The value of fucks

I am a brain injured fuck, 16 years removed. I am the realest person you will ever meet, though, still battling through the social conditioning received before and after my accident. Yeah yeah, we’re all fucked up in ways we sometimes don’t know or ever realize, but me suffering through my ordeal and dealing with the subsequent life changes lent my ego a bit of a “my experience is far more substantial than yours”. It’s totally egotistical and fucked up. I know. That’s where I was for 12 or 13 years.  It was a slow growth and, though I would still catch myself in megalomaniacal throes of grandeur, I don’t know where I was going with this sentence exactly… Solving subsequent physical issues from my accident held my focused attention for near six years, so that once I reached a point where I am capable of living alone, about 10 years or so ago, I felt tossed into the emotional deep end and ended up floundering for years trying to be like everyone else.

Therein lies my issue, I was giving too many fucks. My recovery road was simple, I had a solitary mission. Thusly, I was focused and determined. I had a goal, independence. I missed a point, being too busy racing to “catch up to my peers” because of my setback. Something that was impossible. I was giving a fuck. I was giving a fuck for the wrong reasons. Giving a fuck in this case worked out well because the outcomes were at the same place, physical recovery. The same philosophy or tactics or whatever is what I attempted using for the next decade. It worked for my recovery, why wouldn’t it continue?!? Frustrated and self deprecating, my narcissistic show was a compelling argument to continue with my “my life is shit and waaaa waaaa waaaa” self pity show. Trying this and trying that, failing and failing…assessing my failures to my brain injured fuckness, instead of examining the reasons and tactics of why I was failing. What worked for me at one point will no longer work at the point I’m at. I was giving too many fucks. Asshole thus becometh!

Inspired by: The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck by Mark Manson –—+mark+manson&dpPl=1&dpID=51C2AkS3QdL&ref=plSrch


My awakening

I now know about the different sides of the brain and that I am in tune with both halves… I was extremely gifted with school growing up and still hold amazing (left side focused) mathematics and memory skills.  But I am so very in tune with the energy flowing through everything since my car accident.  My injury was centered through the corpus colossum.. perhaps this jarring awakened some previously overshadowed abilities.  I am more in touch with the collective energy that is human existence and I have  an amazing ability to bend words to my will. I am a gifted poet and phenomenal writer,

My right brain, which has always been around, me being left handed and all, is now the main player in most of my dealings.  Before my accident my brain was decently balanced, though definitely more left brain focused. I excelled at academics, languages and sports  (not sure if sports are right or left), but I also incorporated my right brain and creativity centers amazingly well; self taught on the guitar, singer, songwriter, dancer and more besides.

Post accident, I still have the same capabilities with academics, only my obsession for success in the world changed.  After Graduating from college, 5 years post injury… I lost the luster and drive for the system of academic slave training.  I took to studying what I wanted to study.  My knack for language picked up after my accident, whereas I was a budding poet prior, I became rather prolific in the field afterwards…I now have many qualities of an autodidact, studying what I choose and becoming well versed in the subject. At the same time, I have what may be characterized as intellectual ADD….amidst my studies, if I see a subject I am extremely interested in, my focus is switched. SQUIRREL!!!!!



Take into account the bullshit that means so much to so many

What is truth?!? Social meanderings to sate the fact that he is too much

Too much life enclosed in broken shell

In cracks, broken child, seventeen and forgotten 

Covered over, masked with social suave….a tendency to give no fucks

Fucks be given in quiet moments, realizations of sole aloneness 

Scar covered with tissue, protective shell built decades hence 

Alone to fight, alone to reflect, part time friend a plenty

Alone is known is what life is, connections for a time….

Rented and replaced. Night bears down, moments alive with ghosts

Playing over and again, a demon dance shared to none 

Internalized hell, brings comfort of familiar suffering 

None to notice, to ask beyond surface. None to care.

Banal platitudes of strength; of fight at tongue tip

Throat catches yearning for deeper connection 


Push it down, too much to burden…too much to share….

Too much!

This is life.


Disabled Love

Romantic notions and presence alive

Rejected en masse and left to die

Seeking to fit , standing out, still

Looked on with pity, they’re still craving to fill

What is lacked and shown to be

Nothing more than just out of reach 

Experience to learn, experience to save

Disposable love is what they crave

Maybe can’t be done, maybe shan’t be done

Running around and fucking for fun

Some can do it at drop of hat

Others cannot, for it’s far more than that


Humpday Tattoo

Anticipation lingers, like masochistic desire for pain

Ink bottled, to be splayed, injected to deeper surface

Tattoos of skin, tattoos of heart, tattoos of soul

Some written, others drawn, snapshots saved in time 

Wrong Channel

The extreme hypocrisy of our society is profoundly apparent, at least to me, a sixteen year survivor of a traumatic brain injury inducing car accident, during the holiday season and well, all the fucking time. All the time I am praised and applauded for doing the only thing that was available to me…survive. At the same time I am frowned at and looked down on for not working to the potential that I should have would I not have been traumatically altered….for not just taking and dealing with all I have and for needing assistance. Ha! Sure, singularly, people will feel, what amounts to, false empathy toward me. They’ll condemn me in next breath calling me a societal leach, repeating bullshit propaganda about Social Security and food stamp fraud.  I am an intelligent and basically capable human with a markedly disabled presence (voice and awkward physicality), my life isn’t easy. 

Sex is a fun but unimportant factor in my life…I mean, being a demisexual, it is more than just about my own orgasm. Being unselfish in sex only works in self help magazines….being unselfish, period, in this era of immortalized self aggrandizement is highly unattractive. I can see the scoffs and the gasps of “what the fuck does he know”. But seriously….search your feelings, you know it to be true! 

That said, I feel as if I must be a pariah because my whole life doesn’t revolve around sex.  Honestly , I’ve only ever had two or three genuine sexual encounters, these past 33+  years.  it’s to the point where I would rather talk and get to know someone and maybe make out….though that is, often, seen as too weird or too much of a commitment. Nah, but “let’s fuck every tom dick or harry who waves their dick at us!” Kissing is too personal but giving a part of yourself to someone is perfectly normal. No wonder all these people feel lost and like they aren’t themselves…too busy seeking out carnal pleasure in an attempt to sate an inborn desire for connection. Wrong channel, dumbasses!