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Life of a stray dog

Jul 15 '14

"I was trying to be sexy."

"That… wasn’t." It’s hard for me to speak. I’ve actually been crying for about ten minutes. Silent, lungs ablaze, shaking. I wasn’t prepared or equipped to handle what had just taken place on the back of an empty shuttle van on what had otherwise been a great evening, the second and last of the weekend I had intended to spend at Cleveland Leather Awareness Weekend. I’m not even drunk anymore at this point. I was. I was too drunk. I was way too drunk before. I now know what a true moment of clarity feels like. "That was the furthest thing from sexy I’ve ever experienced. You just took me to a really dark and horrifying place."

"We’re here. Are you two getting off?" Where the fuck were you fifteen minutes ago, asshole?!

"Fuck no. I’m not going anywhere but back to the hotel."

"I’m sorry. Please, don’t be this way. We’ve been having a great weekend. We still can. It’s doesn’t have to end." I’ve never wanted to completely destroy a human being before. I’ve never felt this level of pure homicidal rage. I want to break every part of his body and pull the fragments out. I want to build a monument to pain out of the jagged, worthless pieces. I want him to have never been, but I’ll settle for never will be again.

"Yes, it does. It does. It needs to end."

The other guys are filing out of the warehouse party we were about to attend and taking seats around us on the shuttle. I turn my face to the window. I feel relieved that there are so many other people in the shuttle now. I’m embarrassed but so relieved. We’re moving. I have thirty minutes to figure this mess out before we get to the hotel where I’m sharing a room with-

"What do you want to do? Can we just go back to the room and sleep? Please? Don’t do anything you’ll regret."

"I regret a lot of things right now. But going back to the room alone won’t be one of them."

"You want me to leave?"

"Fuck yes. I want you gone."

"If you do this right now, we’re done. We won’t be friends ever again. I’ll be out of your life forever."

"We’re not fucking friends. We’ll never be anything now."

"Why are you hurting me like this?"

"Why… am I… hurting you…" We’ve been whispering ever since the shuttle filled up. I suddenly can’t control the volume of my voice. I’m using every ounce of self-control I possess to not retaliate in physical violence. "Do you have any idea how hard you were hitting me? My ears are still fucking ringing, you son of a bitch! Yes, let’s be done forever! Fuck off and goodbye!"

I have silenced the world. I can hear my heart, broken and racing.

"Ok, I’m gone. I am gone forever."

"Good. Thank fuck for that."

And he did leave. I stayed in the smoking tent near the pool behind the hotel and chainsmoked nearly an entire pack of cigarettes while he packed his shit and faded away into the night. I paid for the room, so I had every intention of staying in it - alone and safe. I finished the weekend out on my own terms and still can’t imagine why anyone would mistakenly find any of it sexy at all.

Not broken, just bruised,

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Jul 9 '14

Keep moving

I may be here awhile. I’m currently heading from my last appointment of the day in Painesville to refuel and park my work truck for the night in my office (storage unit) in Ravenna. I’ve moved about a mile in the last ten minutes on the expressway. When we’re actually moving, it’s at 10 mph. So, I may be here awhile. My exit is another 7 miles away.

As usual, I’ve received my end of the day email containing the first stop/appointment for my route tomorrow. Once I get back to Ravenna, I can map out the distance from my office and figure out my actual start time. I’ll have to leave my house an hour before that to get to my office 15 mins early to exchange vehicles and prep my work truck for the day. They’ll update me throughout the day via email as they build my route by adding additional stops/appointments. Typically, I work 8 to 10 hours each day to include travel.

I love it, by the way. I have almost no contact with the office except phone calls to process credit card transactions or attempt to contact the customer when no one responds to me knocking or emails explaining complications that have me running behind schedule (only if over an hour delay has occurred). It’s beautiful. I’m personally accountable and self-contained. It’s wonderful. I only report to the home office every other week to restock supplies and pick up my pay stub. Otherwise, I’m out there on my own doing my thing and loving life.

I still have 5 miles to go, but everyone’s trying to merge into me… so… later,

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Jul 6 '14

Photo update! Yay!

1. New work uniform
2. My birthday celebration
3. Taking Marco for a ride
4. Shit I see at work (on site, not my workplace)
5. No love between myself and the old job
6. My new office, where I keep my work truck or personal vehicle depending on the time of day

Click, click,

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Jul 6 '14

Do work, son.

My latest fixation/obsession/focus/addiction is going to the gym. And I’m a fierce mother fucking beast when I’m there. I went twice yesterday. The second time was around 10pm, six hours after the first, because when I got home from the first trip my neighbor across the street “asked” me to help him move some ridiculously heavy, bulky furniture off his pickup and down into his basement - further complicated by the incredibly low clearance at the bottom of all those stairs. I say “ask” when he actually grunted, groaned, and gestured at me. I was very thankful his girlfriend was there to interpret. He’s deaf from birth, so very minimal verbal communication. I think I did a decent job understanding him. Sort of. Anyway, my reward for this effort was an invite to their bonfire at 10pm. There would be a lot of drinking and general socializing. I agreed to come if I was still home. Well, I wasn’t home. I would have gone to midnight mass to avoid that disaster.

I’m not typically a social creature. I’m nice and helpful and friendly enough, but I’m in no way socially inclined.

So, I went back to the gym. Because I love the gym. Now I just have to deal with my awkward neighbor sitiation. Should be easy enough, this was the first time in three years that I’ve interacted with anyone in the neighborhood. I can go another three before a repeat.

Dripping sweat and avoiding the neighbors, Joshua

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Jul 5 '14


I don’t know why everyone wants me to be this unstoppable violent ball of rage all the time. It’s becoming painfully obvious that they do. If I allow myself to analyze their intentions and reasoning for rattling the cages of my anger monkeys, they might inadvertantly succeed but the wrath that follows will undoubtedly be focused more on them than they’d appreciate. That’s a whole new level of deep, dark, long dormant, primal aggression that no one wants to experience. I know it scares me, so it should devastate anyone it could potentially be unleashed upon. You just don’t realize. You can’t fully comprehend. I have a very small and horrifying idea. That’s more than compelling enough to drive me to desperately stave off and ward against the full force of my Omega, my Es, my Id. Unfortunately, my Alpha isn’t the shining beacon of moral purity it should be. My Über-Ich, or Super-Ego, was developed haphazardly in an environment rich with double-speak and contradictory absolutes. It is corrupted and biased toward the impulses of the Id. Without the Ich, my poor over-worked and soft-spoken Ego, I would have no chance at sanity. It must overcome both its counterparts rather than compromise between the two. And then there are continued outside influences to consider.

EDIT: Not sure where I intended to go with this draft or what specific situations I was referring to here, but decided to publish this incomplete draft from nearly a year a go (guessing, roughly) rather than delete and completely dismiss it. I’m not going to even pretend I can argue with the statements made in it. All seem true to life.

Nostalgia and vitriol, Joshua

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Jul 5 '14

I’ve been quiet.

My grandmother likes to say “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” But, she also likes to say “Wish in one hand, shit in the other; see which one fills up first.”

It’s always the hand full of shit, by the way. Always. Every time.

So, I’ve been trying to keep from having any shit on my hands. But it’s not easy. The only way to keep my hands from filling up with it is to throw it back and spread it around. It’s a messy and terrible business. My hands are hardly clean but they’re empty. I’ve been successful at letting a lot of shit go. My former best friends, for example. My most recent employer, as well. And Woody. I’ll get into each of those specific nightmare messes separately, but I’ve dealt with all of them simultaneously and in their own turn.

I’m just not as patient and passive as I’ve always tried to be anymore. The older I get, the angrier and less reserved I become. I’m becoming increasingly more and more aware of just how bitter and resentful I’ve become - and needlessly, too. It is so much easier to just step up to the face of the drama and conflict and spit in its eye.

I’ve had enough of fucking everything. I’m living completely on my terms and to hell with anyone or anything that doesn’t yield or fit into that plan effortlessly. I’m over putting up with bullshit just to get along or survive.

I’m doing very well now. I may be ocassionally lonely or sad or desperate, but I’m focused and satisfied and proud. The trade off is completely worthwhile.

Quiet, like a riot,

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Feb 9 '14

No more martyrs or heroes. Just lines drawn in blood.

I’m not a martyr or a hero. I’m just a man who is tired of the fighting and bullshit.

"If you choose to be gay, you are welcoming the 90% of society that is against it to harass you, beat you up, and hate you. If you still choose to be gay, you should just take it and shut up about it. You don’t deserve to whine and cry about how you’re treated when you choose a lifestyle like that. You’re just asking for it, anyway."

I’m not sure I’ll ever be the kind of person who can just shrug off an outrageous statement like that. I’m no saint, afterall. If that wasn’t enough, he went on:

"Homosexuality is a sin. There’s no difference in the eyes of the Lord or in mine between being a faggot or a child molester or someone who engages in beastiality or murder. It’s all sin by choice and deserves eternal punishment."

Even I can’t calm the legion of anger monkeys at this point. But I’m not even angry anymore. This is just hurtful and shocking and horrifying. Not to mention, he’s paraphrasing someone else here. Which was the trigger for this discussion originally, but I wasn’t offended originally. That changed quickly when someone I thought I knew and loved started spewing vitriol and hate propaganda. The gloves not only came off, but things got down and dirty. I even went so far as to point out that my actions might be “sinful” according to certain groups or belief systems, but at least none of my actions violated any of the Ten Commandments - something Michael can’t claim himself. (Namely adultery, in the interest of full disclosure.) Not that I really want to spend all day comparing “sins” or mistakes with those around me, but I do make it a point to identify those of the people standing at the pulpit condemning others for being “sinners” in their eyes when they’re got their own closets full of skeletons and bodies and extra-marital relations to worry themselves about. He was unphased by this. Probably more shocked than anything that I wasn’t just nodding along in agreement or cowering back into my closet of shame and instead was confronting him head on and trading blow for blow. Until, of course, I had enough and saw no reason to continue either the arguement, debate, fight, or relationship. Then there’s his response to my ending it:

"This is so stupid. We’re not going to be friends anymore because of a difference of opinion? That’s bullshit. Where’s that tolerance you’re always demanding from everyone else? I can’t believe you’re going to end a 15 year friendship over a personal opinion."

Which is exactly what I did and have no intention of going back on. A difference of opinion? This… whatever I should even call it… is NOT simply a difference of opinion. If you can’t figure out why statements like those would possibly offend me, then you really don’t know much about me even though you continue to use that one thing you do know against me. Anyone making statements like these should not consider themselves a friend of mine, much less a lifelong best friend. There’s an entirely different category people that blindly and violently hateful fall into and you’ve definitely put yourself very firmly on that side of the line. You can’t be surprised that I’m not going to take your suggestion and take the assault laying down - be it verbal or physical. Making statements like those just welcomes escalation and I’m not going to associate with someone who hasn’t drug me out into the street and beat me to death yet simply because I haven’t stepped out of line and become one of those dreaded proud, silly faggots yet.

"Straight pride! Straight pride still exists!"

For the record, I would never declare any kind of pride. It’s ridiculous. But, that’s what I’m dealing with. Ridiculousness.

Because you’re that threatened by the existence of homosexuals. Because your civil rights have been withheld. Because you’re constantly the victim of a hate crime.

Because I just woke up one day and decided I wanted to be gay. Because I weighed the pros and cons of it all and simply decided I wanted this for myself. Because it’s all just a choice I can make or unmake at will.

No. No. No.

But, there are choices I can and will make. Choices I would have thought impossible to make until now. Some of those choices will be made for me. Like when my mother decided it was her life mission to out me to the entire family without my consent or awareness. Like when Michael’s brother completely stopped talking to me because some silly old bastard got temporarily suspended from his television show for making stupid statements in a magazine interview and that was somehow my fault - as if I personally called A&E and demanded retribution for my people. But there are choices I will make myself. Like not associating with anyone who believes - philosophically, religeously, morally, whatever way it can be justified - that I somehow deserve to be verbally and physically assaulted because of who I am. Like not tolerating the intolerance. Like respecting your right to your own opinion, but demanding the right to voice my own in response. Like no longer respecting you at all as a person after the final shots are fired.

I won’t go silently into that good night. And, if you’re coming to teach this silly fag a lesson, you better come ready, hard, and quick. I do not come from a peaceful people, gay or straight. I do not come from a silent nation of meek victims. I come from the fucking fire and rage.

I am the original anger monkey, the stray dog Alpha. I do not survive by the will of your good grace. You survive by mine. Remember that.

Joshua Gosnell

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Feb 9 '14

Rhetorical device


"Why are you being such a dick?"

Good question, subject and target of that facebook post in direct response to that facebook post coupled with my recent and increasing distance from said subject and target. We’ll call him Michael to eliminate further run-on, confusingly vague descriptions… and also because that’s his name. So. Good question, Michael.

Why am I being such a dick? Because I have one and I like them. The combination of these has proven a serious issue for certain people like Michael which lead to a huge fallout between us. Then he offered a clumsy apology of sorts. When that apology was not well received, there were several follow up text messages proclaiming “Fuck you and your high horse.” and “Go fuck yourself.” I ignored these. After about a month of silence on both sides, there were a few casual efforts by Michael to reopen the lines of communication. Nothing like an unexpected pregnancy to bring estranged friends back together, right? Not so much. My response was not at all the warm-hearted, empathetic embrace he expected. Too bad. That’s all you’re entitled to at this point.

I don’t care about you or your miserable life. Please, fuck off.

Burning bridges all damn day,

Joshua Gosnell

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Nov 23 '13
I do a reasonably good job with the first four. The last three are tricky little bastards. -Joshua Gosnell

I do a reasonably good job with the first four. The last three are tricky little bastards. -Joshua Gosnell

(Source: ffuckbeingpolite)

Nov 23 '13

Bear suit, grrrrrrrrr

[ Originally posted on 04.25.13 ]

Before I put my bear suit on, go completely insane, and just generally make a fool of myself by making an embarrassing and public spectacle out of the entire situation…

I think I’m going to calm down and think it over for a few more days. I honestly don’t want to end up embracing my crazy DNA and allowing my anger to define me. There are so many other parts of me that are infinitely more interesting and worth focusing on. I already feel slightly better after the previous post.

Just know that I have enough dirt on you to bury you and all twelve of your split personalities, so I am not to be fucked with right now. Other than that, enjoy your temporary pardon - it’s the only one you’ll get from me.

Joshua Gosnell

Start having a great life - immediately.