You’re All Cunts

To my ex wife
To my ex girlfriends
To my current girl

You’re all cunts.

To the 2nd AC who spent the afternoon watching the World Cup
To the 1st AC who let him do it
To the perks of rank

You’re all cunts.

To my landlord
To the government
To cops and nurses and barsluts

You’re all cunts.

To my sisters
To my parents
To Ariel
To myself

You’re. All. Cunts.

Most people are cunts. They’re heinous and horrific people unable to process that they are animals in a illusion of civilized society. They will betray their friends, fuck their kids and kill strangers based on nothing more than sexual access or monetary gain. Their ideas are blips of consciousnesses pinned to the infinity of natural chaos. Human rights, computers, God; all just whispers of words lost to the cacophony of screaming mating calls of every beast. We all are victims of our vicious human nature. We have all been fucked over or destroyed by the electrical spark of our synapses telling our loved ones to run off, drive drunk, fuck your neighbor, take a 9mm to the head.

Its all simple, and it ruins us all.

To the bloggers who see us as customers
To the forum posters who live off their keyboard
To the liars of their conquests

You’re all cunts.

I can write as much as I want. I can say whatever I want. I can tell you I quit smoking, quit drinking, banged a 10 in front of the Vatican. You may believe it or not. It won’t matter, because I know it didn’t happen. I can say my anxiety is cured. That I didn’t have an attack at work this Monday that crippled me. That I quit my job and decided to walk the earth searching for the perfect moment of serenity. I can say whatever I want, but I will always know that it wasn’t true.

I am a mess of mental scar tissue born of generations of breeding that should have never been. Somehow, the blood pumping through my heart survived and passed on the great power to collapse in a heap of fear at any given moment. My vices are my crutches, my go tos when I feel the pressure of reality crush down on me, no matter how lame or typical it may seem. My drinking and my smoking cannot be solved by simple means. I rush to them for comfort. I use them to get what sex I can. I reach out through my mental illness and hope to find someone not as fucked up as me.

And all I’ve found has been like-minded defects.

The extremes I feel I need to go to so I can solve my issues are also the extremes I feel I can’t take because of the “real” world. The things I feel, deep beyond the lizard brain, would land me in jail or get me killed, but I always think of them. I always see them as the solution to an everlasting aura of uselessness and ghost persona. Would they solve my problems? Don’t know. But when the brain says something, like cry like a bitch at work, I jump. We all jump. We all follow.

I can pretend things will change after this. I can say, like I have before, it’ll get better, but I can’t promise. I can’t lie. I don’t know right now if I can, not without a drastic and dramatic change. In the meantime, I’ll still work and feel worthless. I’ll still drink and smoke and get laid from human trash. I’ll still slog, but at least I’ll try.

I’m a pathetic cunt. But I am an honest one.