If you put your thoughts above you

  for everyone to read

  would they spit in your face

  or would their hearts bleed?

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My First Blog by Kevin Atwood

No, I am not a 5-year-old.  I am a 35-year-old.  I am saying this in humorous reference to the title.  It is interesting, most people that know me consider me to be very creative, but when I am put on the spot all my creative juices are suddenly seeping into the ground rather than dowsing the desired canvas.  Hence the title.  So here’s my first blog:

I think I will give a rundown of what to expect.  You will probably notice a great boost in prolificity (I like to make up words and word tenses) whenever it is noted that I have been ingesting caffeine.  This is frustrating for me having been a heavy ‘recreational’ drug user in years past.  I do not like drugs, I do not like the way they carve their way into your bloodstream, into your mind, into your thoughts, into your actions, and ultimately have a profound influence, if not even a domain that could be described as control, over YOU.  Thus I do not like to be under the influence of any neurochemically-altering substances, including caffeine.  That having been said, I am a mean bastard of a writer when high on caffeine.  I have been told such, but didn’t have to be because I know it already.  There’s just something about caffeine – like – I think the acids in caffeinated beverages sear a wormhole to the primordial creative core of existence in the lining of my stomach or something.  So, yeah – get excited when the blog is introduced with something like “So, I’m really high on caffeine right now…”

Speaking of drugs, I am a heavy smoker.  I smoke roll-your-own cigarettes, commonly known as ‘rollies.’  I started smoking them in prison, in which I spent a little over 4 years, mainly due to budget restrictions.  It is difficult to subdue one’s conscience into accepting that it is ok to smoke taylor-made (ok, fuck spelling ‘taylor’ correctly, I thought that was how you were supposed to spell it but the squiggly red line indicating a defective spelling is there and I’m not going to look it up…) cigarettes when, if you can even get a job, you are making 25 cents an hour or less and marionetting your Dad into putting money on your books every month.  So, out of moral necessity, I started smoking rollies.  I have heard that one rollie is equivalent to 3 ‘regular’ cigarettes.  I hope this is not true, because I have been smoking going on 21 years and am starting to hack shit up in the morning as of about 3 or 4 months ago.  Do I want to quit?  Damn right I do.  Am I able to?  I have been told I am, that each cigarette I smoke is a choice I have made.  My God, do I make a lot of choices each day!  Will I quit?  I hope so, hope so, hope so.  But then again, a sick part of me really enjoys smoking.  A lot.  

So I am a freak of a weird guy.  If I was more outgoing, I probably wouldn’t say that, and not because I would think that I was less weird because I was more outgoing, but because I figure I would meet more people that were actually not that dissimilar from me.  I mean, I’m friendly – I say ‘hi’ to strangers at the bus stop, the grocery store, walking down the street, the mental health clinic – and all to the point of criticism.  I am not a master of small talk, but I am pretty good at it.  But when it comes to more intimate (I wish there was a less severe adjective I could come up with) connections with people, I tend to hermitize.  As you may have stumbled across, the description of my blog is something like “Whatever I Feel Comfortable Enough To Share.”  I am pointing this out because, at this point, I am not comfortable enough to share in much revealing detail what exactly has spurred me to say that I am a freak of a weird guy.  Don’t dwell on that in your less-rewarding dreams, though, I am not a Jeffrey Dahmer in the making or anything – I just ate at a normal Chinese Buffet – but I just feel, for the most part, less than normal.  Or maybe a little more than normal.

I have a Mental Health Condition.  My current diagnosis is Schizoaffective.  I disagree with the diagnosis for the most part.  I think I am Bi-Polar Type I with Psychosis.  It’s ok, though, World, Kevin Atwood is taking 20 milligrams of Abilify every morning.

I will tell you a little about my photo, which may lead into a heavy, one-sided religious discussion, but it may not because I have not had any caffeinated beverages since about 6:30 this morning.  We will just have to see:

Here Comes Jesus

  I have entitled it “Here Comes Jesus.”  If you have not happened to come across any mass-media such as a major journalistic publication or the 5 o’clock news for a few days or so, do not panic, Kevin Atwood is here to comfort you.  Jesus has not shown up yet.  As a matter of fact, this is not an actual picture of Jesus (though I know they be common).  This is actually a picture of the Sun as seen from somewhere in Phoenix, Arizona, United States, Earth, Solar System, Milky Way, Universe, Existence I took with my iPod a few weeks back.  I think it is mid-afternoon, but I can’t remember.  I thought it would be funny to call it “Here Comes Jesus” because I am a sarcastic fuck who doesn’t believe in Jesus.  Wait – that’s not totally true.  I am convinced there was a Jesus.  Let me correct myself: I don’t believe in Christ.  There is no Christ.  I would say I’ll armwrestle you to prove it or something like that, but there are likely enough of you who would beat me armwrestling only to be later disappointed to find out that, even though you won, there still is no Christ.  Of course, if you believe in Christ now, chances are you will never stop.  I know people backslide and all of that, but (take with grain of salt, I haven’t done a study or anything) I am willing to bet that most Christians never give up Christ completely.  If one were to delve heavily into the loving arms of Jesus Christ and spend a significant amount of time there, if they eventually came to draw themselves from His Almighty Grasp, the next time they looked in the mirror I suspect they would see their ass instead of their face.  I say this with a substantial amount of confidence not only because there is a computer screen and who knows how much physical distance between whoever is reading this and I, but because I myself spent a good portion of the last several years Praising Jesus and one day, after a ridiculous amount of self-reflection and painful time alone, I was brushing my teeth and lo and behold, there was my ass.

I need to clarify here, I am only being somewhat serious.  I have a lot of respect for many Christians.  It’s just that I have respect and admiration for them not because of what they believe, but because of what they do and how they are.  And, also, not because of why they do it.  The why they do it actually kind of pisses me off.

I hope I remind you of Holden Caulfield.  I haven’t read an entire book in months.

Well, I am getting tired and bored and it is time to smoke a cigarette.

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If you want to see funny pictures of me and sample my Dad’s writing capabilities, check out – don’t know how much longer it will exist, we’re poor.

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