Free Kindle Book Two of The Lodestone Files — Get It 5/14 — 5/18

Hey folks.

Dropping a hot note real quick before I rest my heavy head on my pillow, to remind you of the great dealio of nabbing The Lodestone Files: The Cat, The Mouse, and The Thing From Another World for free starting Monday, May 14, 2018. If you have Kindle Unlimited already, well, you can already get the book for free. If you don’t, however, then this would be the best time to mosey on over and grab that little electronic diode of literary saucebot and save, save, save!

Here’s a photo of it in case you need it in a lineup.

The Lodestone Files Book 2

Description: What would you do?

Life had been rather normal up until that miserable night. Idris and Cal are on the run from the government, and an alien. After witnessing their small town, Lodestone, get wiped out, and the loss of their family, the boys need to keep moving with no time to grieve. With the help of a strange drunkard named Mac, they may just live.

Hot on their trail is the secret government agent, Murdoch, who is tasked with making sure that are no survivors or evidence could otherwise jeopardize the very confidential agreement between two worlds.

Elsewhere, the alien that has taken on the form of James has begun to carry out his plans for Earth and humankind’s extinction. Earth, as it seems, is in due for overwhelming destruction with no hope for humanity’s survival in this elaborate game of cat and mouse.

So, what would you do?

Nice, nice, yeah that’s pretty. Space. Lots of space.

The Re-Release of Lilah’s Guide to Hoyle and The Future

Right, in other news, I know I have been lax in getting out all the new material and keeping in line with my timeline of “Things to Come.” Life happens. Sometimes you want to recoup from being accustomed to going to “Church” every day for a little over a week, and you’re left wondering, “what in the hell did I eat?” Just to find out you took the wrong vitamin and you feel pretty dumb. It happens. Well, things will be rolling and adequately done soon enough. It’s not like I have an insurmountable amount of time…OK, I do—kind of—but balancing six or so plates and such makes things a bit hard. So, I am going at a different pace and not making myself hate what I love to do the most (next to gaming, slaying people with Bill and the gang, etc.). That would be writing…if you weren’t sure.

TIP: Be sure to use PREORDER2018 to get 10% off your order when you preorder Lilah’s Guide to Hoyle (in paperback). Grab it. Love it. Caress it. Marry it? Just be wary of papercuts.

Deluxe cover for "Lilah's Guide to Hoyle."

Description:

“All life is a gamble. . . We go to sleep every night comfortably betting that the next day we’ll wake up.”

Demons. Sorcery. Magical playing cards.

It’s anything but a fairy tale. Armed with her choice deck, her beloved book, Hoyle’s Guide to Poker and Parlor Tricks, and the skill that led her to throw away her college fund gambles with her life—and with the lives of those around her.

Elsewhere, other players have a different idea of the rules of the game. And investigating the bizarre chain of events is Middleton PD’s finest, Detectives Dana Deupree and Walter Conway.

It’s anyone’s game. The cards have been shuffled, and the stakes are high. The call has gone around the table. Others may fold, but not Lilah.

She plays for keeps.

Right, so while all that is happening and such, I also wanted to remind you lovelies of the return of a classic—well, my classic (along with Al’s)— Lilah’s Guide to Hoyle. I will be posting another (and final) excerpt which will be different than the older posts I once shared. I do look forward to getting the rest of the books out, but having another publisher pick it up and all that, well, it kind of snagged my production of getting those titles out. Soon, though, right?! Yes, yes, my precious… June 21, 2018, to be exact.

Suggestions? Bob Has One!

If you haven’t yet, and are in a rut and looking for something on the dark side (and still…humorous) to read, might I suggest The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal. It’s free via Kindle Unlimited, and also available in paperback and hardcover—if you’re feeling frisky. It’s got it all, except a kitchen sink and a bag of chips. That costs extra.

the_chronicles_of_bob_ecover

Description:

Hey, folks. My name is Bob Barnem, and I’m a chronic suicidal.

Do you ever get that itch? And I’m not talking about something that can be treated with a cream or powder.

You don’t follow? All right, say you’re driving down the highway. Have you ever just had a sudden urge to jump out of the car? Or maybe play intimately with traffic? In short, have you ever felt a desire for the thrill of suicide without the consequence of death?

This is a tale about my various ways of suicide…and encountering a bizarre knife, some phantom creatures, and being a hero—sometimes.

Things are about to get really exciting for both of us.

Some itches just need to be scratched.

Mmm, yeah, that’s the stuff. Trust me, it’s a fun read. I enjoyed writing it as much as I did suffering years of waging a self-mental war (and still do).

So, stick around, and stay tuned. There will be more goods to browse and wares to haggle over in the coming months.

Until next time,

RJM

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My Own Prison [Extended]: Poem and Post (One Year Later)

When I initially wrote My Own Prison (then revised it; followed by the post), it was a real rough spot in my life. Let me quote myself and go from there. . .

Prison. For most, they think it to be a building—a physical entity that exists to house criminals and wrongdoers. In most cases, however, a prison can also be one’s self. For the millions of those who suffer from depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder [PTSD] and many of the other mental illnesses and disorders, their mind is their own prison.

Built from the ground up, bit by bit, piece by piece. It can result from many things. For me: it’s been overcoming guilt. The burning anger that resides within. The negativity of several people and their dirty antics. The “what ifs?” The memories, though some blurry, of when I was on my antidepressants; the actions and things said. . .done. The immense sadness that dwells within. The constant twisting and shaping of how one can manipulate things against their own being. You realize it, you acknowledge it, and you know it to be a lie, but you can’t seem to overcome the grief that has besieged you and left you, seemingly, stranded.

Alone.

A fight for your life.

You have been tossed into shark-infested waters, and you are bleeding out.

My first therapist wasn’t horrible. He was just doing his job and trying to help me. You can’t help those who do not will to be helped or want it. I found it to be my punishment—to suffer—to slowly kill myself. Painfully. With the most potent malice ever conceived.

There were others that tried to help. Then there was the medication. Going to sleep for. . .what I believed was one day, turned into two or more sometimes. It hurt. I felt I was missing out on the most important of times, and it was unfair—to my daughter and my wife. . .and myself.

I was unstable. Anything and everything could set me off. The wind could blow the wrong direction and I would be having an anger attack. Eventually, I would do an unspeakable act that would convince myself; through a sort of out of body experience, that I needed to lose the medication and get proper help. That I needed to accept responsibility and be a man, a father, a husband. There were to be no more “woe is me” moments.

It would take time. . .

As time has gone on and that I went through EMDR therapy, my overall person has improved. I made changed, important and very much needed changes. I stopped being surrounded by negative people. I began exercising and losing weight (because I have always hated my body image). I stopped drinking alcohol in unnecessary consumption rates (I was an alcoholic, plain and simple in the end there. I became dependant on it).I started eating healthier. The food I did consume was not healthy and paired with soda, it bogged me down.

Simply enough, I didn’t care about myself. I didn’t love myself. I needed to change that. Being on the path to recovery doesn’t happen overnight and everyone is different.

“Get over it. That happened X years ago.”

“That still bothers you? Grow up.”

[At the intersection where the accident happened after finally being able to take my daughter home, away from the hospital, with my wife in the car behind me] “Sorry, I thought this would be the faster way. . .”

Being accused of wanting to kill my wife and daughter and using the accident to cover it up.

Those were a few of the many things said that were fuel added to the raging tempest I held within.

Time. Help. Understanding. Therapy. Changes.

That has been what has helped me. Good friends. Family. And making myself really change—for the better.

Every now and then, I get a dark spell, and that’s OK because it’s going to happen. I’ve been trying a new technique personally, and it’s helped. . .to a degree. Writing, however, has been the most helpful.

Normally, I’d never share my emotions or my thoughts. I figure, though, if someone can relate—someone can be helped, and that others out there that struggle can know that they are not alone in the fight. That there are rescue boats in these shark-infested waters with proper help for you. Then that’s fine with me. Because we are all pieces of a far grand puzzle than we can comprehend.

Stay strong and stay vigilant, friends.

You see, it’s only been (almost) a year. One of the most significant and significant years that came to pass. I moved out of state; one that I grew up in, started my family, left my friends and remaining family behind—and started a new life with my wife and kids in Tennessee. It’ll have been ten years since the car accident, and my oldest will turn ten. I try to not look at her birthday as a reminder; it’s hard, but the effect is losing hold. I still have occasional days of where I am fending off the darkness. . .but I know it, I am aware of it, and I valiantly fight back and hold it off. Even for just one more day, one more night. My wife and kids make it, so it’s worth it.

I spoke of a technique I was trying out at the time. What was it? I was killing myself; killing or slaying the negative thoughts and emotions. Stuffing them into boxes or attaching concrete boots to them and dropping them into the abysmal sea. It worked. For awhile. I keep testing myself and pushing my psychology appointments out further; and around, eh, probably in between a week or so until my next session and such I had a big issue come up. I was also having a lot of anxiety with our trip to BlizzCon 2017 and getting ripped off on our tickets (but thankfully, a good friend came through, and we got them and had a great time.).

Needless to say, it wasn’t perfect. Thus,  I ended up creating The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal. So, to put some rumors to rest; not that there really is any, yes, it’s loosely based on me. Congrats. Spoilers. #Spoilers. It’s not just a dark humor approach to suicide because you get the M. Night Shyamalan twist at the end! Really, it’s a fun read.

So, what do I do now? I write. I talk about things more openly. I play WoW. I’ve actually gotten a better sleep schedule down (granted, I am pushing it with this write-up), and yeah, things are pretty good so far in my mind. Lilah’s Guide to Hoylei will be coming back out; due for release June 21, 2018. More stories and shorts will be coming out as well. It should be a pretty good year.

It’s incredible how much and how far you can go from one year to another; or day to day, month to month, let alone for me from so many years of guilt and self-torment. I’ve come a long way, and I am happy to share my experience with you all. I wonder what the coming year will bring?

I hope those of you out there keep your chin up and know (and remember) that you’re not alone. There are others like you. You needn’t face and take on the world alone. Remain vigilant and be strong.

Take care and stay safe.

RJM

P.S. enjoy My Own Prison in its entirety below. Cheers!


My Own Prison

(The Original Version)

by Robert J. S. T. McCartney

It’s my time, as every year it seems to be, yet come this time it seems to be getting more to me.

An endless cycle that had begun long ago and further widens its cut into my being.

How so much pain can be felt, and how it was made was never an intention but how its function has fucked me up so much.

Each day it tears me apart, and each time I try to reassemble the pieces, it never seems to resemble me entirely.

As for how the light can teach but never gives answers, looking to the dark for its secrets but always coming with a high price.

The cold I know is there, but I cannot feel, as it’s already in too profound, but why is it I stay warm?

Why do I feel like a stray dog in a foreign family, when I’m given love and yet I back into the corner terrified.

What it means to be alive, what it is that pushes me to remain here.

Why it is that I remain? Why I stay humane, and stray from the constant fear that lingers in the depths of what I am?

This misery is a friend, one that does not bend.

Nor does it lend a hand for when I try to stand, as I get kicked back down.

A war with the mind, and a battle with the heart.

To stay here and see it through, when there is a victor.

How it is that I am enshrouded with such a dark mist, and yet still have light to prevent myself from being engulfed?

Why is it that I suffer from so much of my own damnation when I tried just to live.

Why this struggle in my mind takes such a toll on me, and others.

Never did I want to impress, or pose.

Never did I want to tell lies, or be hung for the truth.

I was me, and all it did was kick me in the teeth for trying to survive.

The beginning of all comes full circle to that we don’t remember.

There is no race to be won.
There is nothing that can be said to make things just as quickly as they are said and done.

Life is hypocrisy in itself that is all too well what it’s cracked up to be.

My daughter. . .My happy, unhappy accident.

How she’ll never know how sorry I am for everything.

My wife, how all the problems I cause and make and make things worse at times.

I am being pulled apart at the seams. . .

Life undoes itself from me slowly as dare try to redeem.

This prison

All these walls I’ve built up

Damn them

Damn me

I want to break free

From the binds that continue to keep me

Sometimes I only believe in self-absolving

But I know it just to be

I mustn’t keep fighting for me

For they are why I am here

The things I hold dear

Here

I will suffer through the pain

Because I have so much more to gain

Pain knows love just as well

As life knows death

Intermingled we are

The realization of which I now know

I do not suffer alone

Help Support Suicide Awareness and Prevention With Bob

Hey, folks.

The release of The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is fast approaching (this Thursday in fact). But first, I want to talk about Suicide Awareness and Prevention and why it’s important to me.

ebook cover for The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal

Suicide has many forms.

One reason why I wrote this story originally was that it was an outlet to drop a lot of my dark thoughts. Personally, I struggle with PTSD, anxiety, depression, and have had plenty of suicidal thoughts…and attempts. Now, of course, I am glad that they weren’t successful and all that hubbub, but what about those who are still fighting?

There is someone we know who has lost someone they’ve loved to suicide. Whether it be family, friends, co-workers; the cycle goes on…and it’s vicious. It doesn’t relent, nor does it stop with just those who have left. While I have plenty of things I deal with and fight myself over, there are many who struggle day to day. It can be crippling. While everyone’s experience is different, we must know we are not alone.

The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is more than just a telling of Bob’s misadventures, his quips, humor, and reoccurrences of suicide. It’s putting suicide there, right in front of us. Making death very visible. Though, in a fictional aspect, you’re seeing what becomes of a man who’s very twisted and has lost his way. It’s about finding yourself, getting the help you need.

Help is something we all need, whether it’s a small gesture or grand. My primary focus is on our veterans. So many of them come home suffering from the loss of their comrades; their family is torn apart, or disfigured from a wartorn land. That’s why I am donating to Mission 22 in support of helping our veterans get the help they need. I am also giving ALL pre-order sales of the Kindle edition of the story to Mission 22 as well. The donations will be sent out in December. For Paperback and hardcover copies sold, I will donate 22% continuing.

I invite you to join the fight against suicide and to stand together. To let others know they are not alone. Together, we can truly help one another. If you cannot purchase a copy, forward or share this. Let’s help with suicide awareness and prevention.


“Not all those who wander are lost.” — J. R. R. Tolkien

All That is Gold Does Not Glitter


*The new hardcover design will be unveiled and available as well.

To all the men and women serving (and who have served), thank you for your service.

Until next time,

RJM

 

 

P.S. If someone you know is having suicidal thoughts, talk with them. Don’t disregard their thoughts on the matter. You can also refer them to the Suicidal Prevention Lifeline1-800-273-8255

Help Support Suicide Awareness and Prevention With Bob

Hey, folks.

The release of The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is fast approaching, but first I want to talk about Suicide Awareness and Prevention and why it’s important to me.

ebook cover for The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal

One reason why I wrote this story originally was that it was an outlet to drop a lot of my dark thoughts. Personally, I struggle with PTSD, anxiety, depression, and have had plenty of suicidal thoughts…and attempts. Now, of course, I am glad that they weren’t successful and all that hubbub, but what about those who are still fighting?

There is someone we know who has lost someone they’ve loved to suicide. Whether it be family, friends, co-workers; the cycle goes on…and it’s vicious. It doesn’t relent, nor does it stop with just those who have left. While I have plenty of things I deal with and fight myself over, there are many who struggle day to day. It can be crippling. While everyone’s experience is different, we must know we are not alone.

The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is more than just a telling of Bob’s misadventures, his quips, humor, and bouts with suicide. It’s putting suicide there, right in front of us. Making death very visible. Though, in a fictional aspect, you’re seeing what becomes of a man who’s very twisted and has lost his way. It’s about finding yourself, getting the help you need.

Help is something we all need. Whether it’s a small gesture or grand. My primary focus is on our veterans. So many of them come home suffering from the loss of their comrades, their family is torn apart, or disfigured from a wartorn land. That’s why I am donating to Mission 22 in support of helping our veterans get the help they need. I am also donating ALL pre-order sales of the Kindle edition of the story to Mission 22 as well. The donations will be sent out in December. For Paperback and hardcover copies sold, I will donate 22% continuing on.

I invite you to join the fight against Suicide and to stand together. To let others know they are not alone. Together, we can truly help one another.


“Not all those who wander are lost.” — J. R. R. Tolkien

All That is Gold Does Not Glitter


I wish you all to have a happy and safe holiday season. To all the men and women serving (and who have served), thank you for your service.

Until next time,

RJM

 

 

P.S. If someone you know is having suicidal thoughts, talk with them. Don’t disregard their thoughts on the matter. You can also refer them to the Suicidal Prevention Lifeline1-800-273-8255

Hanging on to a Thought

Even though you’re gone,
We’ll keep moving on.
You’ll be another thought—a memory,
Someone who was just like me.

You should hear the things that they say
That you “quit and threw it all away.”

That “you didn’t care about the rest world,”
“Selfish. Good riddance.” Other “sentiments” hurled.

Though, I know that you’re somewhere around,
Safely watching all the things that will become unbound.

They say it’s a joke, a cop-out, and easy to quit,
“Live. Let love.  C’mon, man, take another hit.”

To leave behind all that you love and make a great escape,
When we live and breed in a world full of greed and hate.

For when the demons have finally won, what more is there to say?
“Why did you give up. Why didn’t you stay?”

So often we say that we’re fine,
Debating, procrastinating, biding my time.

When will it be?
All this misery…

Too many times I’ve put it all down,
Not to let myself be consumed, pulled under and drown.
Letting others know that it’s not my time to go.
And though I smile and try to be strong,
My thoughts, they’re dark; caged, I don’t know how long.

Eventually, the dam will break,
All that has been locked away—will I wake?

It’ll be a day where there’s no preparation,
Maybe then we can have our conversation.

In the end, we die alone,
But in life we’re lights, shone.
To each other in the dark,
We guide one another, looking for our spark.

And so your story might have ended,
Those who are lost will continue to be tended.
Our invisible wounds from which that we bleed,
All the pain and agony inside which has sown its seed.

We’re not alone in our daily struggle,
But the world makes it harder to “love your neighbor.”
Frowned upon and looked down on,
Being called “a freak,” and “you should kill yourself.”

The problem isn’t us or those that already hurt,
It’s those that antagonize and do so spurt—
Content and think they’re “safe” behind their computer screen,
When they’ve never even met you or me.

So I understand why you felt you had to go,
I only wish you could have lived to see life so.

What wonders that maybe… the world will bring,
Even if though we’ll never hear you sing.

…Again…

Comfortably numb do I exist,
Still, I’ll fight and continue to resist.
The darkness and horror that lives within,
So that maybe others can be helped—that they can see what life’s like when it begins.


Rest easy, and thanks for all you’ve done.

This was also published on www.abnormalpublishing.com

Z

For our oldest princess (and cub), Zelda. Happy birthday, pumpkin. Mommy, daddy, and Aeris love you—always and forever.


Z

Today
Here and now
Celebration
Declaration

Of my oldest pride and joy
Reminiscing
Forgiving
A pain that won’t go away

I’ve watched you grow
From a baby to a young girl
You smile and it warms my heart
But still I can’t let go

Yesterday
It hurts the most
For that’s when I cried
The hardest. Ever. In my entire life.
The thought of losing you, and your mom—my wife

My life
I thought, was over

So I would sit

In the dim lit
Room of darkened thoughts

Reasoning
Blaming

Guilt
Swelled over the wall

I had built up
To keep all out
It came crumbling down

I was a father
A husband
All in one day
But
Would I remain that way?


Tomorrow
I know that the day will come
To let you out of my arms
But before then
I’ll tell you
I love you
Every day
I remain

Just know though
That I’m sorry
For the things that others say
But I know though
That if they knew you
And the place from which you came

They’d say “thank you”
For showing us
Angels really exist

And though I may cry
For when I say goodnight
At the thought of it being the last

I know though
That one day
I’ll see you with us once again
And it’s not the last

My warrior princess
Made from power and wisdom
You are my courage
And our love

Pure and everlast

You are our Zelda
Our little miss sass

Poem: Black

Black

by Robert J. S. T. McCartney

All these scenes I’ve painted black,
To hide the pain, I’ve yet to have attack—

Me; nay, us, for the day will eventually come,
An assassin lying in waiting, where it shall strike from?

They say to “go in faith” and “take this tome,”
Tis often true, tragedy strikes close to home.

Where I’ve found myself on my back,
crippled from a fall; an attempt to snap—

My neck, my limbs, my life. . .broken,
The words I’ll never utter, never spoken.

As darkness comes and overwhelms what I see,
I know you’ll never understand who I really was. . .me.

“It’s better this way” I once thought,
To give up, that it’s all for naught.

However, I’ve learned that there is much more, to this thing called life.
And that is why I am so happy to have you as my wife.

Though, I fight, the right and wrong; with the light and dark,
I know you’ll be there to guide me along the way, on this journey we embark.

For I now see, I was selfish and wrong,
That alone, I was weak but together, we are strong.

The scenes will become clear, and on that day, we may weep,
For when one goes down to eternal sleep.

That’s alright because at least we will be there,
No one else, with nothing left to care.


This was originally posted on A.B.Normal Publishing’s site.

My Own Prison: A Poem and Post

Prison. For most, they think it to be a building—a physical entity that exists to house criminals and wrongdoers. In most cases, however, a prison can also be one’s self. For the millions of those who suffer from depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder [PTSD] and many of the other mental illnesses and disorders, their mind is their own prison.

Built from the ground up, bit by bit, piece by piece. It can result from many things. For me: it’s been overcoming guilt. The burning anger that resides within. The negativity of several people and their dirty antics. The “what ifs?” The memories, though some blurry, of when I was on my antidepressants; the actions and things said. . .done. The immense sadness that dwells within. The constant twisting and shaping of how one can manipulate things against their own being. You realize it, you acknowledge it, and you know it to be a lie, but you can’t seem to overcome the grief that has besieged you and left you, seemingly, stranded.

Alone.

A fight for your life.

You have been tossed into shark-infested waters, and you are bleeding out.

My first therapist wasn’t horrible. He was just doing his job and trying to help me. You can’t help those who do not will to be helped or want it. I found it to be my punishment—to suffer—to slowly kill myself. Painfully. With the most potent malice ever conceived.

There were others that tried to help. Then there was the medication. Going to sleep for. . .what I believed was one day, turned into two or more sometimes. It hurt. I felt I was missing out on the most important of times, and it was unfair—to my daughter and my wife. . .and myself.

I was unstable. Anything and everything could set me off. The wind could blow the wrong direction and I would be having an anger attack. Eventually, I would do an unspeakable act that would convince myself; through a sort of out of body experience, that I needed to lose the medication and get proper help. That I needed to accept responsibility and be a man, a father, a husband. There were to be no more “woe is me” moments.

It would take time. . .

As time has gone on and that I went through EMDR therapy, my overall person has improved. I made changed, important and very much needed changes. I stopped being surrounded by negative people. I began exercising and losing weight (because I have always hated my body image). I stopped drinking alcohol in unnecessary consumption rates (I was an alcoholic, plain and simple in the end there. I became dependant on it).I started eating healthier. The food I did consume was not healthy and paired with soda, it bogged me down.

Simply enough, I didn’t care about myself. I didn’t love myself. I needed to change that. Being on the path to recovery doesn’t happen overnight and everyone is different.

“Get over it. That happened X years ago.”

“That still bothers you? Grow up.”

[At the intersection where the accident happened after finally being able to take my daughter home, away from the hospital, with my wife in the car behind me] “Sorry, I thought this would be the faster way. . .”

Being accused of wanting to kill my wife and daughter and using the accident to cover it up.

Those were a few of the many things said that were fuel added to the raging tempest I held within.

Time. Help. Understanding. Therapy. Changes.

That has been what has helped me. Good friends. Family. And making myself really change—for the better.

Every now and then, I get a dark spell, and that’s OK because it’s going to happen. I’ve been trying a new technique personally, and it’s helped. . .to a degree. Writing, however, has been the most helpful.

Normally, I’d never share my emotions or my thoughts. I figure, though, if someone can relate—someone can be helped, and that others out there that struggle can know that they are not alone in the fight. That there are rescue boats in these shark-infested waters with proper help for you. Then that’s fine with me. Because we are all pieces of a far grand puzzle than we can comprehend.

Stay strong and stay vigilant, friends.


My Own Prison

by Robert J. S. T. McCartney

Life undoes itself from me slowly as dare try to redeem
This prison
All these walls I’ve built up
Damn them
Damn me

I want to break free
From the binds that continue to keep me
Sometimes I only believe in self-absolving

But I know it to only be
I mustn’t keep fighting for me
For they are why I am here
The things I hold dear

Here

I will suffer through the pain
Because I have so much more to gain
Pain knows love just as well

As life knows death
Intermingled we are

The realization of which I now know
I do not suffer alone

Expectations

What are your expectations? It doesn’t matter if it’s in business, life, a career, sex, your spouse (or significant other/mate), food, eating out, a new video game, your president, your government, etc.

Where did you set the bar? High? Low? Somewhere in the middle? Do you set certain expectations high in your list that only you know about?

With people nowadays, you can see something like:

“10/10. Would bang again.”— Internet Troll

“Drove like a snail in rush hour traffic. Wouldn’t recommend. 1 star.”— Anon Uber App User.

or maybe something like:

“They looked great but was horrible in the sack. Also found out now I have The Clap.” — Anon, Booty Call App User

I mean, we have a president that uses Twitter to influence others; ratings can go up or tank at a single whim.

This leads to the next point: Reviews—they’re similar you know. In fact, they’re mostly just the faux mask that covers “expectations.” You are reviewing your expectations and addressing those expectations of an establishment, book, place, person, etc.

Some folks nowadays can’t function very well out in the world without the strong opinion of “the elite.” You know the folks that are on Yelp that say “Elite ’15, 16, 17,” and so on? Or “highest reviewer” accredited to their username via Google+.

No, I am not one of those folks.

There are tons of horrible people, sure. However, there are a lot of good people in the world too. We’re humans. It is expected. You can sort and sift through reviews and you get a glance—a glimmer of what type/kind of person someone is. Not only by their history of visits, purchase history, and the sort but by how you are being told how they interacted with whoever they are reviewing [this also constitutes an establishment, customer service, etc.].

“I had a bad experience here. They threatened my fish.” — Anon

“Food was horrible. I wouldn’t even consider bringing it home and giving it to my dog.” — Anon couple; I actually overheard this one.

There are millions of reviews out there. Those who feel the need to make a point. Those who must feel the need to feel needed. Those that seek others satisfaction.

Ah, the Digital Age.

The Internet is a wonderful, yet, scary place to be on. You have an insurmountable wealth of knowledge and tools. Yet we spend hundreds to thousands of hours watching cat videos. Fragging people [Nothing wrong with that, game on! And yes, that is me being bias.]. Stealing other peoples’ identity. Hacking elections. Ousting pedophiles that have horrible images on their computer drives. I can keep going.

Technology has changed us—humanity. The human race. Technology knows no racial bias (except maybe console versus PC; Sony vs. Microsoft, .etc but that’s reaching at best.). It knows what we have programmed it to be. What we want it to be. What advances we want. Cures. Curse. Death. Damage. What can we do to inflict unto others? The good intermingled with the bad and vice versa.

You may ask, “What the hell does that have to do with expectations? Why did you bring up reviews? Who the hell threatens a fish?”

Well, we expect a lot. So much from businesses, people, schools, etc. Our family. Some men expect women to put out on the first date. We expect food to be hot (or cold) and served at our preference. We expect to be put first, high up on a pedestal. Some people expect their religion is right and is superior to another person’s. We expect the loser to go home crying. . .with a participation trophy. We expect too much—as a society, a whole. It’s a path that can—and will—lead us to our downfall. We cater too much, while not giving a damn about consequences. Enter your “keyboard warriors,” cyber bullies, trolls, etc.

Great expectations.

We are not a community that is so transparent. Well, we are. . .when it comes to greed. But that’s another lengthy discussion, though. We’re not a close-knit community that really backs each other up, helps one another without expecting something in return, gratification, or simple enough—money.

Technology has sped up our dehumanization and desensitization. When we are able to truly modify our bodies as cyborgs and/or androids, will a person even care about anyone else? Would we still exist as being. . .human?

That “eternal salvation” of uploading your memories and consciousness to the Internet (Transcendence on crack), while say, a meteor that will destroy mankind indefinitely here on Earth, but elsewhere in the galaxy or universe, we are beamed via satellite signal to space and wake up in new sleek android models. It was just a few seconds in delay to us, but in actuality, it was a hell of a long time.

I digress. Simply put, times have changed. The radical evolution of societal influence and lack of actual human interaction, the lessening of empathy, lack of sympathy, morals tossed out the window, common sense that is now rare, and so on.

We often like to say that we are the superior race, especially, when it comes to man versus beast. However, are we really that much better? Cool—poseable thumbs, a large neocortex, “alleged capabilities of complex problem solving, and operating weapons of mass destruction.” Sure, I guess we are. I suppose I would say that sardonically, because I know even after we are all gone, Nature will go on without us. It has for millions of years and will.

Sure, I guess we are. I suppose I would say that sardonically because I know even after we are all gone, nature will go on without us. It has for millions of years and will continue to.

You can consider this, I suppose a young person rambling on. Perhaps. But would you disagree? That there are a lot of issues that are presented here that are of importance and relevant, that are just tossed aside like everyday refuse? Swept under the rug. Dismissed and barred from public discussion because it’s a “no-no” and would make someone else upset and they might break out the whips and chains [Not the good kind either.].

Suicide, depression, anxiety, PTSD [Post Traumatic Stress Disorder], bullying, all of these and more are getting quite out of hand. As a sufferer of one of these many. . .side effects. . .I’ve made it my way of life to explore them, help others, learn other peoples’ stories and experiences, and even just listen. We all bleed the same. We all break. When, how, and why, though will come in to question.

So, you will see posts about suicide. Depression. Anxiety. PTSD. Other mental health issues and such. Writing is my therapy. It’s my way of sharing with others. Though it may be fiction in some ways, you do not have to feel silenced, judged, oppressed. With how news, media, and press are getting gagged, misinformation everywhere, etc. What’s next? Writers of fiction and non-fiction are hunted? We’ll see, right?

While I hope to entertain people, make it my career, provide expectations, get reviewed—I do it for myself. Do you want to know who my most cynical critic and ball-breaking is? It’s me. Granted, I am changing that way to not giving a damn completely, it’s still a process. I want to write just for the pure enjoyment I get out of doing it; being a god amongst men and women, creating worlds, life. In the very same manner—becoming death, chaos, a destroyer of worlds and relationships.

I could go on and on. . .though I would like to know: what are your expectations in life right now?

I will end with one of my favorite quote from the movie Legend with Tim Curry and Tom Cruise.

“The dreams of youth are the regrets of maturity. Dreams are my speciality. Through dreams, I influence mankind.” — The Lord of Darkness; Tim Curry

I wish you all well. Be safe and take care. The world is a mess. . .but it is a beautiful mess under all those bandages.

RJM

 

P. S. While I reintroduce some works, I invite you to check out a free ebook on the Kindle store: Abnormal Side Effects. If it’s not free for your region, then I invite you to a free copy here.

Feel free to talk with me, too. I don’t bite. Too hard.