Watch Me Baby!

It's a game. A race to deliver to the finish.

Victims? Oh, yeah. There are victims.

Butchers? Yup, definitely not for the squeamish.

With body parts scattered along the way. Rape kits covered in dust.

The NYPD, SVU, FBI and Ryan Hardy are on it.

But how many more?

How many more women have to lay victim for the cutting room floor? 

It's getting old. Read old.

I feel sorry for the girls waiting by the phone, hoping with fingers crossed to be Dead Girl #5, Rape Victim 1 or Whore in Red Dress at the end of the day.

Must violence breed entertainment?

I used to enjoy shows like Criminal Minds, but then it got bad a few seasons back, and now it's just too violent. The Following seemed okay, but again, too violent. Just violence.

Perhaps entertainment is just catching up with this world and its fall in humanity. Where people just kill one another for sport, for fun, in a spark of anger. Where the thought or belief in a just God doesn't enter the mind once.

Or perhaps the vice that many share, the need for constant stimuli should aid in helping shift the violent glare with shows that dare to show (I'll say it) love and care for humanity, minus the brutal slaying. Unless it's Buffy (Sarah Michelle Gellar) kicking some Edward Cullen ass - I want something different.

How about The Love Boat. Fantasy Island. The Cosby Show. Night Court. Life Goes On.

I don't know...?

And it's not just violence. It's the over-sexualizing of women and men, teenagers and kids.

Do we need a re-education in humanity, innocence and civility? Cause it's just getting so bad out there.

I grew up in the 80s & 90s where TV shows weren't only about sex and slaying. There were options. You had Family Ties or Miami Vice.

Now there are none. What's going to happen to the innocent eyes of today when they grow up tomorrow?

They've never been given an option. 

An Off Day

I was an angry bird today. Snapping the fingers off many. They bit me. I bit back. I'm usually not one to bite in return. I usually don't address it.

I think it's the hunger. The hunger for what I once knew. What I've been away from. I hear it calling now and then. Like a once beloved friend calling my name. I miss their company.

My writing is...it's like a puzzle right now. All the pieces are there, but the main picture is getting fuzzy. I need to reconsider Gabe's motivation.

It's distressing. Money, it comes and goes. The boys, they come but I want them to go. The men...think I'm jailbait. The ones that desire jailbait, they lose interest fast after swapping words with me. I know how to say "no" and mean it. I may act dim, for fun, cause being serious can feel stuffy, but it's an act.

But not having time to write, and working in a space that kills any creative buzz - it's a slow death. It sucks that there's no one to talk to about the craft. Like, someone that will help you tear a part what's not working. Someone who wants to.

I miss my friends that have gone away. When a mess, a baby, a plane ride or marriage get in the way - friends split. More time to self investigate your inner mess and deny obvious flaws. Medicate with sugar and coffee. Do a good deed to cancel all the wrong. Am I alone here?

Thank God today's almost over.