Diario Desalmado

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙈𝙖𝙣]

Diario Desalmado

A collection of thoughts, rants, photos, musical muses, and other ramblings. To keep things tidy, please refrain from posting here. If you have comments, I politely ask you to direct them in my inbox.

Thanks for reading. 

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙈𝙖𝙣]

April 9th,

First and foremost, Happy Easter, everyone.

Last night I got to play Peter Cottontail. Every year, I roll up a little scroll that details the direction of the egg hunt. My two girls awoke to the task of collecting all twenty-four eggs containing money, candy, and, most notably, the treasure map revealing the location of their Easter baskets. It took them a good hour or so to find them. 

Today has been a bit of relief. For the first time in a few weeks, I'm only experiencing mild pain rather than absolute anguish. In some ways, it is pretty funny. At first, I thought I had a toothache. My face was fucking killing me, like getting stabbed repeatedly in the fucking face. I go to the dentist; they remove my top wisdom teeth.

Oddly, it began to hurt worse on top of these migraines that hurt so bad it was making me sick. So then, I go to the doctor to get it checked out. No concussion, no aneurysm, nothing. Blood pressure was normal, all that shit. They gave me medicine to take since Tylenol wasn't helping any, and still, I felt like I was fucking dying. 

Second trip, they send me to a specialist– a neurologist. Come to find out, I have a pinched fucking nerve in my face. Trigeminal neuralgia, it's called, and holy fuck, it feels like a literal shotgun to the face. Believe me, I know pain well, and this shit is excruciating. I've been cut, stabbed, beaten bloody, you fucking name it. I've endured sciatica, broken ribs, broken clavicle, torn ACL, kidney stones, a caved cheek that required bolts, and a reattached index finger. But fuck, it's nothing, man. At least compared to this. 

I actually experienced this before around the same time last year, though I didn't think it was a thing that would now happen randomly for the rest of my life without surgery. Instead, I assumed it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience sort of thing. Out of nowhere, the nerve becomes agitated, often triggered by a sneeze, which makes sense since it's Spring, and here, there is so much pollen at times it's hard to breathe. Though, not exactly sure what's caused it, there could be various variables.

My teenage years were filled with fighting, be it in some ways gang-related or merely surviving my high school days at T.A.F.T, a children's correction center located in Nashville(now closed). Growing up in Knoxville, I was fortunate enough to take my bipolar ticks of aggression and try to build a future at Golds Gym, which sponsors one of the more prestigious Golden Gloves Boxing facilities in the country. I did pretty decently at boxing, but drug abuse fucked it up, as it does with everything in life.

So, then, I became a bouncer at a bar, where I kept that warrior spirit of breaking faces. It was a pretty good gig for slinging narcotics, free alcohol, and of course, beating the fuck out of rednecks. It was also around this time that I had one of the worst wrecks in my life.

While intoxicated, at five in the morning, off of I-75, I crashed my '87 Thunderbird. Had I not been thrown into the river, I'd have probably died. The car was twisted up and scattered across almost a quarter mile. I remember waking up at the hospital, and the T-Bird emblem was literally bruised on my cheek. 

Like everyone in their twenties, I thought I was invincible. Sadly, I sure am fucking paying for it now. With that vented, as I am kicking my early life choices, I'm probably going to try and crash. Not slept in days due to pain and anxiety, and it's finally starting to settle to a point where I don't feel like I'm fucking dying. x.x 

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙈𝙖𝙣]

April 17th

I've once again found myself in a rut. Stuck somewhere between the crossroads of a different choice in life, still pondering the question: what the fuck am I to do with myself? 

I love my job.

At least, I used to enjoy being an independent contractor, driving around, and doing deliveries. It was perhaps the best part of being a drug dealer– when that was a thang. No one can deny the fucking freedom of opening the phone, accepting an order, and driving from place to place whenever you want. Answering to absolutely nobody or following some bullshit schedule crafted by some narcissist who wants to see you overworked, burnt out, and failing. 

Bleh, but now? I don't know. 

I've reached the top of the chain in what I do financially, and there is no ‘climbing the ladder,’ so to speak. It requires rigor and drive, yet, I have little ambition to continue it. Further, there's nothing left to learn. Perhaps it is the Capricorn in me that needs to bump heads with a business and climb as high as possible. Though I have no genuine desire for worldly things, I crave more for my financial future. 

I need a challenge. I need change. It's been niggling me since December. 

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙈𝙖𝙣]

Almost a year ago, a man my age was eaten alive by bed bugs while incarcerated at a jail in Atlanta. It is just now surfacing and becoming widespread national news. Around the same time as his passing, another incarceration center, Rikers Island Prison, was exposed to the same issues of people living in terrible conditions. 

People are asking for reform, but we need abolition. It is as failed and flawed as the war on drugs. Rather than billions of dollars going into these federal facilities and privatized prisons, millions could get sent to fundamental institutions, such as drug rehabilitation, where at least a human has more rights than a stray dog, dealing with psychiatrists and not half-assed, untrained police officers. 

Further, there need to be gang de-affiliation centers where they can separate and rehabilitate, along with removing gang-related tattoos. Once completed, subjects would get a six-month to one-time yearly allowance and relocate out of the city, or at the very least, away from gang-occupied territories. By doing this, gangs won't be able to be a breeding ground in our cities, and rather than segregate, we can integrate the rehabilitated– which, in time, would end 'ghettos.' 

The same should be done with violent offenders going to anger management and sex offenders to their rehabilitation facilities. Financial Learning Aids and anti-theft institutes should also be a thing. Amid all of this, an assessment of mental health should be made that may merit an additional program to root out the underlying problems and separate the truly mentally deranged. I think having specialists do these things in respected fields would not only open up bigger and better jobs but advance our understanding of human nature rather than generalized assessment under the umbrella understanding of multiple psychiatry systems. 

Rikers Prison has funding of 450,000 per inmate. Three-fourths of them are still awaiting their trial and in holding, sitting in shit-soiled clothes, living in a cage the size of your average bathtub. Once free, they'll have nothing but a chip on their shoulder, a fight or flight mentality, new criminal knowledge, tougher, harder, more racist, returning to live in squalor with no money. Imagine if they just had the yearly income of minimum wage, say $25,000, granted to them after rehabilitation, along with a care worker and a psychiatrist. 

Prison doesn't scare others from committing crimes. Making it the most brutal place on the planet will stop someone from killing, stealing, frauding, or raping anyone. It'll only cause the breeding of the same shit cycle of poverty and mental disorder. Many non-violent prisoners get raped, beaten, stolen from, and murdered over simple marijuana or other drug possession charges. How can they come out rehabilitated after enduring that shit, among institutionalized torture and no money? 

Crimes would increase, as many don't report crimes committed to them because the prison and jail systems outweigh it. I was sexually abused as a child, and not once did I report my mother. Women, in particular, are stalked, assaulted, beaten, and raped but stay silent so as not to see a husband, boyfriend, and family member have their lives ruined. Further, men who have gone to jail and know how terrible it is, are also not going to disclose details that may help convict a person of a crime– me included. 

Right around puberty, childhood trauma finally caught up to me. To silently suppress it, I turned to drugs. At thirteen, I was doing whatever I could get under the sun, and I became a two-pack-a-day smoker. Cigarettes here used to not be behind the counters but in a little aisle at a local convenience store where I and three others used to steal and smoke. We got busted, and long story short, I got two years probation, one day in a holding tank as a time served, plus my poor ass parents gas to pay fines and legal fees. 

My dad put me on the straight and narrow. A year goes by, and I am doing a little better. I'm more active, learning things like fishing and hunting since my uncle was out of jail and wanted to get his life together, too. Well, one day, the school got word that someone saw a knife in my backpack (no car, it was a hunting knife I planned to take when my uncle picked me up– used to skin animals). Because of the Columbine shooting, no one cared to hear my story; I was arrested under felony charges for having a weapon on state property and violating my probation. 

At fourteen, I was sentenced to a place called TAFT, a children's correctional facility around Nashville, Tennessee, that has since been remodeled into a state prison. Though I was never eaten literally alive by bed bugs, we did have them. The lice were so bad that in solitary, I tried to rip my hair out and was driven half fucking mad. They didn't provide sandals or anything for the showers, and my feet were constantly thrashed with blisters and rashes. Among my white-collar drug habits, I got to experience more potent drugs that I'd later fall addicted to. Violence was rampant; racism was a growing way of life if you were to get by with any friendship or ally. The guards beat us with batons, tazed us with fire sprinklers on, and stripped us naked or down to our underwear. 

There were hardly any learning or education programs provided, and the ones that were outdated and completely useless. Needless to say, I wasn't ready for a sophomore year after my release. I tried hard to get through the year, but because of my past conviction, I returned to school to be searched every day in the hall in front of others. With so much going on, I failed, and before they could hold me back another year, I dropped out.

The repercussions of the system still haunt me today. 

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙈𝙖𝙣]

To those who are so offended over the content people write, this post might piss you off: 

Being that this site is called ecchi dreams, using Japanese words, I take it they share the same sexual philosophy. Just like video games don't correlate to school shootings, nor does violent porn increase victims. There have been over 12 countries testing this, from Japan to Denmark and others. 

Suppression, be it with anything, doesn't work. The war on drugs created a higher number of drug users. The Volstead Act or prohibition of alcohol caused fatal deaths, mobsters, and an entire underground network of moonshiners and bootleggers. 

As conservative as I am, it is the one thing I am progressive over. If a pedo can jerk it to porn, fuck a child doll, write role plays, and well… ejaculate… that's one less victim. Every time he cums, that's 1 less assault. It makes no sense to demand the real thing and risk death, jail, etc when all that is required is an orgasm. 

But what you're saying also is flawed by your kinks and fantasies. Rape alone is a crime. Cheating is a crime. Beastiality is a crime. Unless you're writing 100% vanilla, you are also guilty, be whatever your niche.

 If you have a real-life boyfriend/husband and you're getting your rocks off to a stranger- guess what? That's cheating by most people's standards. But then the debate comes if you're actually even aroused or touching yourself to someone else's "cybersex", which won't win you a case in court. It will be ruled as cybersex. 

Honestly, probably best you did leave as you're too emotionally unfit to be here or not read it. A word of the wise, though, this toxic moral high horse you're using is just that - hypocritical and toxic. I believe the new notion to the developing world is that the word pedophiles are offensive to a minority. They prefer MAPs or minor-attracted persons.

But, here is what you can do. You can help real kids, not fake ones. There are over 100,000 child porn sites on the dark web, which should be illegal and strive only because people don't have an outlet. Further, most social networks such as Instagram and Patreon are a haven for real-life child porn and do nothing about it. Maybe fight that battle instead? 

Maybe keep up with the news and know the US president right now has numerous inappropriate videos of touching little girls. His son is a registered sex offender. 2000 kids went missing in Haiti during the Clinton Fundraiser. Clinton and Epstein connection. Research Pizza Gate. Research Jonetown Boys. Obama ordering $50,000 in hotdogs and cheese pizza (pedo terms) to feed 100 people? Research Ted Gunderson, head of FBI who claims a CIA owned daycare in Cali was used to rape children. Research US senator Nancy Schaffer (?) who was murdered after connecting US child protective services as a child sex ring in Georgia. Research Germany's Child Sex Scandal, they did the same thing there- sold orphans to pedophiles. Look at how they want to mutilate children's genitals right now. Look at how Patreon fired 3000 moderators and told them not to contact or ban members with illegal porn. Look at how Netflix basically made four separate movies and shows (like Cuties) with pedophilia in it. 

Realize that their fucked up stories might be from real-life trauma. 

Way bigger things to be pissed off about than this website, Karen. 

 

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙈𝙖𝙣]

Bear cubs are out today. Trying to get into some trouble.... and some trash. Haha.

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙈𝙖𝙣]

Ten days ago I said:

"If you have a real-life boyfriend/husband and you're getting your rocks off to a stranger- guess what? That's cheating by most people's standards. But then the debate comes if you're actually even aroused or touching yourself to someone else's "cybersex", which won't win you a case in court. It will be ruled as cybersex." 

Just want to clarify I've changed my stance on this subject. 

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙈𝙖𝙣]

Pound me the witch drums, witch drums
Pound me the witch drums
Pound me the witch drums, the witch drums
Better pray for hell, not hallelujah

I'm the curled up fists
Dead and hardened spiders
Like two mangled crowns
On the white heads of the meanest coiled snakes

Folks say that I look like Death
Lived in the hotel of my eyes
Blinds wide open like a whore
Paid in spit from that hearse between her thighs

Keep your halos tight
I'm your god or your guardian
Keep your halo tight
One hand on the trigger, the other hand in mine

Because now
Cupid carries a gun
Now, now
Cupid, Cupid carries a gun

Pound me the witch drums, witch drums
Pound me the witch drums
Pound me the witch drums, the witch drums
Better pray for hell, not hallelujah

She had those crow-black eyes
Starless, but she fucks like a comet
She laid as still as a Bible
And it felt like Revelations when I looked inside

Keep your halos tight
I'm your god or your guardian
Keep your halo tight
One hand on the trigger, the other hand in mine

Keep your halos tight
I'm your god or your guardian
Keep your halo tight
One hand on the trigger, the other hand in mine

Because now
Cupid carries a gun
Now, now
Cupid, Cupid carries a gun

Pound me the witch drums, witch drums
Better pray for hell, not hallelujah
Pound me the witch drums, the witch drums
Better pray for hell, not hallelujah

Pound me the witch drums, witch drums
Better pray for hell, not hallelujah
Pound me the witch drums, witch drums
Pound me the witch drums

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙈𝙖𝙣]

Love comes, both a predator, a beast,

always, its hunted, yearning to feast,

stalks its prey by both day and night,

cat eyes will capture, awaitin' its bite,

prowls where lonely hearts will nest,

caught by its teeth, hearts will wrest,

devouring birds of the same feather,

chewed away at each new love letter.

something feral, so primal, and rare,

brings warming comfort, yet despair.

ripped away by both blood and bone,

when it leaves you, so cold and alone. 

 

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙈𝙖𝙣]

I see you. 

Always so fuckin' cute. 

Thank you.

 

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙈𝙖𝙣]

 

  Sometimes I feel her touch— the way her hand hid my eyes. Her protection was always lies. Never to do me harm, never raise my alarm.

 I felt devious, peeping through the loose cracks of her digits. From there I saw the sadistic, sexual snippets. The gorgeous gore, the whore begging no more. So serene is the scene, making me crave this early grave.

 It was the first time I saw breasts, tucked warmly in my mother's nest. The first time I felt the heaving in my chest, and the blanket's rising crest—or how there is where her foot would soon rest. 

  The melody of motion, the chaos of mess. Though I walk with a smile and do my best, something must fill this hunger fest. Yearning to put her monster to the test. That desire to hear a no as a yes.

  I can remember the smell of cigarette stains. How it burned my lower lip like salt on an open wound. Sometimes so surreal the fragmented remains. How they stay and get stuck inside this tomb. To live out this doom, ever since leaving her womb.

 At times, I wondered if this was a trick, a test to see if I'd just lick. There was particular moistness, but if I mentioned it, you might get sick. And yet, I still taste it. I wonder at times, had I not gotten it, would I've thrown a fit?

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙈𝙖𝙣]

I don't believe everything he says, but goddamn do I respect him for it. Here's to you, Alex Jones.

 

 

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙈𝙖𝙣]

 

You'd take the clothes off my back 

and I'd let you

You'd steal the food right out my mouth

And I'd watch you eat it

I still don't know why, 

why I love it so much,

 ohh

 

W̷̻̱͖͝A̴̬̬̤͊̾̍͐̅͊͘R̷̢̞͚̻̤̘̓̉̈̍Ṉ̴̢̺͕͙̘̼̟̿̉̈́̀͋̀͋̈́͆̌I̴̧̒̒͌͗̔͌̊͠N̶̞̪͚̰̄̄͂Ǧ̷̹̝̥̺͎͈̰͓̎̂͝

 

You curse my name 

in spite to put me to shame

Hang my laundry in the streets,

dirty or clean, 

Give it up for fame

But I still don't know why, 

why I love it so much

 

W̷̻̱͖͝A̴̬̬̤͊̾̍͐̅͊͘R̷̢̞͚̻̤̘̓̉̈̍Ṉ̴̢̺͕͙̘̼̟̿̉̈́̀͋̀͋̈́͆̌I̴̧̒̒͌͗̔͌̊͠N̶̞̪͚̰̄̄͂Ǧ̷̹̝̥̺͎͈̰͓̎̂͝

 

And, baby, it's amazin' 

I'm in this maze with you

I just can't crack your code

One day you're screamin': 

you love me loud

The next day you're so cold

 

One day you're here, 

one day you're there, 

one day you care

You're so unfair

Sippin' from your cup

 'til it runneth over

Holy Grail

 

You get the air out my lungs 

whenever you need it

And you take the blade 

right out my heart

Just so you can watch me bleed

And I still don't know why, 

why I love you so much,

 yeah

 

W̷̻̱͖͝A̴̬̬̤͊̾̍͐̅͊͘R̷̢̞͚̻̤̘̓̉̈̍Ṉ̴̢̺͕͙̘̼̟̿̉̈́̀͋̀͋̈́͆̌I̴̧̒̒͌͗̔͌̊͠N̶̞̪͚̰̄̄͂Ǧ̷̹̝̥̺͎͈̰͓̎̂͝

 

And you play this game 

in spite to drive me insane

I got it tattooed on my sleeve

Forever in ink 

with guess whose name

But I still don't know why, 

why I love is so much, 

yeah

 

W̷̻̱͖͝A̴̬̬̤͊̾̍͐̅͊͘R̷̢̞͚̻̤̘̓̉̈̍Ṉ̴̢̺͕͙̘̼̟̿̉̈́̀͋̀͋̈́͆̌I̴̧̒̒͌͗̔͌̊͠N̶̞̪͚̰̄̄͂Ǧ̷̹̝̥̺͎͈̰͓̎̂͝

 

And, baby, it's amazin' 

I'm in this maze with you

I just can't crack your code

One day you're screamin': 

you love me loud

The next day you're so cold

 

One day you're here, 

one day you're there, 

one day you care

You're so unfair

Sippin' from your cup

 'til it runneth over

Holy Grail

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙈𝙖𝙣]

B I P O L A R is a story of old

I C A R U S— in ways untold

                                    In the dawn, he ascends,

                                    & by dusk, he descends.

All of these highs and lows,

You fly through them till it slows.

                      The fatigue of emotions kaleidoscope

                     Hardly inspired, mostly without hope

A random feeling, do or die

An uncertainty to cry and lie

                            Always with a laugh, only to sigh

                        random questions, you'll wonder why

And try and try as you might

You'll crash just before night

                                               So take this token,

                                              This tale is unspoken,

Though Icarus has fallen,

He's far from being broken.

                                        You'll crash into the sea,

                                          where you'll feel free.

riding surf to dry land,

only then to try again.