life to figure that out, no one else is going to...
I am fascinated by lies.
Lies are a form of self preservation, and not unique to being human; animals bluff about their size, develop eye spots, Koko the Gorilla lied to her handlers about ripping out a sink from the wall to avoid punishment (she blamed the kitten). There's arguments about the need to define self awareness in order to define willful and knowing misdirection. I'm not well researched to have an opinion, whether animals are relying on cause and effect rather than an understanding of what they're doing, however, they don't appear to care whether the other organism believes them so long as they get the desired result.
I read awhile back that the difference between a lie and bullshit is that a liar must know that something is true and tell the opposite. A bullshitter has no preference for whether or not what they said is accurate; Bullshit is something you say because it sounds right even though you have no basis for assuming it could be true. In that sense, animals don't necessarily lie, they probably bullshit.
Humans, however, certainly do have a style of lying that is not only focused on the outcome, we want the belief. Not only do we care if a lie works, we care if you believe it. Sometimes, it helps us believe our own words and therefore justify them. Just think about any movie you've seen with a 'believable cast', entertainment is essentially the industry of peddling escapism and lies. It wouldn't be so hugely popular if lying didn't serve some kind of purpose or grant some satisfaction.
We probably developed a taboo of lying because we don't like being lied to, at least not without consent. Lying to someone violates something sacred, because it lends itself to emotional response. If you lie to someone there's usually some kind of emotional outcome; they have a feeling. To find out that they had a feeling based on something that wasn't real is a betrayal; it leaves the victim feeling humiliated and vulnerable. The scope of this varies with the weight of the lie.
We can create pretty complex realities for ourselves when we're dishonest; just imagine a man having an affair. He creates a reality for his wife in which it's not happening, a reality for his lover in which they'll gallop into the sunset, and a reality for himself in which he can rationalize his behavior. His lies have altered their realities without consent. That's a lot to be sprung on a person when the truth comes out. It's no wonder that generally we teach truth to be the positive thing, that lying makes you a bad person.
It does seem to be an odd parallel to have, particularly in a culture where lying is a booming industry, the crux of most conducted business and the starting point of many relationships. Deception levels the playing field in sexual selection; in modern society lying is practically a requisite stage in courtship; you lie about who you are to someone until they're in deep enough that you can start showing your cards.
There's both a positive and a negative to that, by the way. Admitting to lying makes you vulnerable, and being vulnerable with someone is often times a great way to create and strengthen an emotional connection. Just think about how comfortable a relationship is before you start farting, and then after. You lie in an attempt to attract and impress, you tell the truth in order to bond. Truth and lies aren't isolated from each other in human interaction.
Being a fraud might be one of the most difficult things to forgive and one of the easiest to become. Stephen Glass, a journalist, fabricated articles for years; there are television psychics and faith healers who prey on the grieving and wounded. James Frey created a wildly popular memoir that turned out to be a novel. These people have (or continue to) altered the reality of people on a mass scale, the backlash for their manipulation is usually huge. The stories ended, but the emotional depth continued long after. It's difficult to recover from being a liar, especially if you're outed and didn't confess. Coming out as a liar offers some recourse, being outed as a liar implies that you always intended manipulate people and didn't care about how they felt.
Maybe these people were narcissists, waving around tales of hardship and heartbreak in order to gain sympathy, notoriety, money, pick a reward, you can usually get it with a lie. No wonder those who had to suffer, those who really did go through horrific events, recoiled. People who have gone through certain hardships, particularly in terms of sexual assault or substance abuse, have a lot to face in order to be able to tell the truth. Watching someone saunter up like a hero and promote their struggle openly at first seems like a huge weight lifted. Someone understands your experience and has championed it. When it comes crashing back into you and the truth comes out, you realize someone profited from your suffering; it’s vile, painful and easy to vilify the fraud.
But where profits are not concerned, liars are most likely protecting themselves. Making up experience to parallel a strong emotion helps you cope with it. Maybe you never had a dead sister, but the way people received you when you did filled a void of human acceptance you didn't have. You manipulated people because you needed an emotional connection with them. I think what makes that seem so violating is the fact that the connection is genuine but the circumstance isn't. You took a connection from someone that they didn't offer you. Some people create fish tales simply because they want something to say to their friends. We all know one person who claims to have an uncle who tames lions or that they've met Jon Voight or some other bizarre vague lie that everyone knows isn't true. Sometimes these people are just one-upping a story you told to feel important; sometimes they're desperate to seem interesting because they can't handle feeling lonelier than they already are. The intent wasn't malicious even if the action hurt you.
Like anything else, lies aren't in themselves terrible things, and I would question the idea we have that the motivations for it are so sinister, either. No one thinks clearly when they want to save themselves; lying is a fantastic way to cope. There's moments where the truth hurts, is inexplicable or ineffable. When this happens, lies aren't there just to smooth the social transition, they're created to help you understand yourself or come to terms with these things. Some of these things are rationalizations; victims will lie to themselves and believe they deserve abuse. Junkies will believe that it's not the drug that's their problem. Comedians will think their opinions matter and they're going to make it by starting a blog. We all lie to ourselves, and sometimes we believe our own bullshit so sincerely it becomes part of who we are, and in that way, it becomes true.
I developed a habit of lying early on in my adult life, partly because answering the question "What have you been up to," with "Nothing much, working," made me feel like I had warts on my tongue. I came up with insignificant lies, things that couldn't or didn't need to be fact checked; anecdotes in order to break up the monotony of life. I got to seem like an interesting person, my friends could enjoy my company and no one got hurt. I still do this, but it's less common as now I actually enjoy myself and do things that are interesting. Becoming a hobbyist liar helped me learn more about how people worked, it was still in some sense a defense mechanism, albeit not one I like to admit I developed. Learning how to gauge people off of stories made up for the lack of social life I had for so long. I was that person telling tall tales so I wouldn’t have to be lonely; for awhile I didn’t have much else. My experiences were too different to be relatable to anyone else. Before I started lying, I had a lot of difficulty fitting in.
I'm an excellent liar; and for the most part, I don't have a great deal of attachment to the truth simply because lies are often more interesting or more easily understood. The truth can be rickety and warped, lies have to be believable and typically, in order for something to be believable, it must be understandable by default. Our memories are excellent liars; we tailor them without thinking about it. My weird way of coming to terms with this is to be pretty open about being a liar. I'll rarely confess to it outright but you should be aware that there's a hefty level of bullshit in my day to day communication. It taught me how people worked, but very little about how to be genuine.
I do believe, there's some things that need to be held to standards of truth because their falsehood has huge ramifications. There are topics that are lied about that make me viscerally ill. False accusation, in particular. Lies that veil police brutality as a normal interaction gone awry. These kinds of incidents are where the morality of dishonesty becomes more concrete, in my mind it has a great deal to do with intent.
Personally, I find a sense of moral uneasiness where a lie crosses from protecting me to benefiting me. It’s one thing to deceive someone so their world is better or I feel safer, it’s another to do it because it makes mine better or to gain control.
Before I used to make up stories, now I tend to lie by omission. I have this sensibility that things have a time and place to be said, and if I'm not there then I shouldn't say them. I'm coming to terms with all the half truths or unspoken ones. These are things that I want to be better about; this isn't a New Years resolution so much as I've been working on this for a few months; once this blog became more personal and less ponderous, I guess. It's hard to tell the truth if you haven't been honest with yourself. We'll see how things unravel, but for now I guess I have to let these things fade, let sleeping dogs lie.
In any case it's a new year. Hopefully I'll be able to make some real stories, either life experience or vivid imagination that you'll like to hear. Hopefully I'll grow enough as a person to drop some of this emotional baggage. Whatever happens, I'm excited for the ride, and I'm glad you're here with me.
Author's Note : This was written in mid December and I opted to publish it later because I was content with how much I'd written for the month and wanted to space out my productivity. This is not, and should not be taken to be, a commentary on any issue that's going on in current events.
I don't really remember when I chose to use Kokadrille as my moniker on the internet. It probably looked cool, and it wasn't taken or contained a shit ton of numbers. I used this word to identify myself pretty much everywhere, but it's not intuitive to spell and unfamiliar to a lot of people, which means it makes it more difficult for people to find me on the interwebs. For someone who wants to be a comedian, that's not a smart thing to do. But this word is valuable to me. Kokadrille is a bastardization of the word Cocadrille, which is from a book called Pig Earth about French peasant farmers, in particular a young woman who is assigned that nickname by the people who look down on her. Later it becomes a kind of empowering pseudonym, something that makes her separateness a part of her own identity and not because she's socially shunned. Supposedly, it's from a real piece of folklore but even the internet has scarce detail about it.
"The cocadrille, he said, comes from a cocks egg, hatched in a dung heap. As soon as it hatches from its shell, it makes its way to the most unlikely place you can imagine. However, if it is seen on its journey by someone else who it hasn’t seen then it dies ! If however, it sees someone else before they see it, it has the power to kill any other animal or human EXCEPT a weasel . It kills by poison which comes from its eyes and travels along its gaze to its prey."
I like the idea of an awkward monster, something that defines you in a seemingly negative way, but has to be respected. We all feel outcast and alone at some point. Cocadrille is more considered a pest, an awkward creature with no real place in the world, but must be tolerated due to its ability to make death with its eyeballs. I can see other people viewing my monster that way.
I refer to having a monster pretty frequently if you get to know me. I don't know if going to an actual therapist would help and make me integrate this piece that I keep very separate, but I don't really believe that the monster is a part of me. We need each other for whatever reason and we coexist because we have to. I'm pretty sure that everyone has one, too, but their shapes and values are all different.
I have an anger problem. I have a sadness problem; I have emotional depth that disturbs me. I can be a very intense person, and there's times I wonder if what I'm doing borders on psychotic. I show a lot of emotional restraint because I believe if I didn't I'd end up alone. People who knew me when I was younger have seen what I'm talking about. Jay had to deal with the most of it. I don't really know why he did or how he wasn't scared of it. Maybe he has a kokadrille too.
Recently I have been trying to be more emotionally open and the results are mixed. Feeling vulnerable is one thing, feeling like I'm going to genuinely frighten someone, or that they're going to realize that I am out of my mind is a complete other. I connect to other people very deeply, and it takes me less time to do so than others. I can come off very clingy because of it or worse if I'm not careful. I can feel when I've attached too deeply to something that doesn't want it, too, but pulling away is tricky. Even though I'm aware of it, there's not a lot I know how to do to control it; that's why being emotionally open scares me, because there's a chance I will do something completely unreasonable.
I'm not talking about saying something awkward to someone, which happens, or being vulnerable and people finding that uncomfortable. I'm going darker. I let out a monster.
What I'm going to say is something that I don't admit very often, and if you are my friend and see me in person it's doubtful I'll want to talk about it.
When talking about getting possessed or "letting out my monster" the physical reality of what I do is some form of ritualized self harm. This usually involves a lot of screaming, crying, beating the shit out of something, occasionally myself, throwing myself into things, and other tantrumatic activities. It's doubtful that I can form words, if I do they'll probably be profanity. I will probably attack anyone who tries to stop me. I openly and honestly hate. I used to cut or scratch myself, but that had more to do with visuals I used to get when this happened. When I ended up in these states, I would see black leech like things under my skin. I thought they were the anger and they needed ways out.
If you catch me when I'm in this state there's no way that I won't involve you. There's no way for me not to. I lose my mind (or mindfulness); I am sort of conscious for what's happening but as I mentioned, my body is sometimes something separate from me, and occasionally I hand it over to the monster.
I am certain I am not the only one who does this, and I'm sure this falls into one of those "autism spectrum" criteria that I fit. The fact that I feel removed from my physical self when it happens may be a little less common, and the idea that I hand my body over to something else even less so, but I know I'm not alone in these states.
I do not like people to know that this is something that I do. I wouldn't be writing about it now except that I think I need to confront this if I want to stop a cycle I've started recently. I don't want people to be there because I don't want them to see me, much less do I want to involve or hurt anyone. The tantrum aspect is something I do alone. I am paralyzed by fear when I see that same madness seep into any interaction I have with someone else. My grip on it isn't very strong and I don't want it to take over. I've worked hard to get where I am and I don't want it undone by emotional instability. It's important to me not to be seen as "one of those crazy emotional women" and be dismissed. These feelings aren't me acting out, and it's important to me to have them, my monster is just as much my friend as my enemy. This fury is as much a part of my creative process and my intelligence as anything else.
Emotions of that intensity don't fit well into the social structure, and I understand that. We don't have a place for our dark ones, because they're hard to get along with. It's tough to imagine a functional society where people periodically start ripping at their clothes and bashing into boulders. I find it frustrating though, because having that much sadness that I can express and let go is something that makes me feel connected to everyone. I feel undeniably human.
When it's over and I am exhausted, I am filled with an amazing sense of peace. Not only that, Kokadrille settles itself back down and we go over what happens. I gain a lot from these introspections. You can breed a lot of insight with intelligence, but wisdom almost always comes after. It's easy to genuinely believe in what you say the moment you say it, but when you step a moment further away it becomes clear that there's no depth, no meaning. These rages help me come to an understanding with what I go through. They're horrible at the time but they contain a euphoria and a wisdom at the end, and I'm not afraid of them.
I have to reiterate something before I continue:
"Imagine your life as walking on a clay road, one that can only stretch so far into the past, the future, and now. To spend too much time clinging to what's behind you will make it impossible to reach your future. To spread it too far ahead will make you lose your footing and plummet to a chasm of uncertainty below you.
But what if we were to take that clay, and instead of spreading it around us, we use it to sculpt the space we were standing in? Wouldn't we have gained a stronger footing, have more ability to appreciate and create the moment that's around us? There is a past and a future, but there's little we can do to harness them productively. It's only the current moment that we can build upon, and it's only the current moment that you'll find any kind of meaning."
The concept of the clay road is something I came to a long time ago, and while in this particular introduction I was explaining it as a way to stay in the moment, it's incredibly important to recognize that you have to stretch your given material a little bit ahead and a little bit behind you. Context gives the meaning. To speak in the moment and without context is how you believe your own bullshit. That's how you hurt people.
I'm bringing this back up because emotions are an intrinsic part, not only of life but your way through it. When I let out my monster, I am only in the moment. I have no concept of where I came from or where I will be in ten minutes. These moments are painful. When it's over, and whatever it is that I let out is satisfied and goes back to rest, I am in equilibrium, and I have meaning from my outburst. The context changes, it's behind me. That's why I value darkness.
I'm not an easy person to deal with if I let you below the surface, and that's why I hate being open. I'm not worried you'll see my insecurity, I'm worried you'll see violence and suffering. There's a lot of turmoil that I keep with me, and for reasons someone will probably tell me are unhealthy, I value that turmoil and I accept that it's with me. I have a monster that sleeps near me at all times, and it raises its head whenever I make decisions or I'm unsure where to go in life. If I take the wrong turn, it wants out and sort of forces me to retrace my steps. There may not be a place for it in society, but there's definitely a place for it in my life.
Hearing someone talk about things like this, particular someone with my flair for the dramatic, is alarming to say the least, I imagine. Don't freak out. That's why it's so difficult for people who deal with these critters to talk about them. This isn't the kind of thing that gets better by being approached as a problem, it's a process.
Maybe there are better or more socially acceptable ways to work through problems and gain wisdom, but I don't have them yet. For now, I have the kokadrille; something that keeps me separate enough from things to work through them. So far, it's been enough.
Lately, I have been bothered by trolls.
No, not in the literal sense, but the figurative idea of trolls and what they represent. According to urban dictionary, a troll is “One who posts a deliberately provocative message to a newsgroup or message board with the intention of causing maximum disruption and argument”, which I guess would make them the online equivalent of the joker.
Unlike the joker, however, I don’t think that trolls are representative of the nihilistic rage that makes us seek destruction. Or maybe they are, and I just don’t want to give them that much credit. I guess what I’ve been struggling with is the consistent human urge, if not the downright desire we have, to hate.
It’s all over the place. Racism, Sexism, Horsism, Pick an-ism, there is surely a thick layer of hatred frosting it like a douchebag's over-moussed tips. And as much as many would like to believe that people are inherently good, I’ve already rejected that hypothesis. For those of you who assume that we *are* inherently good, what the fuck are you basing that from?
We are experiencing tragedy after tragedy fueled by hatred, and by dismissing the slaying of innocent people by suggesting that hate is a social construct devalues human life. No one wants to admit to these feelings though, let alone to being the kind of person that acts upon their hatred of something. If you want to deny that you’re capable of hatred, fine. Unfortunately denial hasn’t been the solution to many problems, ask any drug addict.
The truth is, though, you’re far more likely to do something about a feeling of hatred than you are a feeling of love or well being, because the latter two don’t offer incentive to change. Presumably those feelings mean all is well and therefore don’t require a change. Hatred offers motivation, be it through a critical yelp review or horrific acts of violence.
But why do we hate? This is what bothers me. Much of society tries actively to discourage it, tries to banish it from conversation. We act like hatred is an emotion only dealt with by the petty or undereducated, but it’s everywhere, even inside of us. Even inside of me, who quietly seethes when people walk too slowly in front of me in a hallway. I really don't mean anger, by the way, I mean hate.
Neurologically, the parts of our brain responsible for love are active for hatred as well. This makes a lot of sense to me, given that I think we experience these emotions, like most other ones, in our quest to find meaning and propagate our species. Hatred is typically associated with fear and for good reason. My guess, is that hatred resides in that same buried instinct that makes us want to hump each other....
...but sometimes we don’t get to hump each other. Sometimes someone else humps the person we find humpworthy.
And that makes us angry.
And something primal in us whispers that we have been wronged somehow. In a way, the half-portion of children in your gonads have been robbed of something; the chance to be a real boy. And we hate that.
I wouldn't pin sexual frustration as the sole catalyst of hatred, by any means, but it's certainly the simplest one to identify and empathize with. Hatred could be thought of something of a cocktail between love and shame. Making yourself purposefully vulnerable, (which is where we start out as children, because we’re dumb) is, in a way, what love is. But something happens, and showing our vulnerability gets us hurt, or at the very least, remain unhumped. Maybe it’s scar tissue, something that grows over the raw parts, leaving us unable to expose it again, and let ourselves get hurt again. That’s why I think people are so driven to act on feelings of hatred. On some level we think we can heal ourselves, neutralize a threat, cover up that creamy center with barbed wire and skin made of bees so that nothing will ever make us feel shitty. There’s nothing more powerful than self preservation, and hatred isn’t just about self-preservation, it’s that self preservation and adding a sense of vindication.
It’s so easy to hate because it satisfies those ideas that we are not only protecting ourselves, but anyone who has exposed that kind of vulnerability and experienced pain, whether or not that threat is real. We can believe that our hatred helps people, how bizarre is that?
But what about trolls, what about people who seem to inexplicably just...hate? Are they really the hurt, the vulnerable, or are they simply acting on some devilish impulse, just so they can watch the fireworks? Maybe a bit of both. The only thing I can come up with is that it's misdirection. Some 11 year old who has trouble talking to his parents about how much he hates school gets on Call of Duty and strings together some nonsensical swear words. Some guy who can't stand up to his boss at work lashes out against women on the internet. It's all the same instincts, all the same source, but sometimes the anger gets misappropriated. But why bother letting go of all that energy, when you could do something productive like tell some 14 year old on youtube she's fat?
I think this because I've done this. I've never just shamelessly bashed a stranger on the internet, no. I've never yelled at strangers on the street either, unless they wanted to talk to me about the environment and started the conversation with some bullshit like "are you nice? But have I had the impulse? Absolutely.
In terms of strength, I am the bottom of the totem pole. I'm smart but I'm not quick, I'm nervous and flinchy in person. I make too much or too little eye contact. I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be doing research on humans for my home planet, but I ran out of Alien Grant Money and they just left me here to quietly go insane. I understand so little, feel so vulnerable and powerless, and it makes me hate. I don't take it out on strangers, because I'm too weak to handle the loss. I take it out on friends and family. When I was younger I made caustic relationships for the sole purpose of breaking people until they could no longer talk to me. Why? Because on some level, that hatred made me feel powerful.
Is there still a way to reach out to people mired in their hatred, to teach them that one exgirlfriend is not enough evidence that all women are cheating whores? That not everyone who picks up a bible intends to throw it at you and assert you’re going to hell because you jerk off? How do you stop people (people like me, even) from sending more shit into an already shiterrific world?
When I said that I didn’t believe that people weren’t inherently good, I meant that we respond to whatever social stimulus gives us a favorable reaction. If a hate-group takes you in, then that feeling of acceptance will lead to a feeling of hatred that means self-preservation. If you want to be loved by those people, then paradoxically, you must hate. So no, that means that it’s not possible to save every neonazi and misogynist (or hell, misandrist). I suppose. But it's not hopeless.
Martin Luther King Jr, whether it’s cliché or not, is one of my personal heroes. Few spoke so passionately about change through compassion and kindness despite being faced with unbelievable darkness. And that is, as far as I know, the closest we can come to an answer.
“The chain reaction of evil - hate begetting hate, wars producing more wars - must be broken, or else we shall be plunged into the dark abyss of annihilation.”
This idea, delivered through his sermon on Christmas, is not new, but doesn’t seem to have ever been fully embraced. I don’t know that it could be. Martin Luther King uses this sermon to postulate exactly how one loves their enemy; how can you forgive someone who has wronged you, and offers the beautiful advice that forgiveness will not erase what has been done, nor does it erase feelings of ill will. What forgiveness is meant to do is offer a means of reconciliation, a way for both parties to have a relationship of some kind together even though they both know they're starting on uneven ground. If that’s not fucking poetry I don’t know what is. It can't be easy, I know it's not easy. Sometimes I've been guilty of outright hating someone who simply navigated social cues in a way I didn't like, to the point of belittling them for it or worse.
Unfortunately, speaking strictly in terms of numbers, I'm afraid we're locked into these pitfalls as a species. It only takes a small number of people acting on hatred to negate the actions of hundreds of people acting from a peaceful mindset. Very few lambs have gotten away with laying beside lions. In my opinion, 'love' could be less cryptically translated into 'understanding', and to truly understand someone that hates you, requires the humility and self esteem to acknowledge your flaws, and why they might bother someone. It also requires the courage not to harp on your own flaws, empathize with someone else and come up wit ha solution. That's not simple, it has no logical, mathematical steps you can follow. It's not a dance you can choreograph. That's a map created by thousands of gibbons on acid attempting to crochet their first unity quilt.
I have never tried to love an internet troll. I have never spoken in protest to people who spew bigotry. The only thing I have done, and the only thing I can do, is to attempt to understand what it is they are protecting, and treat it as delicately as they do. That's all I needed, when I was my most wrathful, was someone who simply wanted to try and understand what I was going through. That's it.
Bringing this back to the idea of trolling on the internet, I see a major flaw; there's no way for the person spewing bile to be seen or to see someone genuinely trying to connect with them. Our relationship with technology, and by the same logic our relationship to anonymity, changes the way we communicate. You can't feed a troll empathy and expect it to cough up some common sense. Maybe the best route is to ignore it, and let these ideas blister in the expanse of the comments section, untouched by any other communication.
Whenever I sit down to write, I always hope on some level to reach someone, to communicate something. It's hard for me to think that other people sit down and share something without that goal, whether or not we achieve it. I was hoping to reach some conclusion, some explanation and maybe resolution about this, but unfortunately, I'm at a loss...
I'm bothered by trolls. All I've learned from writing this is that I'm bothered because I don't understand them, and so far as I can tell, that's why they do it. The only recourse, I guess, is to admit the disconnect and move on.
Kind of interesting that we pick the shortest month of the year to celebrate love, don't you think? To me, Valentine's day is a big barrel of bullshit that we drag out of the basement every year in order to stress people out so they start sniffing out consenting genitals like a truffle seeking boar.
Love is a big hairy beast, my friends, and it's not looking out for you, single, married or otherwise. If you're interested in cultivating a relationship with someone, avoid love, it will certainly avoid you. This point and the others I'm going to make over this month are the reason why I'm with the same person I've been with for so long.
Like many things in modern society, I disagree with the importance we place on relationships, even though I fit comfortably into the mushy trope of a monogamist. I've been with the same person for almost eight years at the time of writing this. I'm happy and I don't plan on leaving him, but that second condition is contingent on the first; fuck til death do us part, because that, like most of our concepts about love, is dumb. Don't be with someone because you feel obligated; that will cause a downward spiral that usually dips neatly into a pit of flesh eating lava bats..
Now, we place a great deal of value on love, and it's gotten us into some trouble. It's not that love is a bad thing; from an evolutionary standpoint, it's the thing that has gotten human kind out of the cave and into the rocket ships. Caring about people, and their survival, feeling accepted, these are all skills that promise a strong number of our species will survive, which is great, especially when it comes to survival in a world of competitive resources. A world devoid of love would descent into some Hunger Games-esque apocalypse where we sacrifice people because being a society of complacent sociopaths is the next logical step if you're not into sharing. And in a way, that's magical, but that's not the whole story...
Bitter Truth, #1 Love and Relationships are unrelated.
In western society, we are allowed and encouraged to choose who it is we get to spend our life with, which in my western-culturally raised view, is awesome. That being said, that's not true everywhere in the world and there's some logic to that.
There is such thing as love, by the way, and it's the bee's knees. Consequently, the lifespan of a queen bee is about a year, which is a good approximation for how long the feeling of love lasts, given that's typically the release span of the chemical oxytocin, which makes us all snuggly with people in what we typically associate as love. Over time this chemical wanes, as its primary function is to make us feel bonded to others. Once the bonds have been created and your lives/resources intermingle, there's less reason for you to keep producing the chemical. As I mentioned, there is evolutionary incentive to make us stick together in groups, let alone couples: One of the most simple is so bigger, stronger things don't murder us in droves.
Relationships, on the other hand, or more specifically marriage since that's typically a relationship meant, originally, had a bit more to do with economic security. Families unified with one another by pairing up people, and by this action, they solidified their family lines, gained more labor and ensured more babies (infertile women could be effectively ousted from marriage, thereby screwing over their family and being murdered because that's how we rolled for awhile), which by the way,making tiny child laborers was a huge deal back in the day, hence the prevalence of polygynous cultures. Again, this was somewhat of a no-no for the church, who transformed the child-labor aspects of a relationship into the servants of god part.
I'll talk more about the hirsute feelings-monster named Love a little later, though. For the sake of this article, I'm restricting to the scope of love as a chemical incentive brought to you by nature, and relationships are a social incentive brought to you by cultural constructs, mostly lineage preservation. Therefore, they have nothing to do with each other. Keeping this in mind, our ability to choose our mates is now in our own power, which was more or less a gift from the christian church, as they were cooler about marriages with no babies and less cool with everyone fucking each other.
What does that mean for modern day you? It means that when you're looking to settle down, you shouldn't be looking for someone to love, no offense to the Beatles. You can start out that way, sure, but love is a self-sacrificial phenomenon. People who are in love aren't themselves, because they'll do, say and be anything for that person lighting up all the reward centers in their brain. Love is fine for brief relationships and it's okay to have and enjoy those, but it's important to realize that if you're looking for someone to spend your life with, loving them is about as relevant as having the same blood type. Helpful in times of organ failure, but pretty much moot beyond that.
You want to marry your best friend; not in a 'should have known it all along, you are hereby released from the zoneth of friends" kind of way, but by recognizing that you have similar outlooks about what's important in life. Who gives a shit if you both collect seashells or dig Matthew Mcconaughey films, if you don't find yourselves sharing similar ideals about what the big abstract concepts like being successful or (especially) being happy means, it seems unlikely that you'll get very far.
A blatantly unhelpful article I read recently stated that the best thing for any relationship is for the people in it to be best friends. And in other news, a lot of fish live in the ocean, but some live in rivers and bowls. I realize the advice I just shared is no different in terms of how broad it is, so maybe this is the part that I can help clarify with; don't decide to get into a serious relationship *just because you love someone*. Love is there to make you want to be near someone because being near people is safer. Barring a zombie apocalypse, there's more things that will come up in your life that will require a relationship built on more pragmatic and less sparkly endeavors. It's fine to have those relationships forged in love, by the way, just realize that love isn't the glue that holds your relationship together, it's a catalyst, like a boulder careening down a hill behind you as you flee from being crushed to death. At some point, you'll jump out of the way, and you'll have to have real conversations, and real reasons to have them.
Because eventually, your inflatable raft of oxytocin will crash onto the deserted island of relationship, and when you spend that much time with one another, you're going to need more than a chemically induced selflessness to get you through building your first coconut hut together or learning how to catch fish with your bare hands. Think about what makes you hang out with your friends; how to spend time together, even as your lives change. Building a relationship on the idea of love is naive, and arguably dangerous. You can't expect it to do anything once it's gone, or expect it to last forever because you want it to. Love is incentive to create a relationship, but what you're actually doing is creating a lifestyle that needs to accomodate two people instead of one, and doing that requires the same social skills any other kind of relationship, working, friendship, etc, is built on, so if that's what you really want in life, the best place to start is by learning how you deal with everyone who is already around you.
More bitter truths about relationships will be added casually as I think of them. Thanks for reading! Follow me in the non-creepy, social media way via these little icons, because a picture is worth a thousand words, or at least 140 characters.
About A Blog
I'm a Denver Comedian, occasional cartoonist and person of interest to someone, probably. These articles are really too long.