countcalebwrites

[countcalebwrites]

My military experience Pt. 2

So yeah. I left out a few things in Pt. 1. Minor stuff. The time I pretended I had to use the bathroom to give my foot a rest. I left out a lot of stuff about marching. We had to march. A lot. At specific cadence. The training instructors were trained to look at everyone’s timing at once, so you best not fuck that up. 

When you talk to a training instructor, you’re required to start the statement off with “Sir/Ma’am, Trainee [last name] reports as ordered!” Exception being simple statements like “Yes sir” and etc.You’re also required to say “permission to adjust?” if you want to move your hands while talking. The training instructor I had reminded us a lot, as if you don’t say that before moving your hands, he’s allowed to take violent action towards you.

Another thing I left out in Pt. 1 was my first lunch break. I thought lunch time would be a rather chill moment and a break from all the hostile shit, but boy was I wrong! You’re supposed to carry your food and walk a certain way or you get CHEWED out. When you walk by all the instructors who are eating, they look for things to chew you out on. Scary. You’re not allowed to talk during lunch, or you also get chewed out. I experienced this. I asked someone to pass the ketchup and my training instructor flipped. So I tried to use sign language and pointed at the ketchup then I pointed at myself. They understood. I was halfway done with my food and then lunch ended. You’re supposed to eat REALLY fast. 

Anyway, it was eventually recommended that I get transferred to med-hold. I didn’t tell my training instructor about this for a while. Idk. The news got out in my dorm that I was transferring out. Some dudes walked up to me and told me they liked me and didn’t want to see me go. That was pretty touching cause I didn’t think anyone cared about me like that. One dude asked if I ever went to LSU, and how he almost played against them as a punt returner, but he got kicked out of college for weed and ended up joining the air force as his new path.

Real shit.

Anyway, I packed all of my stuff in this heavy ass bag and got escorted to my new dorm. I had a wingman who was being seperated from training. He got into a fight with someone. He was on one of the last weeks of training, too. I figured I shouldn’t fuck with him.

We had to wait in this office to talk to this high-ranking dude before getting transferred. I was pretty bored. I decided to read the small bible they gave me at church. I got yelled at for reading that and was told to read my air manual. I was like “aight whatevs” in my head. I didn’t care what I was reading. I read some of the combat section of the manual. It told me that kicking someone in the balls is a very viable combat strategy. Word.

Got called in. Dude asked me my plans in life blah blah. Then he approved of me leaving. 

One rule I didn’t mention is the fact you’re supposed to have a hat on outside at all times. You’re also never supposed to wear it indoors. You have to develop a quick technique of folding it and unfolding it a lot to put it in your pocket. I had my heavy ass bags and etc and I forgot to put my hat back on when I walked outside. A training instructor backed his truck up and yelled “HEY YOU. NICE HAT. REAL NICE HAT YOU GOT THERE. NICE HAT MAN!!!”

My personal training instructor (who didn’t notice I didn’t have my hat on) told me to put it on. Fuckin weirdos. 

Fast-foward. I’m in med-hold. Med-hold is where you go if:

1. you are injured

2. you are overweight or underweight

3. you are suspended/about to seperate

If you fall into one of the above categories, you go to med-hold and they decide what happens next. Some people get sent back to training if they get their weight right or their injury heals. Some people get sent home after further doctor visits and etc. That was me.

Med-hold isn’t nearly as hostile as the rest of the training, but it can be. Some of the people there might have mental disorders, so the training instructors are a bit more chill. After I got briefed on everything and temporarily got my cellphone back to call my parents, I went to my new dorm. I pretty much went to sleep immediately. I was even more sleep-deprived than I was before.

When I woke up, this white dude was laughing at me saying I was in a pretty deep sleep, as he was shooting rubberbands at me the whole time without me flinching. I didn’t really know how to respond to that. His nickname was McCrazy, and you can kinda guess why they called him that.

Uusually med-hold dorms have a training instructor, but they just happened to be short on people. So we kinda had our own rule there. We had pretty crazy dorm chief. (a dorm chief is the same rank as you basically, but he’s responsible for keeping order and can tell on you to a training instructor)

One time, after we showered, he walked out naked and said “everyone admire my HUGE dick. Don’t worry, it doesn’t make you gay to admire a dick.”

One morning he woke up and began singing “I love my mamacita, I give her my burrita”

Another time he walked in and said “yo I was on a scouting mission to see what kinda bitches I can fuck when I get outta here”

This one white dude referred to him as a “stereotypical black dude” which landed him a side-eye (from me). Anyway, dorm chief basically tore his ACL during training and wasn’t allowed to go home or anything because the military pretty much doesn’t like to send people home with injuries to avoid lawsuits or something like that. 

I kept to myself for a good while, but med-hold is SO BORING. You’re required to clean your dorm and make your bed and report every morning and etc, but you’re mostly not doing anything except for talking to people in the dorm if you’re not going to one of your doctor’s appointments.

I ogt so bored I started doing a lot of real-life trolling. Like walking up to this one guy and saying “say bruh, you wanna start something?” all menacingly. Then saying “Cause you look rather educated, I think you’d make a good partner if we started a business” He laughed and told me “man I thought you were tryna fight or something”

I did this kinda stuff a lot. One day I wrapped myself in tattered sheets and told everyone I’m an ancient sorcerer who can cast spells. Don’t judge me, I had to entertain myself somehow!

Other people had their own troll routines too. This one dude I knew (we were very cool) pretended to be gay a lot. It was probably a kinda homophobic routine, but it was just hilarious to me because of how he executed it. Like one time we were all going upstairs and he yelled “mmmhmmm. get yall sexy asses up them stairs”

Then another time he walked up to me and he was like “yo man, you tryna get me to suck yo dick or something?? Walkin’ round here like that” lmao

There were a lot of hypothetical discussions and etc in our dorm. “Who would win in a fight, Hulk or Goku?” I pretty much said Goku for every hypothetical. Eventually our dorm chief chimed in and he was like “man. Y’all niggas should be picking Goku everytime for that shit”

Speaking of the dorm chief, he eventually told me “Yo Bailey. You didn’t really talk much when you first got here, but you talk a lot now. Even though you’re fucking weird, I’m glad you’re talking and shit now”

There was this one dude in our dorm, he was in charge of door duty. That’s not the official name for it but yeh, it was door duty. Basically, you sit/stand at the door and do a security clearance for people exiting and entering. People have to show ID and you’re supposed to verify it and ask them to come in. I did this duty a few times.

One time a training instructor came (you’re supposed to screen training instructors too) and I asked him to ID and he told me his name. I thought this was a trick and asked him to show ID again and he told me “OPEN THIS GOD DAMN DOOR” and I was like “*cough* access granted” and let him through.

Another time, a dude from a different dorm came and asked for our dorm chief. I told my dorm chief and he was like “yo tell him I’m not here” So I did. Then the dorm chief said “wait nevermind” and came to the door. The guy I just lied to looked at the chief, then looked at me and said “yooo you bitch ass nigga” lmao

Anyway, the door duty guy was weird. He was from Wisconsin. He told me that there’s not many black people from Wisconsin, so he wanted to “study” me. Weirdo.

Speaking of racism, this one white dude got transferred in our dorm, and I HATED him. He was really racist. He made jokes about black girls being too loud and I wanted to beat his ass. The assistant dorm chief who was afro latino basically said he was excited to bully that guy.

Every week, we were required to attend a “don’t kill yourself” meeting. It was boring as shit. But that was clearly an issue, as some people probably ended up mentally fucked from knowing they were stranded there for so long if their injury took too long to heal.

At times, it felt like I’d never get to home or return to training. 

I had a few appointments I ended up going to. One I went with this one dude, I remember his last name was Farr. He was cool. I remember we debated some random shit in the waiting room and we asked this one woman for her take and when she left he said in a semi-british accent “I must say, she had quite nice cleavage” The accent was funny cause he was definitely a southern black dude.

But yeah. to be honest, she did. He wasn’t lying. Speaking of cleavage, this might be TMI, but I thought I developed erectile dysfunction or some shit. I hadn’t been sexually aroused in so long lmao

Anyway, I also remember the TV talking about Clint Eastwood talking to a chair or some shit? Was weird. Being in military training kinda cuts you off from the rest of the world. I had no idea what kinda stuff was happening in the news. 

The foot specialist doctor who saw me told me there was pretty much nothing that could be done for my foot except surgery, and that the military wouldn’t want to pay for that.

He was right. After rehab and a few more checkups, I eventually got an orange armband. That armband means you’re getting sent home eventually.

Eventually. Like I said, it’s not a simple process. A lawyer has to terminate your contract, etc. All that waiting sucked.

I remember the A/C dying and us being allowed to go to the mall and shop and shit with our paychecks. That was cool. We HAD to leave and not stick around be cause San Antonio is hot as fuck. It was regularly 100 F and we had winter uniforms on. Some dudes bought magic the gathering cards, yugioh cards, etc. One dude bought a basketball for some reason. I didn’t really buy shit. 

I remember going to this one chicken place on the base and falling in love with the girl who took my order for my chicken tho. I was telling myself stuff like “Damn...she def wants me cuz she took my order with a genuine smile. Then I had one of my trademark inner debates. Like “nigga, that’s what she’s paid to do. She don’t want your ass. You can’t talk to women here anyway.”

The more cynical me had a point. 

Anyway, after we ate I remember us going to this old ass theater and watching a movie. It was Diary of a Wimpy Kid. I got nacho cheese on my uniform and it came right off and I was all amazed by the stain technology. Diary of a Wimpy Kid wasn’t memorable, by the way. I forgot what happened.

Oh, I forgot to mention: I was sick. I had the damn flu. Sharing space with 30+ dudes probably does that.

Remember the racist guy whose ass I wanted to beat? One time I came back and found him drinking out of my canteen. It had my name on it. I told him to keep it. Who knows what kinda germs that shithead had. $10 down the drain!

When we got our A/C back, things were a lil better. I was still pretty sick, but at least I wasn’t going through extreme temp changes anymore. We kept having our nerdy discussions. This one dude was talking about his Pokemon team and naming pokemon whose names I didn’t recognize. I was kinda upset by that cause I used to run a Pokemon fansite. Smh. He was a native dude from Louisiana. He told me if he lived in the town I’m from, he’d probably kill himself.

Aight then.

I ended up coughing a ton from being sick. Especially at night. Oh, by the way. Two people are required to patrol the dorm at night while everyone sleeps. I had that duty once. The buddy I mentioned earlier who would do the gay trolling routine told me to drink water and don’t worry about doing my patrol, he’d handle it for me. I really appreciated that. 

I didn’t want to keep people up with my coughing and sickness, so I slept in the bathroom. It’s not as bad as it sounds. One time someone walked in, pissed, and left. Then he went back in and did a doubletake towards me and went “Yo Bailey, WHAT THE FUCK”

and left.

Weeks passed. I’m still not home yet. I was getting really annoyed. Also, time seems to go by a LOT longer in a military dorm. My first day felt like an entire week had passed. One time I volunteered to help deliver some documents. That was a good idea. The people I delivered the documents for told me they’d help me get home faster for helping them.

The day finally came. My name was called. “You get to go home” I was so happy. Wearing regular clothes again felt wild. As a trainee, you’re kinda trained to move out of the way for training instructors and higher-ranked people. When I had on jeans and a t-shirt, I moved out of the way in this hallway for an instructor he was like “hah, it’s cool brotha, just pass”

I felt human again. Not being yelled at by an instructor felt legit. This one guy called me by first name, which I had to get used to again. Was kinda weird.

I got to the San Antonio airport and this one military guy saw me with documents in my hand (they were military seperation documents) he was like “yo you getting deployed bruh?” I was like “nah, the opposite lol”

Ended up at the airport in Dallas. I was alone this time. I ended up lost for 45 minutes. That airport was fuckin huge. Imagine a sick dude in an airport wandering around for almost an hour. Not pretty. My flight to New Orleans was delayed anyway though.

Finally got to New Orleans. Finally got home. Got on my computer. Played Channel Orange. I wanted to listen to that so bad for some reason.

SHE’S GIVING ME...PLEAASSSSUREEEEEE

[countcalebwrites]

My military experience Pt. 1

I wanted to travel and get the fuck outta Louisiana. My dad and my brother had air force experience. I figured I’d join them. So I called a recruiter and started the process. My mother was really angry.

Shit man. A lot of my cousins around where I was raised are drug dealers. I was a late teenager who was homeschooled that wanted to get away without tons of college debt. The military just seemed like the answer. So I went to the recruiter. Had to train for a few months and make sure I was able to run and be in shape.

My body and running don’t mix. I have an uneven natural balance and my feet are large (I wear size 17) and rigid with no shock support. When I run, my back my hips, and my feet hurt. A lot. I remember running one morning and trying to take all the pain I possibly could and then fainting on the side of the road. This one lady stopped her car and said “oh I thought you were dead”

Awkward.

Anyway, my physical shape was acceptable. I still couldn’t run but I hoped that’d fix itself somehow down the line. I had to focus on the other part: passing the test to get in in the first place. So eventually I got transferred to a base in New Orleans. I had my own hotel room! (that I ended up sharing with this navy dude but whatever) My memory a little hazy but I remember there was a waitress at the restaurant connected to the hotel, and while we were eating, the navy dude made a motion like he was sucking her boobs. I don’t know why I felt the need to share that detail, but yeah. She did have big boobs I guess.

Anyway, we go to the base to take the tests. I think first test I took was the ASVAB. Something like that. Just know it’s an air force assessment test. I had sinus issues and my nose kept running while I was taking the test so I took it slower than my peers I remember. I didn’t want anyone to see my nose running so I waited a bit so I could sneak out unseen and maybe get to the bathroom for some tissue. When I walked out, I instantly get handed the test and everyone is looking at me and the guy is like “nice young man you got an 84!” and everyones looking at me and clapping. Then someone is like “yeah we were waiting on you, about time”

I’m just trying to make sure no one is noticing my nose running the whole time.

Awkward.

I was happy with my score. I didn’t study for the test or anything and it was high enough to get me the job I wanted: Cyber Systems Operator. My main goal with the military was to get computer science experience for 4 years and go get a programming job or something.

Anyway, I had to do physical tests too. The recruiter kept saying don’t mention things you don’t need to mention or you’ll probably get sent home. I understood what he meant. We had to take a drug test. I remember going to the bathroom and this black dude was like yeah do your thing brotha. I was like aight…

I was pretty proud of myself that I was able to piss on command like that. One dude kept having to go back and drink water.

I also remember us getting our blood drawn for something. This one army dude who kept talking all tough was yelling and screaming when the nurse went to draw his blood. The nurse was like “Are you really…a grown man..afraid of getting your blood drawn?”

When it was my turn she said “I hope you not gonna cry like that last guy” lmao

I remember a doctor having to examine me and he asked if I had any birthmarks and I told him I have one near my chest. He asked to see it and I said I didn’t feel comfortable taking my clothes off for that. He looked really annoyed. Later I get the same doctor for another test where he has to feel my balls for something. So I told him “well since you know….we’ve gone this far…I guess I can show you my birthmark. And sorry.”

He told me it didn’t matter anymore and he understood my anxiety.

After all that, it turns out I was SPECIAL and had to go to a doctor who wasn’t on the base about my ears and my feet. So I had to stay in the hotel again then head to the appointments they set for me

My new roommate was an army guy. I didn’t really know much about him but he liked putting the TV on cartoon network. He didn’t seem like he wanted to kill people or anything. Just some white dude who said he wanted to be a cook or something, I don’t remember.

So anyway, I head off to my appointments. I first went to a doctor for my foot. I remember a really hot receptionist chick. I was like damn I wish I lived in New Orleans. I was afraid to make eye contact with her!!! I felt so adultish, filling out paperwork and etc on my own while being afraid of a hot receptionist chick. The doctor talked to me and the whole convo was basically I don’t know if your foot can handle it but hey, might as well try. I agreed.

The other doctor I saw cleaned my ears and things suddenly were louder to me. That blew my mind. I had never really been to an ear doctor before and I didn’t know that was possible.

Blah blah. I go back to the base. After I wait in the waiting room for like 8 HOURS I finally got to go back home. I’m not exaggerating 8 hours. I saw Gridiron Gang and some other movie and I played Halo. I remember when I was playing Halo there was a black chick next to me giving me advice. She was like “you gotta shoot them!!” and I was like “thank you for telling me that I have to shoot people. in this shooting game” She was kinda cute but her yelling was making me nervous which is why I was just like ok I’ll just put the TV back on movies.

So fast foward I end up going back to the New Orleans base months later and I got sworn in as a trainee! I remember this one fellow air force dude said the plot to Inception was bothering him a lot so I tried to explain it. I don’t think my analysis got through to him, but whatever. We get our plane tickets and all that shit. I remember one dude was like “Damn our souls basically belong to the government now” and I was thinking “wow kinda late to be thinking about that huh??”

Fast forward we on the plane. I didn’t get seated next to my fellow air force ppl. I sat by this white lady leaving New Orleans. She was really nice to me. I was kinda spooked by it. I was like “why is this white lady being so nice, she plottin some shit??”

She asked if I was a boy scout or something cause I walked in with a bunch of other teen boys and I was like “Nah we air force” etc. She told me “Thank you for your service” and I was like “well I didn’t really do anything yet ma’am haha” (and I wanted to say I’m doing this to make a better life for myself not for the country but whatever)

I got off and got on another plane in Texas. This plane had a lot more military ppl on it. I sat by this black dude from chicago. He told me I seem really chill, then he pointed at a dude in front of us and said “see that dude? He’s 18. And married.”

“what an idiot. I’ll fuck a girl but I ain’t about to marry her you know??”

I just kinda nodded and said something like “heh yea I’m not tryna do relationships right now, especially marriage tho”

Off the plane. And the whole atmosphere changed. I suddenly felt anxious. I was right to feel that way.

Suddenly people are yelling “GET ON THE BUS” and etc. I realized this is it. This is the start of training. I got on the bus. They explained a bunch of shit to us and told us to walk in the building. This training instructor kept yelling NIKE and I was like who that. And I had a nike shirt on. He was talking about me. Oh shit. I don’t really remember much stuff here but I remember getting yelled at a lot. Stuff like “get up the stairs you moron!” and etc. I later found out these verbal insults are scripted and I shouldn’t take them to heart.

After a bunch of brainwashing seminars and shit we get sent to our dorm. The training instructor who escorted us there was this white man and he swore a few times. Then he told us that if we like rap then we shouldn’t be offended by the swearing. I guess his logic made sense. I didn’t really care but yeah.

The next day we get our REAL training instructor. A black dude. Dude was ripped. And terrifying cause he seemed like he had mood swings. Another  scripted Training Instructor trait. We had to go get our underwear, uniforms, etc. I remember when I had to get my boots. They didn’t have any boots in 17. I was confused. and afraid. I just took a random pair and walked off and this one lady called me back and gave me a pair of 16s. They fit pretty decently. But I was late because of all that. So when I rejoined with the group, the instructor was like “and that’s how you cuff your pants” and I was like “shit. this is gonna come back to haunt me isn’t it??”

It did. I got yelled at for not having my pants cuffed properly several times.

Here’s another thing about my foot: I also can’t stand for long periods of time. I can walk around just fine. But standing in place hurts too. I get fidgety and shift my body to stop the pain. That got noticed by my instructor very quickly–he eventually pulled me aside and asked me what my problem was. I told him and he told me I should go to the doctor soon.

I went to the emergency room. These two chicks had basically graduated from training were there for something, don’t really remember. They asked what was wrong and I said my foot. They went “Awww” and I honestly didn’t know how to take it because there’s this kinda toxic masculine culture I picked up quickly in the military so I couldn’t tell if they were being sarcastic or really saying “aww poor you”

Anyway, I saw the doctor. He told me “hah, you’re fucked” after looking at my foot, which was turning blue. In those words. He asked where I was from and I told him. He mentioned the term “Coonass” that he picked up from when he was stationed in Louisiana. When I told him “coonass” is probably a racist term, he told me “whoa woops I didn’t know.”

He told me he liked me cause I was really laid back and jokey with him despite all what was going on and wrote a waiver saying I can sit or exclude myself from physical activity whenever I wanted.

Hell yeah! (Kinda)

I wasn’t going to be able to graduate with that waiver, so in the end, it was just a temporary relief thing.

I took a psych eval test somewhere in this week and it asked all kinda questions about mental state, suicide, depression, etc. I admitted I was depressed. It was very depressing being in this hostile environment with a foot that was preventing me from doing everything properly.

I later got called in by the psych eval people. I was really worried that saying I was depressed was gonna get me in trouble or something. Turns out I had left a question blank.

“Have you ever considered suicide?”

Well….damn. I think I spaced out when I saw that question. I told the truth. I did as a younger teen. (and I was getting close to there in this situation, because I felt like dead weight and my brain was going numb, but I wasn’t going to tell that psych eval dude that)

He asked why I didn’t do it and I told him because it would bring too much stress on my family. That was that. Back to my dorm. I had an appointment scheduled for my foot (a doctor that wasn’t an ER doctor). Somewhere in all that, I remember we had this speech by this Carl Winslow looking ass instructor. He walked in and said “Yo ass is grass, and I’m the lawnmower.”

My dad told me that quote a lot. I smiled because I finally realized where he got it from.

I didn’t smile after he told us that the government owns us and could sentence us to death if we don’t cooperate though.

Anyway, I remember going to church. You (kinda) have to go. You don’t HAVE to, but if you don’t, you gotta stay back in the dorm and clean up. I’d rather pretend to listen than do that. So yeah. There were two sessions. First session was this small study session or something. This lady put on this christian military music video and I found it a perfect time to nap a bit, as I was pretty sleep-deprived. I woke up and this dude was crying saying it was so touching to see the story of the troop guy coming home to his wife. I was like “yea dope or whatever” (I didn’t see it, as I slept)

After that, we got to the main part of the church. There were different kinds of services you could go to. Even wiccan! But I chose christian, cause I didn’t really want to stand out or anything. It was ALL PROPAGANDA.

Like extremely. The preacher said God wants you to go fight and God doesn’t like cowards. I was like “Alrighty then” and started tuning out anything after that. Whack ass shit.

Fast forward, got to go to my doctor’s appointment. The air force was coming off some type of sex abuse scandal, so the rule was: you can only travel in groups of 2 or more. You cannot travel alone. So I had a partner to come with me. I went to my doctor’s appointment and the doctor told me my foot issue will probably only get worse and I should probably seperate from the military unless I can somehow numb the pain. Damn. I walk out, and my wingman is gone. I was stranded at the damn’s doctor office for hours and I ended up missing lunch. Cool.

I remember calling the office for my dorm and explaining my situation. He kept saying “Trainee, where’s your wingman?” and I kept saying “I don’t know.” Then he said “”You are a waste of The USA’s resources. Goodbye.” and hang up. That kinda hurt my feelings lmao but the doctor near me told me “well it’s not your fault”

That was that. I got transferred to another dorm later. I’ll continue this another time and talk about what happened in that dorm and the end of my military career.

P2 here

[countcalebwrites]

Why Porn Plots Need Me As A Writer

https://medium.com/@CountCaleb/why-porn-plots-need-me-as-a-writer-43c10de3f660

[countcalebwrites]

My Ex Gf Sara Who Was Never Actually My Gf

Disclaimer: This story is potentially PROBLEMATIC

Aight so like.......for whatever reason I got interested in sugar daddy culture. I don’t know why. I was just wondering what the sugar daddies get out of it. I mean I guess I get it. They get attention from younger women. But is that simply me thinking on the surface? Am I being too shallow? Those were the questions in my mind.

So I decided to go out and ask a sugar baby myself.

Her name was Sara.

I told her my intentions. I just want to know about her clients and etc. I told her I was also too broke to pay for her services or anything and I fully understand if she’s not interested in talking to me about her clients and etc.

She told me to get on cam with her and ask away.

SO I DID.

I told her again that I’m not interested in her service, though I did tell her she looked great. This was part of my plan. Complimenting people lets their guard down so they don’t think you tryna come at them or anything. I say this to reiterate that I had no intention of doing anything virtually or unvirtually sex related with Sara. I was legit here to ask questions.

After I complimented her I asked away, just as she told me to. I asked how old her clients usually are, she said usually much older than me. She told me half of them are probably married, etc. I was like oh cool this is going great I’m getting good info on sugar daddy culture here. 

Then I asked what kind of services she’s usually required to do. I didn’t want tons of details. If she just said “give them a show, visually stimulate them, etc I would have been satisfied. However, Sara pulled out a cucumber. Then licked it. 

She said “they usually like when I show them stuff like this.”

I was like “oh” and began blinking rapidly.

I said something like “well,,,,,that’s cool I guess” and began laughing nervously.

Then she took off her shirt. 

And I was like “whoa you don’t have to do that I get it” etc and I told her that again, as attractive as she is, I am too broke and perhaps too young to be a sugar daddy. 

She told me “but I like your smile” and then began doing things with the cucumber and her chest. I was like “.....oh” and began coughing profusely. I wasn’t really coughing. However, it was a good way for me to think of my next move from here.

“What’s going on??? Does she really like my smile? Am I being punk’d???” went through my mind.

So she starts off her statement with “since I was honest with you...”

and caps it off with “...do you have a big black cock?”

Mind you, Sara was not white. But she wasn’t black either. So I felt a bit fetishized. But I also wasn’t about to tell a girl sticking a cucumber between her breasts that sexualizing a black man’s body has an ugly racist history in that moment. I told her “uhh that’s not really something I think aboutt”

I wanted to ask more questions about Sugar Daddy culture. But idk. Felt a little weird to be asking there. So I told her looks like I gotta go soon. (I didn’t have anywhere to go)

She told me if I wanted someone to judge and see if I had a big black cock, she’d help me out. 

Frankly, I didn’t want to know if I had a big black cock or not. 

I began coughling profusely again and said I had to go.

She grabbed her chest and said “do you really want to leave these???” and the coughing intensified.

I said “As great as your chest looks, I really have to go. It was very nice talking to you though Sara.”

I dumped my newfound non-girlfriend in that moment.

She was a nice girl though.

And that’s the story of why I probably should mind my own business.

[countcalebwrites]

I Would Like To Announce My Retirement From Life

My son learned how to walk recently. He’s an expert at it already. I never thought I’d have a son. That was never in my directives.

I only had one job:

Collect information on humanity. 

I entered this world alone and cold. I always felt like the odd one in my family, in my social circles, and in my place in this world. It’s cause I am--I wasn’t naturally born on this planet. I couldn’t tell anyone. 

Today is my birthday, the day I was sent to this world. Boss said he’s proud of me. The data I collected was helpful, he said. But now what? I go back to the mother planet. The years I spent on Earth feel wasted. I know I completed the mission I was given, but it feels like so many things I still need to do. I feel unfulfilled. But perhaps unfulfillment is a human illusion. Humans set goals and work towards them to distract themselves from their pain. 

I have yet to figure out if the fear of pain is what drives humans, or if it’s the sense of fulfillment that displaces pain. That question was never called for by my authority, but I ask it anyway. Perhaps I got too involved in my job. Like I said, I was never supposed to have a son. 

I’m rambling. I have to return to the mother planet. I’ll miss everyone I met on this journey. I’m sorry for lying about who I really was. I’m sorry if I ever hurt anyone, my trip here was purely for scouting purposes. Being an alien is not as interesting as it seems. You mask yourself, collect information, and go home. 

Happy birthday to myself, I guess. 

I retire. 

[countcalebwrites]

Know Your Value

My stomach hurts and last night I had a bad headache. It’s not as bad now. But I’m probably dying. Not one person on twitter reached out to me despite my impending death. Fucked up. But life goes on. I know my value and that’s what matters. Some people don’t know their value, man.

You see some of the most beautiful women going “oh I’m ugly” and you’re like “nigga if u don’t stop appropriating the language of actual ugly people wtf???” You see dudes with no confidence ‘round here like “should I really shoot my shot??” Yes nigga. If you miss, you missed. You got way more bullets left. It’s aight.

The thing about value is that it’s all relative and it’s all perception based. 

Think about this story with Kodak (The actual company not the rapper who I think is a rapist):

They invented the digital camera, right? But the digital camera ran them out of business. They felt like the digital camera wouldn’t really amount to much till years down the line. They completely underestimated how rapidly it would come into mainstream. They felt at the time, that it was a low value product.

Kodak didn’t know their value.

I’m not saying you’re a camera company, but I am saying that if you don’t value yourself, you need to look at all the facts. Tally up what you got. Change your perception, look at what you offer in different angles and environments. And if you still ain’t satisfied, work towards something that you think will increase your value. Hobbies, skills, etc. 

Don’t forget to enjoy yourself though. There’s too many people out there who brag about working hard or their skills who don’t enjoy it. I see people going “I did x for 10 hours and never had fun!” as it’s something to brag about. That’s a cry for help, in my opinion. If you brag about how hard you work, it means you’re not getting equal value from your hard work and you want to make up the difference with social capital. To me it says “This doesn’t feel worth it, but at least people can say I work hard” which makes you a sucka.

Don’t be a sucka. Determine your own value. Work hard, but work smart too. Make sure the value lines up.

My twitter “pals” may not care that I am on my deathbed with a minor headache, but when I die, I’ll still be happy knowing my value and knowing that I am a beacon in this dark and desolate world.

[countcalebwrites]

Can We Stop Doing That Thing Where We Are Like “The popularity of Kim Kardashian’s butt is why Tr*mp is president”

There was this tweet I saw where someone (I legit don’t know who but they wuzz verified) said something along the lines of:

“If people paid as much attention to politics as they paid to the Remy Ma vs. Nicki beef, we wouldn’t have Trump” or some shit like that.

And it’s like..why would you say that? 

Then I saw this facebook meme(already a bad sign right there) talking about how this one kid has several degrees in college or some shit while the cash me ousside girl is trashy, uneducated, etc, and being rewarded for it.

 Like yeah. I guess. I don’t care for the cash me ousside girl either, but she’s 13 years old or something along those lines, and my main issue with her popularity isn’t her herself or her education level, but the fact that if a black girl acted like her, spoke like her (with her Iggy Azalea ass blaccent, that’s the real issue here by the way. Y’all shoulda never let Iggy happen) she wouldn’t be a funny little meme that everyone laughs at, she’d be called failure to her race, ghetto, and she certainly wouldn’t be able to make money off the whole thing. But I can really give a fuck about neither. If I acknowledge the kid with all the degrees, what happens? 

Oh, other kids are inspired and they get degrees too because they want my acknowledgement? I don’t know. Sounds like a stretch. 

I’m not going to get into people’s obsession with exceptionalism and how we blatantly ignore the fact that people argue that a small percentage of exceptionalists means the system we work in is good actually. Or when we point to exceptionalists in general, we ignore they usually DID have some type of break (Obama, a man who worked very hard for where he got, inherited $500k, something not too many of us got I’d imagine)

Here’s what I’m going to go into:

STOP IGNORING MENTAL HEALTH

STOP IGNORING THE FACT THAT IF PEOPLE PAID ATTENTION TO ALL THE DEPRESSING SHIT IN THE WORLD AT ALL TIMES THEY’D GO CRAZY.

It reminds me of the story of this football player:

Todd Marinovich.

The test tube baby quarterback. Perfect mechanics. Lived and breathed football, moreso than what you’d imagine. Never had a big mac. His dad forced him to only eat stuff that’d make him better at football, like liver. 

Dominant player in high school and college.

When he made it to the NFL?

He failed. He ended up with big time depression issues and flamed out on several different drugs.

All I’m saying is:

Let people live, man. I doubt people living is what brought Trump. It probably had more to do with you know, economic issues, racism, fear, and the elite not giving a fuck about us. 

[countcalebwrites]

Wile E. Coyote, Tom, Trix Rabbit: Anti-Capitalist Heroes

I know what you’re thinking:

They are cartoon characters. They did not heroically save a child from a fire. They did not teach children and believe in them when an underfunded, understaffed system set them up to fail. They did not give any us money. 

But they are heroes.

It depends on how one might define what a hero is. Is a hero someone who saves people? It could be. When someone says “Colin Kaepernick is my hero,” they don’t mean Kaepernick saved them from a fire. It means someone they highly admire, or perhaps someone they aspire to be like. Someone who plants inspiration in their head.

Wiley E. Coyote, Tom, and the Trix Rabbit inspire me. They all chase something they can’t have. It’s like how when a chick stops replying to your texts and through some type of delusion, a dude keeps texting her, hoping maybe there was a small chance she didn’t get the last “wuzz poppin ma?” text or perhaps she’s playing hard to get, which could be possible, but in all likelihood: you got curved. They should delete her number out of their phone and unmatch with her on tinder, but they keep going. 

That’s what happens with these three on the regular. They get curved. Jerry ain’t tryna get eaten. The kids gonna cockblock the Trix Rabbit forever. These niggas need to grow up already. The Road Runner gonna do the beep beep or whatever shit to the point where Wile E. Coyote is triggered by hearing that and needs extensive therapy. That’s how this shit works. They never give up, never quit.

And I see paralells to this with the American dream. Like yeah, it’s certainly possible you can make it, but for the most part, you’re playing some really shitty game on Insane mode. And the developers at the top are like “Look man, we could add living wage to the game through a patch, but I’m too busy getting my dick sucked right now.”  To make it worse? You can’t even turn this shitty game off. You gotta keep playing. 

Sometimes you gotta do things you don’t wanna do to get to the next level. Sometimes you gotta do some really ugly shit to even remain on the level. Sometimes the game tells you that the real reason you’re not having fun is because the other players are ruining it for you. So instead of playing the game, you try knock the other players down a few notches. It’s all lies. The game sucks. The game is there to fuck you up.

That’s the rules. The aforementioned three are playing it too. They always lose. They work. They come up with schemes. They work within a system that is designed to oppress them. They work episode after episode, commercial after commercial knowing they damn well ain’t about to suddenly catch Jerry. How do you survive knowing your entire existence is a damn L? That shit is depressing.

The work ethic and mental self-care it takes to coninue their survival is inspiring. Their examplary behavior--what not to do--inspires me. 

Thanks to these three, I’m going to continue playing this shitty game. But I’m not going to chase the road runner, Jerry, tweety bird, or Trix cereal. We need to tell the developers “fuck y’all game” together. Then they’ll end the game. Cause that game ain’t gonna make no money for them no more. 

[countcalebwrites]

I had a weird ass dream and I need a hug

I had a weird dream.

I was a social outcast. So that part is realistic. 

But I was around others.

There was a baby with spikes in his face. And really heavy claws. He terrified me. I felt like this baby was an enemy.

I have no idea why a human baby had spikes and claws, or why I dreamed about it. Perhaps someone fucked a blowfish and the baby was a result of their twisted sanity and misuse of arousal. Perhaps it was a demon baby. I don’t know. I just didn’t wanna be around it.

 And my inner self judged me. Heavily.

“How could you call out society for being judgmental when you won’t give spike-baby a chance?”

Inner self and I went back and forth. My counter point was: It’s not like I’m afraid of baby for his choices or anything. It’s because baby has fucking spikes growing out of his face. Said spikes could harm me, even if he doesn’t intend to. 

After a few minutes of debaitng my inner self, a woman with spikes growing out of her face, similar to the baby appeared. She said she didn’t need me. Who knows why she thought I needed her take at that moment.

I was kinda like “well good cause I frankly don’t wanna be wanted by some chick with spikes growing out of her face personally” but I only thought that. 

I actually ran.

 I left the community of outcasts. Perhaps I’m not really about that life. Perhaps that’s what my dream was telling me. Or perhaps I shouldn’t fall asleep with a machete on my bed due to paranoia. Idk.

[countcalebwrites]

Relationships is fake.

Relationships is fake. Not are. Is. Fuck your grammar. I looked up cheating statistics because my friend brought up how one time he was dancing with a girl in the club and asked for her number.

She said “I have a boyfriend, sorry”

Then proceeded to try to make out with him.

If people are this fake in their romantic relationships, how fake are people in platonic relationships?

Look at these statistics which may be inaccurate because I got them off a random site on google, nigga:

Percent of men who admit to committing infidelity in any relationship they’ve had: 57 %

Percent of women who admit to committing infidelity in any relationship they’ve had: 54 %

Niggas is fake.

I’m not saying you’re fake if you’re lumped into that stat, but I am saying: Life is trash. I realize the numbers (which could be misleading cause what’s the process for a study like this???) don’t tell the whole story. I’m not here to condemn or attack people who’ve cheated before. I’m here to say:

Platonic friends prolly fake.

I don’t mean they cheat on you with other friends or anything. I mean they might be smiling in your face and shit while saying “man good thing they got a good personality cause that’s one ugly ass nigga.”

They might be buying you gifts and thinking “lemme hook this nigga up, I know aint nobody tryna really be friends with this fuck.”

You feel me?

Niggas fake.

I mean niggas in a racially-neutral context, by the way.

You know what’s probably real though?

Aliens.

I’m not sure if they’ve reached earth before though. I doubt it.

My thoughts? Get rid of all your friends. Die alone.  

That’s the best way to proceed.

[countcalebwrites]

I Possibly Talked To An Italian Mobster

I had a headache(I still do as of writing this actually) and my back was hurting earlier, so I thought I’d get in bed and fuck around on my chromebook. You know a weird thing I was doing? I was on Omegle earlier. 

On the depression tag. 

And I was telling people on there “stay strong!!!”

One girl was crying. I felt bad. “I said are you okay??” and she said “I’m really upset now I don’t need people trolling me.” 

I told her I had no intention of trolling her by asking that but I hope she feels better. Then I moved on. But anyway, later, I got this italian dude.

He yells “CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

I’m like “yeah kinda”

And then he says “I have this pussy-getting face and no women wanna get nasty for me cause they can’t hear me. What the fuck is with this???” in an extremely thick italian accent.

That was...amusing. So then he randomly says he’s on the depression tag cause he’s done things he’s not very proud of. And asks me to stay and listen a bit. 

“What’s your name? Is it Jamal??”

That was a little racist, but I can overlook it. I told him yes. Because if this dude is some italian mobster, my name is very much fucking so “Jamal.”

Anyway, he goes on about “having balls” and says that you don’t betray family.

“Listen man, family is most important. I had to injure a guy’s legs because he thought it was ok to betray family”

I was like “ok....” 

Maybe he sensed the Jamal thing rubbed me the wrong way, so he says “and by the way, I’m not racist. I used to date an Afro-American woman. I gave her my heart. I can’t be racist anymore after getting close to her”

Again, I was overlooking things. Cause like, you can be misogynstic and date women, just like how you can be racist and date women of other races. But whatever.

I was like “word man, that’s cool” and he goes on even more.

“I know there’s some racist people in America. But I respect black people. They are the only ones with fucking balls besides italians. We need more people with balls.” 

And THEN idk why but he starts trying to give me life lessons.

He says “Look, I’m from Malibu. Pretty diverse place. If I date an Afro-American woman, I’m going to treat her right. It’s only right. 

And it goes the other way around. If you date an italian woman, you better treat her right. Or I’ll cut your fucking balls off. “

Then he says that a thing he learned from life is that if people treat you nice, you treat them nice back. And if they treat you wrong, you hurt them. But he made sure to clarify that he doesn’t hurt women who treat him wrong. 

I was like “yeah man that’s a cool way to look at things. I just cut people off when they hurt me.” and he laughed and was like “yes!!”

Idk. He was going to go on even more, but I said I have work to do before 9 (I still do. I’m gonna do it after I post this article. I got a deadline and etc) but yeah. 

I don’t know if I really talked to an italian mobster or not, but that was...pretty interesting. 

Peace.

[countcalebwrites]

Debate about r/relationships

Anthony: TL;DR my boyfriend innocently said I was an 8/10, and ever since I have been extremely self conscious of my body and it's causing issues in our relationship.

Me: dude don't give your girl a number

Anthony: He thought about it for a second, started to say 9, but then changed his mind and said 8. I was (probably over-dramatically) devastated because I think he is truly a 10/10 in both looks and personality. Anthony: ................

Me: ..

Anthony: reading the comments i gotta agree that people would be flattered with an 8

Me: yeah but don't say that

Anthony: she asked him to do it. sorry man thats... Anthony: idk rofl

Me: tell ur girls shes the most beautiful girl in the world ok Me: it's lying(probably)... but yeah. no offense

Anthony: its dick if he takes the initiative to rate Anthony: im indifferent here

Anthony: this comment: If you ask, you get answers. Do not ask questions like this. This one is fully on you. He didn't "say something stupid." You did.

Me: aight that comment is fucked up rofl

Anthony: it gets the point across that its a dumb question rofl

Anthony: like getting upset over "how many guys have you fucked"

Me: idk man you can't take emotions out of the equation Me: you know me. im very anti-emotions

Me: but like. that's what a relationship is

Anthony: you cant lie about that

Anthony: the way she dramatically reacted to being called an 8 is slightly concerning

Me: well you gotta look past the 8 and look at it like Me: shes prob subconsciously thinking "well he thinks there's girls prettier than me???"

Anthony: yes the answer is yes. youd have to be delusional to yourself

Me: love is delusional man. no offense

Anthony: i mean im ok knowing my gf thinks other guys are hotter or more attractive

Me: yeah i'm just saying as a rule of thumb...just say 10 and be done man idk lol

Anthony: nah you get called out for that "youre lying" Anthony: tell me the truth"

How y’all feel? I feel like in that position I woulda just said 10 just cause that woulda avoided any drama. IDK man. A lot of what I do is to avoid drama, so that’s me. Was he wrong? Is he trippin?

[countcalebwrites]

Friendships, Stopping Oppression

You know something I’ve been thinking about a lot over the past ~5 years or so but I never really put it into words? Friendships. Relationships. Etc.

Like, what makes a friend? What are the rules of being a friend? 

I have a really complicated organization system of relationships with people in general in my head. I feel like I subconsciously organized it into a way...I’ll try to put in words.

Basically, I feel like there’s different tiers of friends.

It’s a bit more complex than this, but here’s a bunch of general tiers that give you a basic idea:

Tier 1: Acquaintance

This is the most basic tier of friendship/relationship I think. This is for co-workers and people you’d be like “yo what up how are ya” even though you don’t really care. Sometimes these people are people you just talk about one subject with. You go “hey you saw the game?” and person is like “yeah I did” blah blah. Solid discussion. Sometimes family go here. Actually, a lot of the time family go here probably. Not to say I don’t like these people, but I don’t really trust them and I probably don’t know them very well. And sometimes, I don’t want to know them very well, because it’d likely ruin the little warmth I have towards them.

Tier 2: Ally

Not ally in the social justice sense. Which is a term I hate, by the way. Sounds like some RPG shit. “Your ally healed you for 50 hp!” face ass term. In this context, it means someone I’m cool with and I think has similar goals. Like, I don’t mean, goals like as in career, but I just mean goals as in how they think the world should work and etc. They think you know, killing people is bad. They agree that racism isn’t good. Someone who I’m rooting for, but I’m not exactly close to or anything. I think a lot of people go in this category for me. It’s not a bad category to be in. 

Tier 3: Pal

If I was a girl, would I say “gal pal” to refer to my female friends? Unrelated. But anyway, this is tier 3. I feel like it’s simply the ally tier, but I trust the people in this a bit more and they enjoy talking to me a little. I don’t know. We’re cool. I think. Probably. That’s where trust and shit comes in. I don’t feel comfortable randomly hitting people in this tier up, but if we’re talkin or something, awesome. 

Tier 4: Comfort

I’m weird. I don’t mean weird as in “that guy called Rosie thicc” weird. I mean just weird. I was homeschooled, raised in a rural town, I was raised half scientology half christian. I wear a size 17 US shoe. I have a weird thinking process compared to most other people, or at least, it feels like I do, so people in this tier are people who understand all that. They’ll give me benefit of the doubt when I say some weird shit, I think. They don’t mind me randomly messaging or calling them...probably. There’s a level of comfort I feel with people in this tier. They’ll be a bit honest with you when you need it, etc. 

I’m sure everyone has their own friend/relationship heirarchies, but I wonder how this affects your interactions with them? Say everyone uses my system. What happens when you personally have me on Tier 1 and I have you on Tier 2? 

Does that make me a fan of you ???

How often does this happen????

2nd of all, what makes a friend, and what are the rules?

Well, I’m sure a sensible answer is: There’s different cultures, and cultures have different rules. But in this ever globalizing world where cultures clash and mesh together, how is it defined then? 

What if you witness a friend being mean to another friend, and you think it’s a misunderstanding, but y’all ain’t that cool for you to be jumping in like that, so you just kinda...watch? Is that wrong? I’ve seen this happen A LOT. 

But also:

Is that different from how police keep up a system of oppression by not calling each other out? Police see their peers say racist shit, committ racist acts, cover up corruption, etc. They don’t do anything about it.

 It’s like a gang. And the court system is its own gang. They look out for each other too. The politicians look out for each other. They protect the police. The police protects the business moguls and elite in a literal sense. As long as the police enforce policies that oppress and plunder people of color and poor people, the elite stay in power.

So the elite pays the politicians, who protect the police. And...the police protect each other, who get paid money from their plunder and oppression too. Wow. 

Does me putting my head down whenever I see two friends feuding and not tryna help them find a solution put me on the level of the feds??? Perhaps that’s overthinking it.

 I overthink things a lot. It’s a gift and a curse. You sit there thinking of several creative scenarios and situations for any given move made by the world. And sometimes you think of some good shit. But sometimes the world makes a really simple move like someone not smiling at you even though they usually do. And you sit there like: 

“Wow. x didn’t smile at me today. Bad day? Hmm..even if x is having a bad day, doesn’t mean for sure that’s why they didn’t smile at me today. You know what? x probably hates me now. I was never what they thought I was. My persona could only last so long. Why do I always disappoint people? It always happens. I should just go isolate myself so I stop disappointing people forever.”

Oh. I got off subject there. Anyway, relationships with people and friendships. Some complex shit, right?

[countcalebwrites]

Thirst follow

I’m relaxing a bit more. I don’t feel like I’m gonna die anymore. But I need to keep cleansing myself of stuff just in case, or just lower usage of stuff. I’m writing for the sake of writing because it helps me relax. Also, incase you were wondering, when I said social media hiatus, I mostly mean Twitter/FB/etc. Places that post news and etc. Things that would fuel my paranoia.

I’m thirst following this one Korean chick on instagram. Not Korean-American. Korean.

What comes out of a thirst follow? Well. I guess you see pics of someone you like seeing. That’s kinda creepy tho. But this chick is a model. And that’s the nature of the profession of a model I guess...

Like, they pool their resources (money, time) into looking good. So like, they deserve to be thirst followed. Is that sound logic? Idk. But anyway, here’s a scenario that could come out of my thirst follow:

She becomes interested in learning english, so she goes through her 117,000 followers and messages me, of all people. Then I help her even though I don’t really know much Korean at all. After a while, we confess that through the journey of sharing language, we fell for one another. We link up multiple times and begin dating. After 3 years of tough times, our bond strengthens and I propose. Suddenly we’re married. I’m rich. We have houses in both America and Korea. 2 years from there, we have a child. The child is beautiful. And then in another 2 years, she says I’m too emotionally distant. We get a divorce. The child stays in Korea. I go back to America. In 16 years, the child is 18. He’s a star actor. He says in an interview, “While my dad spent time with me, I fucking hate him. He should have tried harder to please my mom.”

I cry. I become a hardass guy from a detective novel who doesn’t connect with anyone. I only connect with my work. Many women find my mysterious allure attractive, but I’m only interested in small flings and sex with them. 30 years later, I die. 

Rest in peace.

^^^^

That above is how I could see my thirst follow ending up. Which is why I will continue to thirst follow women I have no chance with. It’s the way the world works.

[countcalebwrites]

Stories

I’m on a social media hiatus for the sake of my mental health(here if you don’t get why), but I’m gonna still chime in here and write things I think about. 

Today my mom was telling me about her employment issues back when she lived in San Francisco in the 70s. She said she got this one job at some office and how she had a cool boss. Then she got transferred or something and ended up under a white lady. She was the only black person there and said she felt out of place. The white lady who was ahead of her would always be harsh on her in evaluations, even when she felt she had taken extra time to make sure her job was done properly.

It’s not an interesting story or anything, just a typical story of discrimination at a job in the 70s. But we got on the subject of my great uncle, who my mom was originally living with in California. 

Sidebar: My mom used to live near Angela Davis in Oakland. Yes, THE Angela Davis. The badass Black Panther woman. 

My Uncle apparently led an organization called MORE (Minorities Organized (for the) Restablishment (of) Employment). According to my mom, this organization in California would sue companies for job discrimination and fight for minorities to have better access to jobs. I didn’t even know that my uncle was involved in something like this.

That’s badass!

My Uncle passed away about 10 years ago or so. I don’t remember the exact date. But he was always really nice to me. He’d always give me money for each A on my report card in school and look at it and say something like “impressive, Caleb” or something to that effect. It made doing well in school feel like it mattered a little. 

He died when he was mayor of the small rural town in Louisiana that I live in. I was too young to understand politics, but I do know, the changes he wanted, like more businesses, less slums, etc....white people in this 75% black town was NOT about that shit. They hated him. They wanted to do away with him by any means. He died of a heart attack while in office. That was that.

I can’t find any info on the organization he ran in California, but I highly doubt my mom is lying. She doesn’t lie about stuff like that. It’s really cool to know he helped fight for civil rights. Idk. When I die, I want to be able to say that I did something to contribute to that fight. For right now though, I gotta focus on myself.

Anyway, peace

[countcalebwrites]

I keep getting this feeling that I’m gonna die. Dreams, visions, etc. I don’t know why. Like, you know that ticking time bomb feeling? Like you know something is about to go to hell? Well. That.

 Someone broke in 3 times (or more, I caught him twice) last year...he robbed our neighbor too. He stole her gun. (her jewelry and her TV also) This left me on the fritz. I was up at 3 am holding a machete, pacing around the house and looking for him to return every night. I failed all of my online college classes cause of this. I know that sounds paranoid as hell--it is, but know I not only saw this guy, I TALKED to him. I saw him in the window. He pretended like he was a customer for something and gave me a fake number. Then he came back. He was cocky. Anyway, eventually I moved on. I heard he got caught and put in jail, so I could finally calm down and stop being so paranoid. 

Well, someone took a plank off our fence a few days ago. I didn’t really think much of it...but then I just read a story about a guy committing an armed robbery down the street.  

It was the guy who robbed us.

I feel like I’m entering a paranoid state again. I don’t want that to happen. So I need to chill for a bit and stay off social media and calm down. 

[countcalebwrites]

If I Created A Museum

A thing that randomly came to mind today: I should make a museum one day. I love art--I’m kinda artsy myself. Creating makes me me feel alive. But this isn’t about me, this is about the bigger picture. Or bigger pictures. However you want me to put it. 

I would make an amazing museum. I would.

Don’t believe me? Well I will create this museum in this article. And you’ll be like “wow I wish this was a real museum.”

First off, 

Exhibit A

This is a beautiful picture that captures 2016 rather well. A blue sea of sadness envelopes us all, but a beautiful Goddess continues to float above it. This picture inspires hope. We will get through this, my friends. This isn’t the first time a white supremacist was president.

Exhibit B

I believe in the future. I believe in the kids. Not because of that one faulty poll picture of what young people would vote like though. Really, I don’t have any reason at all. If playing Call of Duty with voice chat on is any indication of our future, every 12 year old is going to grow up to become Donald Trump. This picture shows a cute baby, eyes wandering. He is afraid. “I have peaked,” he must be thinking. It can only go downhill from this day forth. Unless this beautiful goddess returns to his life later. Then yeah. 

Exhibit C

Perhaps democracy does not work.  Perhaps we don’t need a president. Perhaps America needs a queen. One of class, grace, and fairness. How would she look? What would be her name? She sits on the throne above. She punishes the unrighteous, but with only enough force to allow them to remain and become reborn in her aura. I love our queen.

Exihibit D 

I call this painting “Greatness” (2016). Here we see a beautiful woman with a picture of a young man who looks like he will grow up to be intelligent, beautiful and handsome on her shirt. Perhaps he will grow up to marry her someday! If the woman wearing this shirt would like to inquire about the previous sentence, please contact me. I may be able to contact the young man on her shirt.

Author note: You may be thinking that this museum doesn’t show anything besides the beautiful woman in each piece. That is not true. Far from the truth. Just look at the next piece.

Exhibit E

This piece strikes me. There’s so many different faces in it-truly a diverse work of art-but  only one face stands out to me. What could it mean? Is this picture saying that in a world filled with followers, we need a leader? We are all lost. We are looking for our next break. We are all looking for a revolution to lead us to a happier world for not only ourselves, but our neighbors. As we do this, we sometimes become complacent. Not to say we are lazy, but we have to look out for our survival. Our food, our mental health, our emotional wellbeing. And as we look around, we don’t notice the beautiful shining face within our own radius that has all the answers we are looking for. This piece...it moves me. I’m crying. 

There you have it

Don’t you agree now? That my museum would become a landmark for people around the world to visit? I know art. 

Art knows me.