timeline for jennifer

my timeline.

i don't want to tell the stories again. of my mother, my grandmother, everyone else... so... fuck it, i don't know, looking back is just pointless to me.

no more looking back.

1978 born.
job at aohell, met the mother of my children just before my twenty fifth birthday. distracted by my wallpaper for a minute. now it's a mushroom, okay. i hate everything. that was two thousand three, september. so that means... fuck those dates, there is no valentines day. just like there is no god, no fuckin tooth fairy, no fuckin santy claws. so... yeah, lost my aohell job in... two thousand two, met goatroach in two thousand three, started dating in two thousand four, biggest mistake of my life. i never wanted to do with my life what everyone else wanted me to do with my life.

god, i hate everyone. really trying to focus here, only talking to my fuckin self.

my daughter was born march second, two thousand six. seven twenty am. the mother of my children was born january second, nineteen seventy one. my mother's car was a seventy one chevy nova. my mother was born october eight, nineteen fifty nine. the stock market crashed on october twenty nine, nineteen twenty nine. my grandmother was born the day after that. imagine being pregnant, and the day before you give birth to that child, the world goes to shit. if you've seen 'the crow', my grandmother was born on devil's night, the worst possible day in recent history. i was born in a good year. generation x, libra, along with my mother, and year of the horse. look up my birth chart, but that doesn't mean much to me. meant more to the mother of my children. the year i was born, bill hicks started doing comedy, and nineteen seventy nine started off with black sabbath kicking ozzy out. i used to remember so many other little dated factoids from around that time, but... not anymore. i was born september twenty six, nineteen seventy eight, six:twelve pm. i don't tell people where anymore, and really... only when it's being put in the book, will i say it that one last time.

after my daughter was born, her mother got the crazy idea in her head that after putting me in psych wards "failed", that she and the baby weren't safe around me, so she left for florida with my daughter, and left me with an apartment full of crap i couldn't move alone, no one to help, and rigged it to where the apartment owner needed us to leave, so i had to be out and couldn't take anything. stayed with my cousin for a couple months before compromising and moving back in with mom even though i didn't want to. most of all the stupid choices and compromises i made in my life, were because i was avoiding the streets, but if i had been homeless twenty years ago, i would have built up my own life already by now...

moving on. god, it's hard to talk about or even write about this shit. even thinking about it, just puts me in the worst mood. i'm just super stoned right now, in my van, after chiropractic with genie, and drowning in her deep brown eyes. gorgeous little woman packin' a massive soul.

got this stupid stomach to shut up this long, but feels like it's waking up again. worse than a baby.

i really thought i could do this without my brain stopping. kickstart this motherfucker, man. come on.

two thousand six. march second, rayne was born. three months later, goatroach takes her to florida. at that point, as far as i was concerned, our relationship was over. when she came back from florida, she had no choice but to move in with my mother and i... and my grandmother... and i refused to talk to her. when her and i had gotten together, she had this twit friend... i don't know why she hung out with this rancid woman, but... i think she was clueless that the woman hung out with her to make herself look better, but... why anyone would choose goatroach to make themselves look better... that's like thor standing next to swamp thing and saying 'does this make my butt look too big'. except for the fact that they were both really really ugly, just... in completely opposite ways. twit was thin and popular ugly, whereas goatroach was fat and wannabe popular ugly. and they were equally clueless. can't believe my brain's even reaching back there. anyway, because of that twit, just after my daughter was born, cops showed up at our door. i don't want to tell these details. it's not relevant, no one's business, i shouldn't have to.

whole point of that, it took two years, from two thousand four, to two thousand six, and only because twit was dating a cop, but... long story super duper short, i got five years of probation, starting just before my son was born, in fall of two thousand seven. october seventeenth, i believe. so i was due to be off october twenty twelve. so... late two thousand seven. fall. my grandmother had a long lost brother who died, and she got fifty grand, then she got a usda loan for a house, so we all moved into the house in january two thousand eight.

my mother and i hated arizona. we wanted out so bad. it was a vortex. when i was in high school, i had a friend named dana. after high school, she had moved up to portland oregon, and invited my mother and i up there. june first, nineteen ninety nine, i had been doing telemarketing, which i absolutely loathed. so i was very happy to quit that job. i remember actually, it was a girl i was dating around then, that actually picked me up from the job when i quit. i remember i had a pin on my badge that i couldn't get off, so i just handed the whole thing to my supervisor. i hated every moment of that in so many ways. i had bits of fun, i had a few good coworkers who smoked a lot of weed, had bits of fun sitting in people's cars after work, this girl millie i knew... other tiny lost memories. not much importance now. this guy brad, and i forget the cute blonde's name, allison, maybe? really couldn't matter less now. allison would never have dated me. the job sucked balls. it was so horrible and pointless. 'do you have ten cents a minute?', shut the fuck up. so... june first, i got to quit my job. or somewhere around there. girl i was dating picked me up. and my mother and i, along with my friend nannette, rented a uhaul and drove up to portland oregon. had some rough spots along the way, unexpected setbacks and stress, but made it, and stayed in dana's three bedroom trailer, mom in her own room, me and nannette in the other, till nannette bailed, i forget how or why. i just remember her insulting me when she was saying goodbye, and i didn't know why. looking back, i really don't think any of my high school friends really liked me all that much, and i honestly don't think i liked them much, i'm glad i wasn't more invested than i was comfortable with, i would have gotten screwed worse. nannette, dana, naomi... out of everyone, if i could still be friends with any of them, or even wanted to, if i think it would still be worth my while, it would really only be dana and naomi anymore, everyone else pissed me off in theor own unique way. from tara, to names i don't even want to say again, the women, the men, all of them, just pointless fucks and bad friends.

but... fuck high school. portland oregon, only got to stay there for a year and a half... fuck this, skip ahead, skip ahead. if you fuckers really wanna know about this shit, you gotta interview me, fuck this.

fuck the past.

daughter born...

five years in a house... nothing happened...

nuthing good anyway...

lost everything in twenty thirteen, became homeless, left hell in twenty fourteen, now i'm just skipping ahead way too fast, but that's how i'd rather do it...

left hell, may thirty first, twenty fourteen. my mother would pass away exactly a year later, when i was hitchhiking up the coast of california.

so... twenty fourteen. got up to spokane. nine days of crap, became homeless and free. left spokane in august, got to seattle...

seattle from august twenty fourteen, till january twenty fifteen, last week of january in bellingham, that hasn't even been relevant or told in years... then portland for february twenty fifteen, the month i was there, arrested twice for scraping resin, despite what the cops say, they harrass homeless people for anything and everything, they'll charge a white bum for just for being black. they don't care what you're doing, you're a criminal. they said so, and it's always their word against yours, and you have no say despite what the constitution says.

then down to san francisco, what a fuckin mistake that was, for march and april, most of may in humboldt county, even bigger mistake, found out my mother died on july fourth, and went down to los angeles my august twenty fifteen, stayed there doing nothing at all till may twenty sixteen, i did at least get myself a laptop there, after the first two pawn shop laptops had been stolen, i hate this fuckin planet.

lost angeles was possibly the biggest mistake i've ever made. period. pun intended. or whatever. my neck hurts so bad right now, i can't even think.

so... left los angeles in may twenty sixteen, got back to seattle, i lose friends like a pro. just kicking bad people to the curb left and right, being thrown out like trash myself as often as seasons change.

spent two years here in seattle doing absolutely nothing. trying to do something, but accomplishing nothing, succeeding at nothing, anything i attempt is... thwarted by some invisible nemesis, some villain i can't even see. it smells like money, but it looks like a mannequin.

aaand... is that really as far as i'm going with this? this thing right here, i know i've already written this at least twenty times. probably five on facebook alone if you include the seattle homeless coalition. fuckin look it up, that was me. i'm a real invisible piece of shit, man. got no one's attention in five years. absolutely no one. except the four ladies i know now. jennifer, desiree, genie, and sophia. between the five of us, we've gotta be able to think of something cool. especially if you consider me the coolest mind of the group. not smartest, but coolest.

i know i'm capable of better shit than this, though, so i really just need to stop talking about the past, i know that, i give no fucks about the past, only other people who wonder where i've come from... it's not relevant. not to where i'm going, i've disconnected for traumatic purposes... or therapeutic, however you see it...

whatever... maybe this was another bad idea. i pictured a timeline in my head, dates, but by the time i get this open, my mind's already fucked.

dates i can remember...

september second, two thousand.
june first, nineteen ninety nine.
ozzfest ninety six and ninety seven, black sabbath reunited... pantera, testament, slayer, machine head, fear factory, marilyn manson, offspring, motley crue... from ninety four till ninety eight, had some bad ass concerts, and some horrible experiences, bad and interesting stories, but none of it was my life, or what i wanted to live, i knew i was in the wrong place to live my life, around the wrong people. looking back, i really knew it that whole time, in one way or another.

june first, ninety nine, we moved up to oregon.
september second, two thousand, that dream was destroyed.
by my mother's birthday, october eight, two thousand, we had made it back to hell with little more than we left with. a uhaul full of crap. naomi threw us a welcome back to hell party, and during that party, my mom was telling her about all the crap we lost in the move, and naomi (who didn't want to hear about lost material bullshit, cause who does) asked my mother, 'don't you feel lighter?', and mom realized after a few minutes of deep thought, she did.

all hearts were broken. all dreams were shattered.

i don't know how any of this happened once that happened, but i always figured the nine eleven bullshit had something to do with it.

i worked at a local record store from halloween till new years eve, two thousand one, and then worked tech support for aohell from spring till fall two thousand two, got my studio apartment for two years, lost my job to outsourcing, lost friends, got friends back, lost friends again... i'm... there was so much horrible shit that happened all around this time, my studio apartment was possibly the best and worst time of my life equally. i was a hermit for a year and a half of it because trying to have friends in there was such a mistake, and led... well...

led to the mother of my children, and a ten year path of wreckage.

two thousand eight. house. computer. car. two thousand nine... movies.

twenty ten, lost my kids, got newton, diabetic, gastroparesis, more movies, dvd and bluray collection, dual monitors, five point one surround sound... therapy.

twenty eleven, miserable year, fucking alone. movies... therapy... probation... hatred.

twenty twelve. june, met her, got hot sauce... twenty thirteen, became homeless, lost everything including finally her too...

twenty fourteen, left hell, started traveling... is this seriously all i feel like saying about these points in time anymore? i guess so, man...

i fuckin hate the rest.

but oh well. didn't matter to anyone else anyway, why would it suddenly matter when i finally do something.

how about this... for twenty years, wanted to start a metal band, but couldn't. for ten years, wanted to start my own restaurant, but couldn't.

for five years, wanted to start my own country or tech company, but couldn't. for ten years, even tried to start my own photography.

tried to start college once, and just got an earfull of 'prerequisite' bullshit, and got fucked into all the wrong classes... god, people suck, but rules suck worse, because they allow people to be pricks.

god, my life is a disaster from every angle.

i'm half battery, so... gotta stop soon.

hate this planet.

that didn't work either...

okay, so... seattle... why, why did i come here? i could have done better anywhere else. i could have had an rv with its own tv a year ago in fuckin tennessee, and possibly started a metal band, too, man... fuck seattle, people here are fake, empty, and they suck.

i don't know what i'm still typing for, this failed in two different ways at least. just put a fuckin movie on, man, fuck this.

jennifer, i'm sorry, i tried again. and failed again. i'll keep trying. this has to come out of me some way, some how... sorry.

i'm gonna keep trying anyway while i've got battery for now... see what else pours out.

seattle... god, even as far as gathering homeless information, this is a fuckin... it's like trying to find a hundred needles in a ten acre field of hay. and sew them together with one string, in alphabetical order, on the first fuckin try, that's what this is. fuck this. it's almost four twenty.

time to smoke.

god, i hate my life, hate my brain, hate myself, hate this fuckin world. hate these fuckin people, hate that i have to do any of this shit, but i only want to do what i want to do, and not what the world or anyone else wants me to do, and i'm... fuck this, man, i hate everything.

have to think my way out of your nightmare just to live my life without you telling me how to live yours, what did you ever tell me to live your life in the first place, you sick fuck.

what hell was this.

this neck is killing me.

i just have to stop, i can't keep this going, i want to with the battery left, but... my mind just won't cooperate. i can't do this.

if my head didn't hurt so bad because of my neck... maybe, but i can't even get my fingers to hit the right fucking keys anymore, so... fuck it.

after seattle, there's really nothing else to tell. finally got a van and a laptop... gotta find a girlfriend, and get my ass on a stage soon.

fuck it, that's about it. fuck the rest of this shit. i have youtoob videos i need to make. mental excrement i need to expel, move!

why did i try this, why did i do this, why? i knew it would end up this way, it always does, every time, consistently. it's because no one else knows that. ahh. well. fuck it. why did i ever start writing? cause i hated explaining myself. hmm. god, could i ever hit the right keys ever again!

what the fuck happened to my fingers, man, i used to be a quick fuckin typer, now i hit backspace more than i hit any keys, i'm surprised i get anything typed. if i'm typing more than one word an hour, i'll be impressed. fuck this. hate myself.

so... fuck it, i guess that's it. if i write anymore, i'm literally going to hit myself. and the more i type, the less letters i hit right, so... fuck it. i tried.

this is how bad i fail at getting my own thoughts out of my own head when trying with my own honest earnest effort... i'm fucked.

no one will help me or understand what's blocking me... wow... okay, back up about ten words... the word 'help'... in this very line... took me ten fucking attempts to type correctly! wow! impressive! doing great, son! i'm done. save it, close it, shut her down.