From My Viscera Eyes

Capitalist Sentiments in The Jungle

In the beginning he had been fresh and strong, and he had gotten a job the first day; but now he was second-hand, a damaged article, so to speak, and they did not want him... they had worn him out, with their speeding-up and their carelessness, and now they had thrown him away! The American system of Capitalist labor has left poor families, especially immigrants, lying in the cesspools and gutters of our nation, merely to “maximize” their intrinsic value. Due to the speeding up of work lines, the harsh working conditions of workplaces, and the disposability of workers, the American working system has been fundamentally corrupted, caused by the failures of Capitalism inherent at its core.

First, a very dangerous process that occurs within factories is the speeding up of assembly and production lines. “The chain never stops. I’ve seen bleeders, and they’re gushing because they got hit right in the vein, and I mean they’re almost passing out, and here comes the supply guy again, with the bleach, to clean the blood off the floor, but the chain never stops. It never stops,” remarks Rita Beltran (Schlosser 3). This too often is the case with American production. “… squeezed them tighter and tighter, speeding them up and grinding them to pieces and sending for new ones.” This quote from The Jungle illustrates how workers are sped-up until they wear out their usefulness and are then dumped. This enormous flaw in the production system comes back to the corruption and immorality of the bosses. The bosses are only looking to maximize their profit by milking all the work they can out of each worker while minimizing their pay. “In piecework they would reduce the time, requiring the same work in a shorter time, and paying the same wages; and then, after the workers had accustomed themselves to this new speed, they would reduce the rate of payment to correspond with the reduction in time!” The experience with speeding up and reducing pay was touched on in The Jungle and shows the utter ruthlessness of the system. However, this ridiculous acceleration of workers is caused by the Capitalist manifesto of competition and industry equality.  With the nature of Capitalist competition, there is no cap on how much can be earned or how rich industry bosses can become. It is due to this fact that bosses will do whatever they can to maximize their profit, as there is no limit to how much they can make or how much they can exploit their workers for personal gain. The entire premise of Capitalism is to make as much money as one can, very similar to the American Dream. But it also encompasses a form of Social Darwinism, whereby the survivors are not the strongest or most intelligent, but the ones that are prepared to do the most harm to others in order to get ahead themselves. Therein lies the preeminent flaw of Capitalist society.

The second issue that is prevalent within the working environment today is the state of working conditions that workers must cope with on a daily basis. “After an additive was modified to produce a more buttery taste, nine workers came down with a rare, life-threatening disease that was raving their lungs” in a microwave plant in Missouri (Labaton 1). This is simply one of many hardships present in factories and other workplaces that hinder workers from effectively doing their daily work. “… breathing their lungs full of the fine dust, and doomed to die, every one of them, within a certain definite time.” This description of a fertilizer plant in The Jungle is not only horrid, but it is also a reality of many industries. “A maintenance man checked the platform and found a bolt missing, but told Glover it was safe to keep working until it was replaced. Moments later, the platform collapsed…” This accident led to a shattered knee, blood clots, ulcers, and phlebitis, all resulting in a worker’s complete incapacitation, and inability to work again (Schlosser 7). But unsafe working conditions, counterbalanced with what companies may or may not have to pay out for work-related injuries, are financially savvy to keep in place. “The maximum OSHA fine for the death of a worker due to an employer's willful negligence is $70,000—an amount that hardly strikes fear in the hearts of agribusiness executives whose companies have annual revenues that are measured in the tens of billions,” but this is weighted against the fact that workers may or may not get compensation, if they don’t do as the company says. “Sign the waiver, perhaps receive immediate medical attention, and remain beholden, forever, to IBP. Or refuse to sign, risk losing your job, receive no help with your medical bills, file a lawsuit, and hope to win a big judgment against the company someday.” Neither option sounds very favorable (Schlosser 5 & 6). The bosses, by “routinely imposing their business costs on the rest of society,” they can keep costs down and continually exploit their already underpaid and severely mistreated workers (Schlosser 7).

Finally, and most significantly, the bosses care nothing for their workers in the least. Using them up and finding new workers keeps the work going strong, bringing in fresh hands periodically. By trading up to newer, stronger, and (most importantly) more naïve workers, big businesses can successfully keep the lines moving continually faster, earning themselves more and more money. “… a big, strong man three years ago, and now sat here shivering, broken, cowed, weeping like a hysterical child.” In The Jungle, workers are simply chewed up and spit out, the amount of people trying to find work so vast that many are reduced to starving, living in the streets. “To-night in Chicago there are ten thousand men, homeless and wretched, willing to work and begging for a chance, yet starving, and fronting in terror the awful winter cold!” This is much the case still today, with many unable to find work due to the limited amount of jobs to be had. However, once a job is obtained, the rights of the worker seemingly go out the window. “In January 1999, Ramos had three operations on the same day—one on her shoulder, another on her elbow, another on her hand. A week later, the doctor sent her back to work.” (Schlosser 3) This sort of worker exploitation, aided by doctors personally chosen by the labor bosses to treat injured workers shows the deepest rift that Capitalism is responsible for: the formation of trusts and trust-like bodies. Not only can corporation owners benefit from the faults of Capitalism, but bureaucrats can as well, such as the ones heading the institution supposedly fighting for laborers’ rights: The Occupational Safety and Health Administration. However, OSHA, reaping the benefits of beautiful Capitalism, isn’t doing anything to help workers. Instead, they are doing the opposite, to get big business on their side. “The agency has killed dozens of existing and proposed regulations and delayed adopting others. For example, OSHA has repeatedly identified silica dust, which can cause lung cancer, and construction site noise as health hazards that warrant new safeguards for nearly three million workers, but it has yet to require them.” Obviously the health of the American working class is far from the minds of those at OSHA. “Instead of regulations, Mr. Foulke and top officials at other agencies favor a “voluntary compliance strategy,” reaching agreements with industry associations and companies to police themselves.” Now these people truly understand how Capitalism works! Taking a leaf from Calvin Coolidge’s book, they have truly mastered the art of laissez-faire. In simpler words, they sit back and let the big businesses do whatever the hell they want. “By the time the Bush administration is done — we have a good record already — we will have a better record,” said Edwin G. Foulke Jr., head of OSHA (Labaton 1 & 2). So now, with the aid of Capitalism, the American system of labor has been completely tarnished with workers’ blood, money taken from the unsuspecting, and filthy hands of Capitalist swine, desperately fighting for their cut.

In conclusion, by way of speed-ups, unforgiving working conditions, and the complete evisceration of the worker, Capitalism has achieved its goal: to make the rich richer and the poor poorer. The essential defect of Capitalism is its capacity to polarize the classes, allowing the pigs willing to stomp all over the hard-working proletariats to become wealthy and in control. And so all over the world two classes were forming, with an unbridged chasm between them—the capitalist class, with its enormous fortunes, and the proletariat, bound into slavery by unseen chains.

Works Cited

Labaton, Stephen. "OSHA Leaves Worker Safety in Hands of Industry." NYTimes.com. 25 Apr. 2007. The New York Times. 29 Apr. 2009 <http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/25/washington/25osha.html?_r=1>.

 

Schlosser, Eric. "The Chain Never Stops." MotherJones.com. 01 July 2001. 29 Apr. 2009 <http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2001/07/chain-never-stops>.

 

Sinclair, Upton. The Jungle.

So, Ball State. Fun time.

Not a college I'm even considering, but it was a nice campus. Very well organized, great architecture, it was pretty cool. How about a recap of the trip? Ok!

On the way up, a road was closed. Then another, and another. Then one more. So, a lot of backtracking and back roads. It was alright though. Except then we followed Route 4 the wrong way and ended up in Dayton. Dayton sucks, probably the worst city ever. But we got there eventually, in seven hours rather than four.

We toured the campus, which was nice. Smallish, easy to get around. They had a really nice library with a whole section just for rows and rows of sheet music, which was pretty cool. Their journalism/t-comm program is really good (won some cool Emmy's) and their architecture program is alright.

So then we saw Benjamin Button for free, and it was still sad, sadly. But a neat time.

Then we went to a party at this dumpy house owned by some college guys there. It was fun and I made friends with a nice drunk girl. She came and sat beside me on this couch, but I didn't really notice her until she spilled her cheap margarita mix all over me. I just sort of looked down and was at a loss as to what to say.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!"
"Uhh, it's alright I guess."
"Oh... you aren't drunk, are you?"
"... no."
"This is awkward," as she ran to get a towel.

When she came back her boyfriend came over and was hanging all over her, but she kept ignoring him and talking to me about Academic Team and ACT stuff. Whenever her boyfriend said something to her and she looked at him, I'd start talking to Jessime. But then she would put her hand on my knee to get my attention while she resumed our talk. What a nice tipsy girl.

So we went to sleep and woke up and met Jessime's aunt and uncle (his aunt hugged me) and ate Mongolian Grill and drove back without a hitch and it was a really good trip, I'd say.

So I ate some ice cream. I know I shouldn't have, but it's spring break! That's also why I'm staying up late, if you were wondering.

As of late, I've just been a school guy. Homework, Study, Read, you know. I have some SAT Subject Tests coming up soonish (May 2nd) in French, Biology-Eco, and Literature. Lit'll be a piece of cake, especially after AP Comp. Not too worried about the French, but I'll do some preparing anyways. Biology seems pretty easy. I need at least 2250/2400 total. By "need," I mean I'll be pissed off if I don't get there.

Additionally, AP tests are looming. Bio (again), Comp (basically again), and US Gov/Politics. Obviously I want all 5s, but there's no guarantee, so I'd be alright with a 4 or two. By the way, I like having US Gov online, I hate sitting in classes with dumbasses.

And past that, I guess it's math time with Mrs. McCord every day. Her love of math sickens me, but she'll make me do alright. I want at least 750/800 on the SAT I Math, so considering that it's easier than ACT math, I'll be fine if I prepare until November. I hope.

Anyways, I'm going with Jessime to Ball State on Friday. His cousin goes there, so we're going to play "wallyball," which I assume is just handball or something, and watch Benjamin Button for free. Those are the concrete plans, at least.

It feels good to hammer out the old schedule on lj. Oh, and I discovered this cool guy named Jack Penate today. Tonight's Today is a really good (and catchy!) song. Jah play it!

“Don’t discuss politics or religion at the dinner table.” This old adage, while may be useful for certain situations, has in modern times become almost like a way of life to some. In today’s society, rather than forming the type of strong opinions that we are taught to, we are instead expected to be extremely careful not to inadvertently tread on the toes of our peers. This often comes down to making small talk about the weather in casual, as well as personal situations, because there is concrete “good” weather, as well as concrete “bad” weather. This way, no one can possibly be offended and everyone stays happy and uninvolved. But if the conversation turns to anything in which opposing viewpoints may be exchanged, dangerous territory is being approached. The typical modern person is opinionated, yet hardly ever actually voices their opinion, for fear of stirring up trouble or getting too involved. This type of boxing in of a person mutates them into a defensive, easily offended, and extremely close-minded being.

It isn’t so much that people these days are uninformed, because that would be alright, as long as they were open to new ideas. But when a differing view is presented, the people I’m talking about (the majority) simply shut down. It’s as if they can’t handle the existence of other potential opinions, because they mentally cannot deal with another thought that could potentially alter their own views in the slightest, even for the better. Perhaps it comes down to personal insecurities or prejudices, but whatever it is, it isn’t conducive to a healthy, open learning environment. Any way it comes out, it forces these people to build a wall around themselves and hide their thoughts away inside.

Of course, to qualify, there are some that are a part of the mediocre masses who aren’t so shelled in. These people, however, are generally made into outcasts, ignored, or agreed with until they shut up. You know the type: that middle-aged lady in the grocery store who loudly complains that the government is out to get her and the bananas are too ripe, or the elderly man who curses at the cashier at Taco Bell until he’s blue in the face because of the extra 25 cent charge for extra cheese, then throws 25 pennies when he doesn’t get his way. Yeah, you know the type.

However, despite all of this, we are taught (in high school and college) to formulate strong, yet flexible views through careful consideration, and to give them lavishly. It is considered one of the pillars of learning to read, analyze, and then defend a conclusion that is drawn from evidence given. Once we give our point of view, however, we morph into the pushy, peer-pressuring “bad guys” that strong-arm others into conforming to our thoughts. Then the other party promptly shuts us out entirely.

So the question arises: Where is the middle ground? Where exactly does tact intersect with critical opinion? Even through extensive analysis of a topic, the same conclusions will not always be drawn, and unless that were to happen, the unsophisticated masses would still be unwavering in their poorly put-together viewpoints. Although if that were to happen, it wouldn’t solve anything, it would only mean that everyone was on the same page, and that would be horribly boring anyhow. At any rate, they still would not be willing to consider other beliefs or ways of thinking. It would be like mixing a slab of rock with oil. The oil would float on top, perpetually evolving and learning, able to flex with any new material added. However, the rock would sit glumly at the bottom, begrudgingly unchanging, refusing to budge an inch, and physically incapable to boot.

It is evident that this is a huge barrier to communicating ideas on a large scale. But what is to be done? How could this possibly be remedied? If only we could all exist on the same plane of thought, everything would run more smoothly, society would be an easier place to live, and would be better-suited to the needs of the whole population. But in short, this issue can’t be resolved. Even though this holds back the general population, it is a necessary division between the pioneers and the unexceptional masses of society. For what would Batman be without Robin? Barack Obama without Joe Biden? Robert Plant without Alison Krauss? If we were all heroes with no sidekicks, who would be there to make us look great in comparison?

The fact is, although as a whole, society would be better off having everyone on the same elevated intellectual level, realistically, this will never happen. The schism between the great and the not-so-great is there for a reason. It’s always been there, and always will be. Society is eerily similar to chess in that there are many pawns, and they always pave the way for the more powerful pieces to be raised up on their brutish shoulders to do amazing things.

“See the cat? See the cradle?” In Cat’s Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut Jr., a religion is presented called Bokononism. Bokononism considers mankind sacred, but nothing else. Bokononism is officially banned, but everyone on the island of San Lorenzo practices it anyway. But the whole thing is a charade, formulated to create meaning and excitement in the lives of the citizens of San Lorenzo. Vonnegut does this to satirize religion and to show that the Christian faith was created exclusively to provide its practitioners with something, whether it be comfort/security, a purpose, or a group of peers to interact with.

Cat’s Cradle is written to be a slap in the face to Christianity. This is evidenced by quotations insulting it throughout the entire novel. Specifically, when “Papa” Monzano is being given his last rites, a Christian is called in. To this, Monzano replies by telling the “filthy Christian” to get out and that he (Monzano) is a Bokononist. Christians are portrayed as idiots in the book, like the Crosbys, the bicycle-dealing bigots from Idaho. On top of all that, the three people who eventually destroy the entire world, the Hoenikker children, are “Christians.” Of course, there is a huge difference between Christians and “Christians.” The difference is the same as the difference between saying you’re a good person and actually being one, which seems to be the gist of modern Christianity anyway. It can be debated whether true Christians actually exist or not. Most only profess to be followers of Jesus, but don’t actually follow his teachings or honor his doctrine.

Vonnegut saw all of this and couldn’t look on silently. So he accosted them the best way he knew how. He modeled his characters after the large, hypocritical group that needed to be brought back to reality the most. Frank Hoenikker is malicious and selfish, even as a young boy, forcing bugs to fight in jars for his own amusement. Newt Hoenikker is so immoral, he dates a Soviet spy (which could be construed as treason in itself) just to get some sexual contact. And Angela Hoenikker is desperate and so starving for some semblance of marriage that she ends up buying a husband. Eventually, they all trade/sell/lose their shares of “ice-nine,” the isotope of water that can destroy the world. They are all so irresponsible and selfish, that they as good as give away their apocalyptic chemicals for whatever they want.

So, the whole idea is a reality check for the Christians of the world. But what exactly is that reality? The reality in question is that Christianity, like Bokononism, is a charade created for a reason. Well, reasons. Reasons that aren’t as wholesome either. The purposes for which all the different denominations of the Christian faith were created all come back to a single point, just like the reasons the Hoenikker children gave up their “ice-nine.” And that point is selfishness.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.” From the 23^rd Psalm, that sounds really nice, doesn’t it? Having someone there by your side all the time, making sure you’re safe? Wouldn’t it be great to have your own security blanket and have God protect you? You, you, you, you, you! Apparently, when you’re a Christian, everything becomes about you. The main idea of this passage is to sell Christianity. It’s as if Billy Mays just burst through my front door and started screaming, “Hey, it’ll be alright! You’ll be safe all day and through the night!” The one thing that can be ascertained from this is that Christianity was created, in part, to comfort. It says nothing about serving God or even others, only one’s self. It is evidenced by the scripture above that following God/Jesus is only meant to make people feel all warm and fuzzy, and has little to do with any actual following.

“He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters.” Again, the 23^rd Psalm. And again, this passage shows selfish tendencies within Christianity. But this time, it’s about direction and purpose. Everyone wants to feel as though they’re living for something, and these lines wrap it up in a neat little box. What better way to live than on the sidelines, with an all-powerful entity telling you what to do? What better purpose is there than being the “hands and feet of God?” So how could this be construed as selfishness? Well, it’s simple. Doing God’s will is more about feeling good about doing something “important” than actually doing good works. The passage implies that God forces his servants to do whatever he wants, which makes freewill null. Obviously if you have no freewill to do as you please, you have no choice between right and wrong, and in turn never do anything anyway, much less anything “good.” This means that the only reason for being led as a Christian would be to have purpose and direction, since choice is out the window and you’re being forced to lay down in every stupid green pasture you pass anyway. Some Christians would argue around the issue so that it would be possible to have freewill and for God to lead you also, but logical fallacies aren’t my forte.

Finally, the last point. Fellowship. Communing with others in the spirit of the Lord, as some might say. This may be the easiest issue to analyze of the three. The “Christian Walk” is a leisurely stroll to be taken all by one’s lonesome, no Christian will argue that. So why then, do Christians gather together multiple times a week to be Christiany and whatnot? Well, everyone wants friends. This is probably the biggest reason that Christianity was started up, since the primary staple of the faith is church on Sunday. Christians, although steeled to the fact that they may be alienated for their religion, commune weekly simply to feel like they belong and are “normal.” There would be no other explanation to this tradition other than every person wants to be in a group where they fit in. In no way does that make Christians weird or unfit to be believers, but it is why the whole charade was cooked up. It’s a natural feeling, the longing for peers of a similar nature, but it has nothing to do with faith.

And so, looking at the evidence, it seems as though the large collective faith of Christianity has been misrepresented. To be sure, it’s a convincing façade. However, it has been revealed for what it truly is. Whether it’s for a safety net, purpose, or just for some friends, every Christian is in it for something, but it isn’t God. It cannot be said for certain whether the Christians in question are to be pitied or pitch-forked, but it’s likely one of the two.

God, I hate that bitch, I thought, her golden locks bouncing in stark contrast to the gray, rainy, absolutely miserable day I found myself stuck in.

Why I invited her to meet up, I’ll never know. I was an idiot, I was sure of it. But she was just so beautiful; she had the face of an angel. But inside of her, which I certainly never was, there must’ve been some sort of devilish wench. I had known her since I was seven years old, and I guess I’d always been in love with her.

And now she was walking away.

“Hey, wait, Belinda!” I called after her.

Her response was an upraised middle finger, pointed in my direction. But she didn’t care enough to turn around.           

I only said that her brother would be better off in a work camp. Ha, I had thought it funny. I guess Jews can only take so much humor. Ah well, she would never put out anyways.

And so, as I walked back down the stupid, wet sidewalk back to my house, I only thought about how stupid I had been. But I didn’t care, she was a moron anyway. So I stopped at my friend Maggie’s house on the way.

Maggie was a slut, but I didn’t really go see her for anything else. She liked it, I wanted it, everyone was happy. Her mom let me in and told me to go right up to her room. She seemed ready for me.

“Reid, what’re you doing here again?” she asked exasperatedly.

“You know why I’m here.” I responded suavely.

“Get out! I’ve told you hundreds of times: I’m not having sex with you!”

She was just playing hard to get, she always did. I could see past her act. She always tried to seem innocent and coy.

“It’s alright baby, I won’t tell…” I assured her gently.

She threw a lamp at me. It hit me squarely in the forehead with a dull clunk.

“FUCK!” I screamed at her, like a rabid dog in a meat factory. What was her deal?!

I cocked back my fist to slug her fat face, but her face was manly. Her face was now her father’s face. I paused. Then I hit him anyway. He grabbed my throat as blood flowed down onto his white chiffon shirt. He threw me out, in short. And boy was he pissed. Maggie convinced him not to call the cops, I think, because I didn’t get arrested. I went home and took a nap.

Knock, knock.

“Shut up!” I screamed. I was not in a mood to be nice.

“Honey, are you alright?” my mother crooned, sweetly enough to make me hurl.

I knocked into her on the way out my door and ran down the stairs. I was halfway out the front door when she called my name. I turned. She was altogether a beautiful woman, not much older than 30. I really did love my mother. She only ever helped and did things for me; I’d never be able to thank her.

“Reid, honey, don’t go. Just stay here, it’ll all be fine. You’re just on edge…”

She truly was an amazing woman. I oughtn’t to leave.

“Hey, fuck you.” I offered, slamming the door.

Well, I had only one thing to do. I went to the Quick-E Lube Mart. Those fucking corn dogs were magic, I swear it. I wasn’t really fat, but I wasn’t skinny or muscular either. I was probably too average overall. As I shoved the corn dog into my salivating mouth, I reminded myself of those crazy guys who get out of jail and they realize the food outside is so good they just eat themselves to death. Yeah, that was me. Mmm…I had eaten three of the delicious deep-fried trailer park quiche sticks before I even realized it. Ah, well.

“Hey buddy, that’s enough I think,” said the master procurer of the grease palace.

I kicked him in his saggy balls and ran.

I couldn’t go home. It would only suck there. It was nearing dark, but it had stopped raining and was almost pretty again. I walked towards my school. I lived in Buffalo, the most bullshit city ever, in my opinion. I was in my third year of community college. It sucked, but I had to do something when it wasn’t summer, like it was now. I passed a suspicious-looking gaggle of women, all giggling like the dumb sluts they were. One, a surprisingly clean Middle-Eastern woman invited me to the nearby park. I declined; I could do better.

“Ah, well maybe I’m not his type, if you know…” she whispered in a derisive aside to her colleagues.

“Hey! You watch your mouth, you dirty whore! I’m no faggot!” I bellowed into her soft face.

She held my hand as we walked to the park. She was an awfully maternal, congenial hooker. As she stripped off her clothes, I began to twiddle my thumbs subconsciously. As I began to undress myself, my heart rate sped to a ridiculous pace. When I was naked, she laid down on the bench.

“Come on, or was I right before?” she sneered.

Angering, I heaved myself onto her. The first thing I heard was a sickening squelch. I was disgusted. With everything, everyone. But I continued regardless. My penis, while not enormous, had always seemed sufficient to me. It was fairly girthy, but came up a bit short otherwise. My entire pelvis ached with erotic pleasure, I was going to explode! I was nearing the finish, when she pushed me off of her, sending me flopping awkwardly onto the dewy grass.

“Is that the best you can do? I’d rather have sex with that squirrel up there!” said that callous whore.

“Hey, you shut u-,” I tried to say. But the pain was unbelievable! It coursed through my pelvis all the way to the tip of my penis. I couldn’t take it! My sight burned spottily like an old movie projection sheet. Everything slowly became completely black and I fell back beside the spreading chestnut by the bench.

When I came to, dawn was coming. That cunt had taken my clothes! I panicked and ran as fast as I could. Sweat glistened my forehead and upper lip, it poured from my armpits, it caked between my chest and stomach where the skin met, it wet my butt crease and lubricated my inner thighs. People were on the streets; I was mortified. My face puffed up and reddened, tears began to stream down my face. When I got home, I ran into my room, barricaded the door, and bawled. I was a failure at life, couldn’t even pass community college. I had just lost my virginity to a god damned hooker! I could smell the musty, bittersweet smell of her well-broken in vagina still on me. It made me physically sick. The throw up splattered my comforter, yellow, in stark contrast to the blanket’s navy. What was I living for? Only one thing came to mind. And it was Belinda, my sweet, porcelain angel. She was beautiful; her skin made me cry. I had to have her for myself.

Jackson had been my therapist for nearly three years now. I never listened to him, though. I mean, he was a total fruit. But I had just gone lower than I’d ever thought I would, not even in my worst nightmares. So it was time to do what he’d wanted to do from the beginning.

I was sitting by my mother, and across from my father. I never saw him much, and I hadn’t even when I was little. He had never loved me, and that, according to Jackson, “was the underlying cause of many more prevalent, self-destructive problems” I had.

“So Reid, why don’t you tell your father what’s been going on with you lately?” Jackson suggested.

I blushed, but not from embarrassment. That dirty son of a bitch didn’t give half a damn about me.

“You never loved me!” I yelled at his face. His face didn’t move. It never did. It was made of stone; not even Thor’s Hammer could break that stoic non-expression. I looked away, it just made things worse. But I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. I looked, and saw a single tear, chugging slowly but surely down his rock of a cheek. I ran over to him, and he rose to meet me. He hugged me like I’d always wanted him to, like every father should.

“No, I always loved you, son” he choked out.

It was too much. I couldn’t breathe for the tears oozing down my hot face. I nearly passed out from the lack of oxygen. The embrace was something I had never had before, something that had always left an achey rift in my heart. He pulled slowly away from me, meeting my eyes with his in such an adoring manner that I nearly gasped with pain and euphoria. We left then, cutting the meeting very short. My father took me back to his house, and we sat on his bed talking all night. I had finally gotten what I’d always wanted, and the feeling was excruciatingly blissful. I was lost in some sort of sadistic dream that could never be real.

 

(UNFINISHED)

 

 

 

So this is my first blog. On here. As an overview, this will be quite an interesting blog to read, just so you know. What will I post? Wouldn't you like to know. You'll see.

These blogs will be of very high intellectual and literary value, be prepared.

I will be.