#ive started saying 'man' more than 'dude' i must correct this course of action

[kisstheashes]

i hate the new bot urls dude

[grimmseye]

I don’t have a clever title, but Bakugou just wants to kiss his boyfriend

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia

Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou

Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Eijirou, Brief appearances of other students

Other Tags: Kissing/Making Out, This Gets a T-Rating For More Than Just Bakugou’s Language, Kirishima Gets Unfortunate Bodily Fluids In His Mouth And No One Has A Good Time, Unspecified Timeframe

Anonymous said: I don't have any prompts but I can tell you silly stuff I think about. Like how their is going to be a point where Bakugou cuts his lips on Kirishima's teeth. Or Kiri licking Baku's hand bc that's hot right but didn't think about how his sweat is basically nitroglycerin. Ingesting that is a very smart.

A note: the class doesn’t know they’re dating in this. The narration is not accurate to the reality. 

— — — —

i.

Bakugou lives for summertime. He embodies it, heat in his veins, his skin, his eyes. God, his eyes put the sun to shame. They’re huge and wild and blazing and Kirishima falls right into them, he licks his lips and the salt-sweat and wishes he could taste it from Bakugou’s lips instead.

The thoughts are fleeting, more feelings than words. They pulse through his brain with each beat of his racing heart. No time to dwell, because Bakugou is suddenly so close, too close, and it’s all he can do to get his head down in time. The air ignites. Bakugou deals his blows and then leaps away to prepare for another barrage, a sneering grin on his face, a challenge.

Kirishima sucks in a breath and wills. And when Bakugou flies at him he doesn’t try to drop or dodge but meets him head-on. The blows land against him, ringing in his ears, smoke clogging his vision. He swipes his way through the screen and barrels on, catches a flash of shock in those molten eyes before impacting him.

Bakugou thuds on the ground, and Kirishima drops with him. It’s a struggle to pin him now because he thrashes like a wild thing, teeth snapping and body squirming and layering bomb after bomb on Kirishima’s hardened skin. His flesh aches down to its pores, his lungs burn, he’s running out of time.

He grasps Bakugou’s hands, palm-to-palm, and twists one up above his head, the next shoved into the grass by his face. Like this the force of his explosions echo back against his own hands, and he has to curb them to keep from fracturing his own bones. Bakugou’s chest heaves. His eyes are riveted on Kirishima’s, mouth parted around his breaths.

Kirishima leans down further, pushes more of his weight into Bakugou. It’s a struggle to breathe, let alone speak in this form, so his voice comes out as a grinding rasp: “I win.”

And Bakugou gives. He goes limp, a surrender, and Kirishima’s armor falls away. He sucks in a breath, but doesn’t let up. There’s no such thing as relaxing until the villains are packed away for containment.

Bakugou’s mouth is stretched in a grin, the kind of ecstatic satisfaction that comes from a good fight. He’s gorgeous. Raw power embodied, unstoppable and uncontainable, but Kirishima has him for this moment.

When Kirishima leans forward, Bakugou’s eyes roll towards him. He lowers himself inch by inch, gaze never breaking from Bakugou, and Bakugou doesn’t make a single move to stop him. Their noses brush.

“Kirishima!”

They wrench away. Kirishima rolls off of Bakugou and lands in a half-crouch. Tetsutetsu is charging from across the field -- must have seen them sparring. Or heard them, with all the noise they make between the explosions and their roars. “You kick his ass?” He hollers, pumping a fist in the air. “Come on, lemme give you a real fight!”

Bakugou snorts. Kirishima peers over his shoulder, heat flushing over his cheeks, but Bakugou is staring up at the sky.

“Yeah, let’s do it!” He shouts back, pushing himself up to his feet and going to meet his friend.

The taste of salt is sweet on his tongue.

ii.

Movie nights are apparently a tradition now that they all live in the dorms. They draw straws to determine the pecking order, only because Bakugou nearly got in a fistfight with Deku over which All Might movie they should watch the first time -- for once, the curly-haired boy had risen to his challenge, which only pissed him off more.

Tonight was Sparky’s night. Naturally, he had absolute trash taste. It was a foreign movie, subtitled. He hadn’t expected him to put on a romance of all things, but Mina had elbowed him firmly in the gut when he opened his mouth to say something. That wasn’t what deterred him. It was just that after she pulled that stunt, Kirishima took notice and told him in soft tones to let it go.

“He’s nervous as hell, man,” Kirishima murmured, gesturing with his eyes to Kaminari. Who, now that Bakugou was looking, did look jumpy. “And he’s trusting us not to give him a hard time. Besides, nothing is wrong with a romance.” The last words peter off into a mumble.

Is he blushing, or is that the reflection of his hair?

Bakugou squints and leans forward. The color deepens; he’s definitely blushing.

“Oh my god,” he scoffs. “You’re one of those fucking saps, aren’t you?”

“Wh -- no!”

“You’re as shitty a liar as your hair.” He snorts and tromps over to a couch, dropping heavily down onto it and swinging his feet up to take up all the cushions.

Kirishima follows with a huff of, “That doesn’t make sense.” He shoves at Bakugou until he rolls over and Kirishima can tuck himself against him, Bakugou draping a willing arm over his side. His hair is down, so it doesn’t jab him in the fucking chin.

They had to establish a rule for Kirishima: all cuddling must be done below the chin while his hair is up.

Sero and Mina are making kissy faces at them. Bakugou bares his teeth but they both just cackle and prance off to join Kaminari — they’re perfect for one another, a trio of fucking morons.

Somewhere along the way they became his, those three and Kirishima — though the his for Sero and Kaminari and Mina and the his for Kirishima are so, so different — and he can’t just let them go now.

The movie is, stunningly, not terrible. It has an underlying mystery that is just engaging enough for keep Bakugou’s eyes open. Kirishima is into it, though. He can tell because there’s a scene where the main character is crying after the death of — her brother? Her best friend? Bakugou wasn’t paying enough attention, apparently. But whatever happened, Kirishima begins to shake just a little.

Bakugou wraps his arm tighter around him and holds him like that until it eases. Kirishima turns, and they shift around a little so they can mostly face each other. His eyes are glossy in the television’s flickering light.

He wants to kiss him. There’s no reason he couldn’t. Except that it feels as though the entire class is watching them, even when he knows their eyes are on the movie. So he skims his lips over Kirishima’s forehead, a promise, later.

iii.

Later finds them in Kirishima’s dorm. It’s the furthest from the rest, gives the most privacy. They acknowledge it with flushed faces, the lingering implication of what they need privacy for hanging in their brains like a fog.

It’s dissipated now, or maybe it’s only gotten thicker, because they simply don’t care about implications. Kirishima has him pressed back into the pillows, straddling his waist. He cups Bakugou’s face because he’s sentimental like that, insists on holding him like he’s something cherished.

He kisses him slow and chaste, but not out of any shyness. It’s all languid heat, dripping down his spine and pooling in his belly. Bakugou gets impatient fast. He gets a hand fisted in Kirishima’s hair and tugs at the roots, relishes the whine that catches in his throat. It gets the message across. Kirishima puffs a breath against his lips and then slots their mouths together, open and wet.

Bakugou paws at his back, down to the hem of his shirt. Kirishima licks into his mouth, up against the roof of his mouth. His breath catches, his fingers curl tight in the cotton. When Kirishima backs off, Bakugou pursues, the hand in his hair keeping him still as he kisses him hard.

A groan vibrates against his tongue and he shudders, eyes wound shut. Teeth close on his lower lip. The nip is careful, but it sends a jolt to his belly that makes Bakugou jerk.

Then he’s hissing and clutching his mouth. Kirishima blinks widely at him, looking like a confused puppy, or more like a shark with blood smeared on his fucking chainsaw teeth.

“Did you —?” Kirishima licks his teeth and his face twists. “Oh my god.”

“Shut the fuck up.” God his lip must be fucking lacerated. It’s dripping into his palms.

“Dude your blood is in my mouth.” He seems caught on that fact, mouth hanging open as though he’s afraid to let it touch his tongue.

“Congratulations you fucking vampire! Can you get off your ass and get me a tissue or some shit?” Bakugou snaps. At last, Kirishima springs into action, grabbing the tissue box so Bakugou can start mopping up the mess.

His lip is swollen the next day. Kaminari looks at him, and then at Kirishima who is inconspicuously avoiding all eye-contact with his boyfriend. The moment realization flashes in his eyes, Bakugou snarls and draws a finger across his throat. It keeps his silence.

iv.

He knows that Mitsuki and Masaru like him. They’re always delighted to have him over.

“I’m so glad that Katsuki has a friend like you,” Masaru tells him, smiling kindly down at Kirishima. And Kirishima of course grins back and thanks him. But.

He can’t help how his brain stuttered on the word friend. Bakugou doesn’t correct him. Kirishima doesn’t expect him to, but it still stings.

“Do you ever plan to tell them?” Kirishima asks. He tries not to sound petulant. He gets it, as much as he can. The fear of parents knowing has never been his. His mothers knew everything there was to know about their son, his fears and his dreams and all his favorite things. They were the first to learn of his crush on Bakugou. He told them the same day he had his first kiss.

Bakugou shrugs. It’s listless.

Deep down, Kirishima is sure it will all work out. But Bakugou is scared, even if he’d sooner cut out his own tongue than admit it, so he doesn’t press. “I’ll be there whenever you’re ready,” he promises. He traces patterns on Bakugou’s leg, but does not take his hand, or kiss his lips, and it is a good thing because Mitsuki does not knock before opening the door. To an outsider, they look like two boys, two friends, anything but in love.

They wait until nighttime. A futon is setup for Kirishima to stay on, but he crawls up into Bakugou’s bed as soon as the hallway light goes out. They lay together and they press silent lips to each other’s skin.

v.

Kirishima turns kind of fuzzy when he’s drunk on affection.

Bakugou admires his work, easing away from his thoroughly-kissed boyfriend and biting his own lip with a barely-concealed grin at the sight of him. Swollen lips and a flushed face, eyes hazy and dark. Delayed, he seems to realize Bakugou had pulled away, as he reaches for him in unsteady grabs. A mumble of, “K’tsuki,” leaves him.

Bakugou lets him figure it out, Kirishima’s hand finding his shoulder and winding around him to pull himself closer. “Katsuki,” he sighs again, and presses kisses over the line of his jaw. Each one trails a little bit closer, until their breath mingles, low eyes meeting in the dark.

For once, Bakugou’s touch is tentative, skimming Kirishima’s cheek. He watches red eyes fall shut, Kirishima nudging into the touch. It makes his chest feel full, his blood feel hot. Kirishima lifts his hands to hold Bakugou’s in place, nuzzling and kissing his fingers.

Breath comes unsteadily to Bakugou’s lungs. He’s enraptured, watching Kirishima, watching his eyes peek open again. His lips part, rows of sharp teeth opening for a pink tongue that drags slow over his palm.

Then Kirishima’s nose wrinkles. He jerks back, entire face scrunched up as he begins to gag. “Oh fuck,” he coughs, “jesus christ that burns!”

Bakugou doesn’t even have the capacity for frustration at this point. He slumps down onto the mattress and tries to come to terms with the fact that he will never be able to just kiss his god damn boyfriend.

vi.

Kirishima is staring at Kaminari. So is Bakugou.

“I, uh.” Kirishima blinks rapidly. “What?”

“I said, how the hell are you still single?” Kaminari raises his eyebrows at him. “Like dude, I’d date you. There are a ton of gay guys — or bi, whatever — here. Like, way more than I thought. How the hell are you still single?”

Bakugou says, “He’s not,” at the same time Kirishima gasps, “I’m not though?”

Kaminari gapes. “Dude! You — when the hell? And why didn’t you tell me?”

Kirishima and Bakugou just stare. Then they look at each other. “You’re telling me,” Bakugou says, slow, “that you don’t know who the fuck he’s dating?”

“You do?”

“Holy shit.” There’s an incredulous laugh in Kirishima’s voice. The class is beginning to pay attention now.

“You’re dating someone, Kirishima?” Uraraka asks, sounding surprised. “Ahh, he must be lucky.”

Kirishima drops his head into his hands. He’s shaking with silent laughter. Bakugou is shaking too, but it’s because his heart is palpitating and he’s not sure if he should scream or just shove his hand in Sparky’s face and go boom.

He does neither of these things. Instead he take’s Kirishima by the chin and presses their lips together, maintaining glaring eye contact with Kaminari. When he pulls back, Kirishima giggles. “Dude,” he snorts, leaning his head against Bakugou’s shoulder. “How do they not know?”

“We’re surrounded by fucking idiots, that’s how.”

There’s silence. And then Kaminari screams, and the class joins in, and nobody shuts the fuck up until Aizawa comes in and threatens them all with detention.

[apocatolypsemeow-blog]

If you are a government agency or if you are future me or some random follower who likes reading my self depreciating, self pitting and frankly obtuse journal: prepare for this long post! ;)

Back to freshman year!

Freshman year of college was a very strange time. I didn’t know anything, like anything at all! And yet, the people I met there at that time are very vivid in my memory. It really set the pace for the rest of my college career. You know, people say that college is a time to reinvent yourself, I say that’s bullshit. If you try to reinvent yourself in college you will end up lying to yourself the whole time, because you can’t fabricate a personality based off of your own likeness. You’re going to remain that same throughout your whole lie, just with different opinions and circumstances. You become a more logical person, but definitely not a different person. You become more logically sound in who you are. You say “I’m this person, and based off of my own experiences up to this point I can only assume that doing whatever I would do in this circumstance would be the best course of action.” And I know what you’re thinking, you can’t say that in every situation. Sometimes you do things for the sake of other people, regardless of what you would do in that circumstance. Well I would say to that: there is no selfless acts. You can’t do anything in this life without it being inherently selfish. You can’t say that in tthis situation I will do this soley for this other person, because that is still doing it for yourself. You’re just justifying that it is a selfless act in order to feel like you’re doing selfless acts. That’s why you do things: in order to get some sort of response and reaction or anything really from it. I need to learn more about selflessness, in order to be more logical and not sound like a crazy person. So tbc.

I wonder what would happen to me if I became improsed… what would I do? What would I have done to get me up to that point? How would everybody react? I think… my life would be over. I mean I don’t think there would be any real reason for me to live…. Everybody consider me an idiot. I don’t want to tthink about this anymore, it’s giving me a headache.

I didn’t date in my freshman year. Not because of choice, but just because I had several unsucccefull attempts at it. How the hell was I supposed to get a girlfriend anyways? I was, and still kind of am, a puny nerdy guy with no common sense. Now im still a puny guy with a little bit of common sense. Regardless, I was going to the wrong school at the wrong time for me to get girls. SFA is a school that is salivated in masculinity. I mean, even the girls licked it up. They saaat on the faces of gender roles and boned all of the masculine dudes. If I was a cool, masculine, strong dude, sfa would be a hivemind for me of stds and condom expenses.

I don’t feel like myself lately… have been ujnmotivated. Correction, have been unmotivated to motivate myself. That’s the way it usually works. Even just now, I picked up a book and decided it wasn’t working for me. Nothing sparked. I think that’s my problem. I wait along for something to spark my interest, pursue it with great intentions, and fall through half way in. I get bored too easily on my personal projects…. Well, at least for stuff that catches only half of my attention. Sometimes something grabs me to the fullest, like Dharma Bums. I could read that again in one sitting. Maybe I will. Maybe I will…

It's been a while since I talked. It stings me to write these words. I got an email today from financial aid lona service . They told me they are there to help. I started to cry.

For some reason writing is starting to hurt, and it’s starting to take over my life. Not that I had a life to be taken over… Why do I do this to myself? Whenever I start writing I always want to start writing something truthful and that makes me want to cry. It’s as if I have all these feelings that need to come out… Maybe this break from writing has really gotten me stopped up. I mean, I think maybe I need my daily medicinal writing. Don’t you think? I mean, today was something else, it was a rollercoaster of emotions, and even though I have cleaned my self out there is still some residue. I don’t know, im just typing words at this point. It feels good to type. It feel natural. I remember in higihschool I took a keyboarding class. What a fucking waste of time, and at the same time it was one  of the most important classes I’ve ever taken. On one hand, it was the first period of my first day ever in highschool, so it was pretty weird. I… I… I’m think of it now. I remember I was one of the few freshmen in the class, the rest were goofballs and clowns. People that were serious about school didn’t take that class, but at the same time it gave me skills and rescources that ive just gotten better at through the years. I mean, I remember I went into that class not knowing how to type at all. But all it took was my teacher, I think her name is Ms. Waslayena. Or at least that’s how you pronounce it, all it took was for her to put boxers on my hands. It forced me not to look at my fingers when I type. I saw my progression right in front of me. I mean, I guess that was the point of the class, to see yourself get better throughout the class. But then again, it didn’t’ really count as a credit. It should be counted as a humanities or philosophy class. God I am such a weird nerd. What is wrong with me? Why do I keep on criticizing myself? I keep on freaken, idk. It’s like I can’t even take myself seriously why would anybody take me seriously? I think that actor lady found me attractive. I can’t tell. Maybe. That shoulder touch. Future me, if you are so bored and are reading this terribly, just awfully, written paragraph, one, you need to go to bed. And two, you need to realize that I am talking about my first ever screenwriting meetup. Look at me, writing in my little blog like a little fourth grader. You might as well role the closing credits. Maybe it’s because I can’t stay focused. Maybe it’s because I am fucked up all the time. Maybe it’s clouding my vetter judgment. Maybe that’s why stoners can’t do well in life, they are always never finishing. God, what a direction my life has turned.

I remember sitting in my dorm room in my freshman year of college looking at a website about weed. I was fascinated. I don’t remember when I started getting interested in smoking, but for some reason I got really intrigued. I think it was because of the pot brownie. Man, that was marvelous. I will never get that high again. Yeah so one day Dion brings back pot brownies. We eat them, you know it’s the classic story. We eat them, we hang out waiting for them to start activating or whatever, and we get disappointed, thinking that it didn’t’ work. Then all of a sudden I can’t feel my tongue. I ran into my dorm with dion and invite my friend sam over. Sam didn’t’ have any friends then so he starting hanging out with us. God, sam is such an interesting character. I’ll talk aobut him later. But yeah, this pot story is borning me. We didn’t do anything. I mean, we walked around but I don’t know, we were just kids.

I think I start to cry when I write this because it is the most pathetic thing I do. I just feel bad about the whole thing. Maybe it does get random thoughts off my chest, but is it worth it? To log all of this? Nobody will read it… I need to stop second guessing myself and just do it.

I feel like I must be doing something wrong with this job thing because things arnt happening. Why is everything my fault, or at leaset feel like it is?

 8/31/17: My mission statement:

For here on out, I will set aside time to write The Buddy System every single day.

For here on out, I will only drink coffee, water, and beer.

For here on out, whenever I write I will put my phone in another room on silent.

For here on out, I will write for time, not content.

For here on out, I will only write in my free time during the day.

For here on out, I will focus on my writing.

9/6/17

Some days are better than others. Nothing is every how you would expect it to be. Today I started working at the library at Texas Southern. I had such high hopes about it; it’s not terrible. It’s just boring. I had high hopes about today, about how it was going to be a good day, but it ended up being  dissapoiment. Once again, nothing bad happened specifically, and of course I am beign a bit too overdramtic, but I woke up with such good feelings that I expected to carry on through the day, but didn’t. Instead, all I got was insecurity, boredom, disappointment, and hunger. And im cold, sitting at this desk with no food. I wonder if Jordon made any of that chicken. You know, typing this is making my fingers feel a bit better. At least it is killing time. Anyways, maybe I shouldn’t expect good days or bad days, maybe the feelings I feel when I wake up are not premminitions, but just feelings tht don’yt represent anything beyond my own head. Maybe feelings are not important and the oder of nature is just a random set of coincedences that just happen to work out. But how do you control your feelings? Are you supposed to? How do you deal with them? I guess dealing with negative emotions is important, but if you deal with hgetting rid of negative emotions, wouldn’t you also hve to deal with getting positive emotions? What is with this emotional bias towards happiness? I mean, think about it. If you feel happy at any point in time it is going to go away, just like sadness. But we put so much effort into dealing with and removing sadness from our lives that we make being happy the ultimate goal. And then when we become happy, and it leaves us, just like sadness, it all we can think about is that high that happiness gave us. It’s a drug, and I’m willing to let go of it, all of it, in order to not feel the emotional tole that disappointment brings. I guess I am coming from the point of view of someone that ris more disappointed than the alternative. Maybe it boils down to me not having such high expectations out of life. But why should i? My faather has always told me he holds me to a high expectation, but why? What would be the end goal? For me to be a happy person? For him to be? For me to be a man? For him to be? Or maybe it’s all of the above, but that’s risky business because of disappointment. What would the alternative be though? He could just not hold me to a standard? Or maybe hold me to a lesser standard? What would my life be like is my faather held me to a terrible standard? I would probably surpass his expectations. What if he didn’t hold me to a standard? Nothing bad, nor good would happen, it would just be us living in the moment, taking it day by day, taking what is and isn’t and that would be all. Maybe that’s how you are supposed to treat life, with no expectations, with no standard, because once you create a standard, then everything is either going to fall above or below that standard, things are either going to be good or bad, and that is the root of problems. Good vs. Bad.

I wish I could write that more eloquently. I am sure I could. For whomever is reading this right now, you should totally try and rephrase whatever point I just made to something that makes you sound deep. What is my obsession with being “deep”? Is it to compensate for not having anything on the surface? What does that mean? Do I look too far into things, or does my logic of overthinking have some truth. Ah, that’s what it must be. Truth. Truth is a lie within itself, the only things that could be considered objectively true are the things that you can see, calculate and it be transferred through the universe and have a collective agreement on it. And what is that? Nothing in this realm of thinking. I mean I don’t think my consciousness has the ability to comprehend something that is universally true. I mean, I know what you’re thinking, what about numbers? For clarification, number are an agreed upond system of measurement by the human raise, they do not necarelly dictate universally.

 Moment by moment. Breath by breath, humanity hangs on a thin thread, on the verge of melting and combusting. One word, one slip, one loss of breath. And yet, we remain in balance.

9/8/17

I think I want a girlfriend. A cute black girl with natural hair who isn’t obseesed with social status or going out or appearences. I want a girl that is funny, witty, socially conscious, opinionated, smart, eats healthy, SMOKES WEED, has a wide range of music, has a taste in art, fucks all the time, isd non conformist, denies tradiontional gender roles, likes to eat, is cool. Pretty much the perfect person I guess. I know that is a lot to ask for, and a lot of it I have to find within myself, blah blah blah. You know, why is it that I have to follow conventional wisdom? Just because I read all these things about, oh, you’re never going to find the perfect match, you have to be right within yourself before you can find the right person, people aren’t going to love you until you love yourself, blah blah blah. Fuck all that shit. Girlfriends just don’t appear when you’re ready, it’s all just coincidence and circumstance. There is no cosmic order that supplies to girlfirends once they are deemed responsible by the Christian nations in this world. Also, I want a girlfriend that is not Christian. Is that too much to ask?

Somebody stole my bike…. Or at least, that is what I can assume. For some reason I saw this coming. For some reason whenever I would look out onto the balcony I would always expect my bike to not be there. For some reason I wasn’t as shocked as I could be once I found out that my bike was gone… It had to be somebody near me. Somebody who lived near me.

9/11/17

So far in my classes today I have not learned anything. So far it has just been an accumulation of of professor rants and sidebars, and it’s the third week of school and have not started any lectures. Teacher here are jut going to put us in groups and just start lecturing from the book. But let’s not give them that much credit. What is really is going to happen is the kids in the class are going to run the class, continue to distract themselves with cell phones and worldstar, while the professor continues to rant through their perceptions.

 9/17/2017

What am I waiting for? Why can’t I act on the things thata I want to? Is it the drugs? Why do I keep asking myself that question when I know the answer? Why do I keep asking questions??? I wish my brain would just shutup, but the more I silence it the more it wants to speak. I can’t escape myself and I feel the urge to get out but I just cant. I cant. I cant stop saying I cant. My body does one thing and my mind says another. What do I do? Who do I talk to?

Oh here we go. Another self pity induce crying fit about to happen. I’m such a little ibtch. I’m such a pussy. Get over yourself. You see, now I know that wasn’t true because it didn’t make me tear up. Something is wrong with me. That I know of. Something deep inside me is damaged and it needs repairing, and I can’t keep reparing it with drugs and alcohol. Oh shut the fuck up ryan jesus Christ. People are going through a lot worse than you and yet you still find reasons to complain.

You see what this is? This is your dad speaking to you. STOP. Don’t let him get to you. Run from him.

9/25/2017

I can’t stand people, i think that is the conclusion that i have made in my head. I can’t stand women, and i can’t stand men. I can’t stand why they feel the need to do the things that they do. Especially college aged people.. They’re disgusting. Why is it that women feel the need to be cute, to be proper, to be #queens? Don’t they see the fault in that? What are they being cute based off of? Who told them they had to be proper, why can’t they be on the same level as kings? Why do men feel the need to expel there heterosexuality? Why do they feel the need to prove it? To want more, to always be searching for that confirmation that they are a man? I just don’t get it. I’m not going to sit here and pretend like i have all the answers, but i definitely have a lot of questions. I think this was all triggered by looking at the Instagram comments on the articles about the #takeaknee thing. Like, they are literally protesting racism, how can you be against that? Well, people said that it was offensive to the troops. What troops are saying that though? It’s unpatriotic…. Give me a break. Once black people starat doing “unpatriotic” things, then all the people who benefit from America start being patriotic. Plus, why should i give a shit about the troops? I didn’t ask them to fight for me, and what are they fighting for anyways? My freedom? Who is encroaching on my freedom? Am i under a direct threat to my way of life from foreign invaders, or is America spreading values that aren’t mine across the globe? If that is the case, then why should i support that? I seriously do not give a shit about the troops, and i don’t respect the people that do. It’s patriotism without thinking about what patriotism is. I know these are unpopular opinions, but it is interesting that i would be shot dead in the streets if i were to say that. I can’t even post that online without fear of maybe a future employer finding that and not hiring me because i don’t support the troops publicly. I think that people do things because it is the “right” thing to do, but i don’t think that people think about what is the right thing. I think that people just accept their opinions as true and won’t listen to anybody else that inflicts with their morals. And i think that makes them bad people. I think close minded people are bad, and yes, there are things that i am close minded about too, but hey i guess that would make me a bad person then, right?

Yes, it is time for me to start accepting who i truly am. I don’t go outside to meet people. I don’t extend myself farther then would be immedieatly comfortable. I don’t want to. I don’t hide the fact that i am scared to go outside my comfort zone, to break out of my usual space for the sake of some sort of media dreamland destined for picturesque photos and high school musical messages. I don’t think the world works like that, or at least mine. But why not? My mother told me today that i am a direct result of my own thought… is that true? How could it be? It doesn’t make any logical sense.

Figure it out, make it happen, say something else. Don’t get distracted, have faith, see it all through. Fuck all that, sit down, stay inside, fuel your hate. Make sure your house isn’t burned.

There is a small variety of people that attend texas southern university. There is, of course, the outspoken studnets, who, when given a chance, will dominate a classroom and start reinforcing their opinions, pretending they are right. But nobody will challenge their ideas unless they want to be classed a know it all. Or wrong. Or an outcast. At texas southern, you either conform or sit and watch, diversity in thought is an issue.

Then there is the people who just care about social media. I think social media gives black people who don’t speak a voice, a distraction, escapism from the ideas of this university. Education, capitalism, race, they are all permanent figure heads that propel an existential crises to the lost youth. And yet, nobody talks about it, it’s mostly just black social justice, an institution that breaks down more than it builds. The things that it does build are biased and void of deeper thought. Not to be confused with me being agisnt social justice. I just don’t like biased social justice. I guess there is no way to be completely unbiased. But it is time for us to decide that race is a social contruct that matters on an abstract level, but not physical level. I wonder why.

11/03/2017

Today is my birthday, and once again, through y triple sec sticky fingers, I have become morbidly depressed. Not going to lie, I have faught it off all day. I mean to think of all the mental hurdles i went through to try and justify to myself that i wasn’t sad. I felt it all day long… when i opened the fridge i had to remind myself not to let the depression that is in the back of my mind creep to the front. I put on a smile for Jordon, tried to engage in conversation, tried to be lively, tried to be truthful. But today i realized the difference between jrodon and a friend… Jordon doesn’t get personal. Jordon doesn’t want to talk about all of the emotional trauma that my mind goes through, whether justified or not. Jordon goes through that already, i mean everybody does. Only friends try to pry deeper into another individual. Jordon is my roommate, and my brother. Nothin more nothing less. He is there to look after me though…. I think my problem is i treat everybody as either a brother or an enemy, there’s no in between. I wish i was social, i think i used to use socialization in ancogdoches to combat my depression, and it usually worked. But here in Houston i don’t have that rescourse; i don’t have any connecting bonds with anybody else, anybody that i can be honest with an share my true feelings with…. I feel helpess. Depression….. look at me i havnt even been diagnosed with depression and i am acting like i technically have it… what’s wrong with me? Everytime i ask myself that question it is usually after some morally deficient, or self deprication remark that i try to push down inside of me… but i continue on… maybe that’s why i am constantly sad, becaue i have reasoned with myself that i am a good person when really… i am bad