A Slave To The Rhythm.


As I sit in philosophy this moment, I’m watching a girl in front of me on Twitch or something watching someone play Dark Souls 3 online on her laptop. Professors always say “don’t watch videos while in class, you’ll distract other students” and I never believed them. But I must say, I’ve been pretty well distracted.

The other girl stopped writing notes after we started talking about God, Nietzsche, and how “God is dead” and doesn’t play a role in the development of values. Then we started talking about how man has created values and rules to live by and slave morality in terms of Christianity, religion, and politics, and I think she got offended. As I speak, after a royal argument for reason in terms of asking people “why does God dislike gays?” (in which their best argument is ‘because it’s in the bible’)and “why is murder wrong?”(in which people respond ‘because it is’ or ‘it’s taking a life’), she’s packed up her belongings.

She didn’t laugh when my professor said Beelzebub gets a bad rap. I did. Because it’s true. My professors reasoning is that he’s bold, and chooses what he wants to believe, versus simply complying underneath a slave morality.

The chick just left.

I love it when this professors reminds us how she doesn’t believe premeditated murder is wrong, or that babies aren’t born innocent, or that democracy is a ridiculous concept that is nice in theory but horrendous when implemented by us.

Another guy left too.

A third person just left.


Even if you don’t believe what’s being said, that doesn’t mean you can’t take a moment to think about it. That flares my “brainwashed” sonar.

Or I’m overthinking this and they had an emergency or a child in which they needed to take care of.

Again, I’ve taken an unannounced absence from this blog on account of an existential crisis. I thought I’d lost my interest in life, my drive for my future, and for a few months there I did–a few months wasted spent wallowing in depression and swallowing self-pity for that fact.

I have not been cured.

But I have realized where I’ve been going wrong and I think when we find ourselves in this situation the best thing to do is take a break from all the things we’ve been trying to force upon ourselves (career related, school related, family related, social-gathering related) and instead engage in perhaps an excessive amount of introspection. So much of our lives are spent wondering where we belong among everyone else, how we can influence others, how we can impress others, how we can fit with others, that it’s easy to lose who we are.

My face has been buried in books, I’ve gone through more jobs than I have friends (not a very stiff competition), and I’m unsatisfied with all of it.


Some people might suggest I leave college–it’s just not for me.

Some people might suggest finding a job online or finding a night position working by myself.

Some people might suggest I need to suck up my anxiety and depression.

Some people might call me lazy.

But all of that is irrelevant. The fact of the matter is there are several paths to success. There are several definitions of originality. There are several definitions of creativity. There are several million interpretations of it all.

And yours matters not to me.

I’m not someone who has trouble with authority because I’m an anarchist, antisocial personality disordered ‘sociopath’, I’m someone who has trouble with authority because I have trouble with accepting what I’m told is all I’m allowed to accept.

I don’t want power, I want freedom of choice, interpretation, and direction. And as long as my reasons are my own within myself, than I know I’ve broken the title of “slave”.


I know how often people are iffy of Nietzsche, but I like his non-conventional take on ethics, I always have, and it seems somewhere along the way I’ve forgotten all about it.

College is my hobby. Creativity is my career. It’s always been. Ever since I’ve had to put the majority of my attention on school and leave behind my passions like photo/video editing, writing, and photography, I’ve been more depressed than usual. Even my fantasy world has been dulled. My grades have suffered as a result, which only adds fuel to the fire.

That is why introspection is imperative to success in ourselves. It may have taken me a few months to put my finger on it, but eventually my finger landed there and that’s what’s important.

I now declare college the “eh, might as well” part of my day. That’s where it’s always belonged.


I now declare the things that make me who I am, the things that embrace my personality, that make me the happiest, that make me aware of how far I can really go in this life if I so choose, will be my main focus. As long as that is in my life, I can make the grades I want, I can focus on what society feels I need to and do so content knowing after I finish this page of homework I can go back to what really matters to me.

No one can decide what is right for you and what isn’t. Values, virtues, vices, rights, and wrongs, they change with time and tide just as our perception of them does because we created them. To tell me “college is the right way to go” could be irrelevant and petty within the next few years. Sure, Nietzsche came to the same conclusion, but pshhh, I knew that when I was 8 years old.

Okay, maybe 11. The point is, I understood that from my position on the tree branch above this world where I spent countless upon countless of silent hours watching you all mosey about your day satisfied on the outside, unsatisfied on the inside, and sitting in the alleyways with the needles and the booze and the pipes and the 9-5’s and the families and all the things you use to distract yourself from yourself.

4414218To be original, to be creative, isn’t going against the grain. It isn’t being an anarchist. It isn’t being racist, it isn’t throwing a bottle at the KKK screaming “it’s 2016!“. It isn’t blindly coming up with an idea no one else has and thinking that’s your best selling point. It isn’t being a toy creator who actually has to think about a selling point. It isn’t about music or art or tattoos because everyone shares the ideas of others.

Being original is taking those ideas, interpreting them, coming to a conclusion, and executing your conclusion. Whether or not you agree with the crowd or you don’t agree with the crowd is irrelevant: what matters is you made the decision.

It’s not about “doing what you want” like a rebel. It’s about having solid reason for what you do and the choices you make.

That being said, expect some photographs.

Expect some samples of writing and daily content again.

And most of all, within the next few months, expect a YouTube channel. It’s about time I make use of 2016, don’t you think?




Mr. Arrogant, M.D Speaking



Everything you’ve ever heard and haven’t heard about Nursing homes is real.

Today was my first day and I must say this company has done such an outstanding, marvelous, stunning job of making me lose all respect for them. Enough for me to decide to terminate my employment after 7 .5 hours. On my lunch I applied for the same position at a crisis behavioral health unit, where I fucking belong.

Lets start off with me getting three hours of sleep last night in order to be at this shit hole at 7 a.m.

I stared around the empty halls looking for the woman the administrator told me to meet up with. I happened to run into a different woman in the housekeeping department who stared at me with wide eyes and said she was told I was coming on Monday. I was told to come in on Saturday.

Great job, fucking pill-popper. First you lose my fucking resume in your pile of donkey shit papers on your desk, then you slur your words through my interview, and now you told the entire department I was showing up on Monday rather then Saturday.

Turns out the woman whose name I couldn’t remember? She didn’t work today. The fucking administrator asked her Twice in Spanish if she was going to be in today. So does she not speak Spanish either? No English, no Spanish, how the fuck do you survive?

.The kitchen staff, the laundry staff, and the housekeeping staff only speak Spanish. No English, only Spanish. And they’re all related. It became relatively apparent to me that I was hired because I look Hispanic. All he had to do was look at my paper where I marked my ethnicity:

“Two or more races (Not Hispanic or Latino)”.

Oh how foolish of me. I forgot, he probably lost that in his dog shit pile desk too.

Imagine this x10, and you have his office desk.

Is it really that hard to ask “do you speak Spanish?” or “Are you Bilingual?” Fuck it, on the next interview I’m going to walk up to them, shake their hand, say my name and immediately repeat “I do not speak Spanish.”

So while I was following around this one housekeeper who can’t explain the rules, or where the carts are, or what rooms we’re supposed to do, or the schedule or anything to me, she suddenly disappeared. I came out of a room I was dusting and she was gone.

I stood by the cart and waited because what the fuck else am I going to fucking do? I waited for five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes.

A CNA came up to me and told me she had taken her break.

Twenty minutes passed.

A RN in red scrubs asked me if it was my first day. I said yes. He asked where the woman had gone and I said “her fucking break, I guess” and shrugged with an exaggeration.

Thirty minutes passed.

Keep in mine, I’m still standing by this fucking cart with no instruction and no one to give me any instruction.

The RN informed me the CNA who had informed me the woman I was working with took a break, was her cousin. In fact, they’re all related in the department. He told me it isn’t right what they’re doing to me and it’s ridiculous and they should have got someone else to orientate. I said I know. He said he’s been working here for ten years and “boy has this place changed”.

31x1esbjuol-_sx331_bo1204203200_A man strolled down the hallway in a navy blue button up shirt and navy blue slacks and he went into a room next to me and the RN who was giving everyone their morning medication and taking note of it in the giant record book. The man was an M.D, I saw it on his name tag, and all he did was wander into a room, crack some jokes, and walk out.

He waited in the wall in front of me, and I was an inch or so taller than him. He asked me if I was new, I said yes. He nodded and took a glance at the medical records the RN was writing in. Then he took off back down the hall.

A woman in a wheelchair was reaching towards the phone but she had spinal issues and couldn’t reach it, nor could she dial. She asked the M.D who walked past if he could dial a number for her.

Keep in mind this guy was just chilling and entertaining patients with his lame ass jokes a few seconds earlier. Now all of a sudden he’s too good to interact with them. He pawned her off on the laundry man. He says “let me get someone to help you” and goes for the fucking laundry man. Not the CNA, not a RN, not the receptionist:

The laundry man who SPEAKS NO ENGLISH.

So what does the laundry man do? He pawns the phone call off on me and says “help” and points to the woman. I have no idea how to dial out of the place and there’s no one around to ask, not even a CNA. The number won’t go through for some reason and the RN had to come help me, barking at the air that someone should have got a nurse for her.

Yeah, someone fucking should have. That piece of shit cocky son of a bitch M.D. I can’t wait until I’m his educational equal. His type are going to hate me.

After thirty five minutes the woman i’m working with comes back from her fifteen minute break. We start cleaning again, in fucking silence, and the laundry guy is trying to get some blankets off the bed of an elderly woman. Once he gets her in her wheelchair, he brings her into the hall and fucking shoves the wheelchair off to the side while he goes into another room for whatever fucking reason. I jumped in front of her before her chair slammed into the wall.


I straightened her out and glared at the laundry guy’s back. Fucking punk.

By this point I’m beyond pissed off. I was thankful that I got to walk around and break a sweat because it helped whisk away the adrenaline.

Walking towards the Soiled Laundry room to toss in some bags, I see another woman in a wheelchair at the base of a small ramp. The small ramp goes up towards station 2 where the nurses are and where the smoking area door is.

Two feet away stood a RN in grey scrubs. He was just leaning on the counter. Doing nothing. Chilling out. The woman is staring at him and calling for him to help her up the ramp. She’s shouting it very loudly. Not in a aggressive manner, not in a rude manner, she’s just saying “excuse me, can you help me up? Can you help me? Hello? Can you help me?”

So I push her up the ramp and she says thank you and I made her fucking day with that one little act of kindness.

blown-head-gasket-www-deaven-netMy gasket blew. I slam-dunked the laundry bag in the bin and went back to the fucking housekeeper cart and I noticed the woman who I’d said hi to early in the morning and the woman whose chair I stopped from slamming into the wall were following me around the unit. They went where I went. And they always smiled at me.

The woman I worked with was scared of the man with severe Tourettes–I’m assuming that’s what it was. He could have been prone to seizures or something else, I don’t know. They lay fat mats by the side of his bed and he has a pink helmet, so I’m assuming the worst. She gets scared and confused when his tics go off because they are major and a little hard to watch. It’s hard for him to talk during them with his body jerking all over the place.

But abruptly it stopped. And when I saw the floor was dry I went back in to place his mats by his bed and asked him how he was and what his name was. He asked me if I was new and I said yes and he frowned and smiled at the same time, I don’t know if that was on purpose or another kind of tic. But he was nice.

The fact that the woman I was with never took a moment out of her time to at least say “hi” to the people, disturbed me.

Because the people in these departments are all related, they each do each others work. The housekeepers pick up after the kitchen staff, the laundry staff help the housekeepers, e.t.c. The RN saw this and stared at me, angry at them, and told me “don’t do what they do, that’s not your job”.

I saluted him.

They sit in their clique and speak Spanish in the halls, even though they know English is the only language that’s supposed to be spoken on the floor because there are residents suffering mentally who get paranoid and violent and angry when people are speaking other languages–they think they’re being targeted.

The CNA cousin kept talking to one of the residents until she told her five times in a row to leave her alone. The CNA wasn’t doing anything productive, she was just trying to have a conversation and the woman didn’t feel like having a conversation or laughing at your fucking awful jokes. So leave her the fuck alone.


One thing is for certain, they were talking about me. Smiling in my face and stabbing me in the back. But it’s fine. Because fuck that place.

On my lunch I went home and applied for the same position for the crisis behavioral health unit.

Because here’s the thing. I could report that laundry man for neglect. I could inform an Ombudsman. I could tell the administrator that he’s unprofessional and so is his pathetic staff.

And if I see the same thing at the Crisis unit, you better believe my mouth is going to go off. I pretty much had an elderly army behind me today. Imagine me with an army of mental health patients.


Yeah, think about that for a moment. I’m already mental. We could take over the world.

My loyal friends, my mental health minions, also threw their fucks on my fuck-curb. They threw them there a long time ago, that’s why they’re in a crisis center. And I’m sure they’re going to love me. I’m a comedian. I make people laugh without really meaning to. I make old people like me without really meaning to. I make them follow me up and down the halls without really meaning to.

I’m going to miss a few of the elderly patients and I hate leaving them there. But I’m not stepping foot in that fucking place again.

I can’t compromise my sanity for a job any longer.