Did Someone Steal My Coinage?

Well, if so good, cuz that was the idea.

What's up with people finding my blog by searching the word "Implantosaur."

They seem to mostly be in Europe.

I know that word started with me in a Pamela Anderson LOL that fp'ed on Cheezburger because I Googled it at the time I coined it.

But now I'm wondering if someone used it on a porn site or something.

Because some of the hits came from Turkey.

And whenever anyone from Turkey comes to my blog it's because they're mistakenly searching for porn.

Or as we call it on Cheezburger: pron.

And the few Turkish men I've "known" (acquaintances really) have all been nasty freaks.

I mean like "pour bleach in the hot tub if you get in with them" freaks.

Welcome to my Blog of Stereotypes.

I changed my Blogger profile. Felt like I got my hair did.

I've decided to stop picking on myself too.

I suspect the people I'm feeling terrible about are mostly secretly (and some not so secretly) assholes too and since I never killed or even bruised any of these people, it's over.

If only because I refuse to give satisfaction to that one poet who predicted in her poison pen poem that I would die in self-pity.

I questioned her Amazon rank when I was drunk one time ten years ago and she basically wished me a miserable death in a poem.

If someone's that ready to sentence me to death, they could have never been my friend to begin with. I didn't even know I was bipolar then anyway. And anyone can type stupid shit drunk they don't mean in a fucking email at three in the morning.

But then she's another recluse of a poet. Or is that brown recluse?
I'm joking. Okay half joking. She has to be a spider. To cut people loose so easily. But then you can tell by her poetry she sees herself as poetry aristocracy. She's a good poet. I like some of her writing. I think she's gotten what she wanted from her art, so good for her.

I refuse to feed anyone's negativity anymore and especially not my own.

I've been called monster before. I might have earned "asshole" on my worst days, but I was never a monster. Fuck You if you called me a monster and tried to point me towards suicide. A monster wrecks your life or kills you. You're poets. Learn to choose your words more carefully. I have never lifted a hand to anyone and some of you wrote death or hate poems directed at me when all I did was say half of your books were good and half weren't. Well, guess what...there's never been a perfect poetry collection since the beginning of time and probably never will be. So if someone's going to write honest criticism, you will hear these things. If not, they'll write that "perfect book" squib for you. And that's probably all you really want to hear.

I really can't regret beating myself up completely, though, because I did have my asshole days and mulling over this for a long time has helped me to self-censor a lot more. Plus, I think I needed to suffer a little there. To see myself as others saw me at my worst. I've caught myself leaning towards chiming in with less than kind--or even a different viewpoint--and suddenly looking before I leapt and thinking once twice over. And then felt much better for having avoided the attention-seeking behavior or whatever the hell it is. Why even engage in that manner. It's frivolous and vanity.

If I express negativity now it's going to be in a humorous manner. I have no problem exploring negativity in that manner, in satire.

In fact, I can never see myself getting away from that entirely. Because negativity sort of fascinates me. But now more like looking backwards at myself. Myself under the influence of alcohol. Myself under the influence of vanity.

But the simple truth is people treat you the way you tacitly or otherwise tell them to treat you.

And I've been beating myself up a lot for a year or so and I notice how many people told me to stop it, ever: one.

And that's the one person (is this ironic?) I consider much more fucked up than I am.

So I guess they're a forgiveness expert.

L O fucking L.

See, this is where the people with the Old Skool relationship to God have it so fucking easy.

Because all they have to do is get God to forgive them. Not the thousand assholes they shot meanness arrows into. They've only got to get the "You're Okay" from One. From God.

But I don't have that luxury.

Because I've always assumed even God doesn't speak for other people.

Even if he did put Job in that horrible pay-per-view God-Vs.-Satan WWF thingie without ever getting Job's (or Job's agent's) consent.