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creepknight
I have it. I refuse to do it. Damn creativity on multiple levels. But bless it too. Please don't leave me.

Been writing since 11:30. God it feels good to put something new into the Subliminals folder. Once I have something more substantial, I'll post it here for all to see.

Until then, I'm going to sleep. Goodnight all.
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I've never given much thought to the subject of child abuse. I've always understood the reality of it, but the lines between discipline and abuse have always been blurred in my eyes. As a child I was spanked, I was slapped and, on occasion, I was switched. And I never have, nor ever will, consider this abuse. As a child, we understand physical pain to a greater degree, so corporal punishment for children in occasionally a neccesity so long as it used within reasonable boundaries.

That being said, it is difficult to define, from a legal standpoint, "reasonable boundaries."

But my thoughts tonight do not come from a personal experience of abuse. I can't stress enough that I was never abused by my parents as a child and, at nearly 24 years of age, I don't think I could be anymore. But tonight, I learned that even a slap could be "abuse," not because of the action, but the place where it took place.

Tonight, at around 8:00, a family came up to my register at work: a mother, a father, and two children, the eldest being around 8 and the younger being around 3 or 4. The mother, easily and upper-middle class woman, was taking care of the check out while the father watched to two girls, the youngest of which was playing with one of the toys we have up at the register. And while I had no problem with this, the father did and instructed his daughter to stop, or would have had I not asked to see his ID (his wife had to use her ID to open her account, but her name was not on the account, so I needed to see his and ask him if it was okay). After I handed it back to him, he again repeated the command, adding the words "god damn" to it (the exact phrase was "put that god damn thing down" or something of that nature). I asked him not to curse in the store because there was another family behind them with two small children. He ignored me, and instead opted to smack the 3 to 4 year old child on the back of the head, hard enough to make an audible pop and send the child to the floor. As I watched, he grabbed the small child by the arm and yanked her out of the store. As he did so, this child looked at me with eyes that said only one thing. "Why did daddy hit me?" I was compelled to say something, but he had already left. Unable to leave the register I said to his wife "Tell your husband not to do that in the store again, or I will have to call the police." It is our policy that if, and I quote, "unfriendly contact is made with a child, regardless of origin, it is the responsibility of the employee to inform the authorities at their discretion." Now, I was busy at the time and did not want to interrupt my evening by filing a report, which takes some serious time (I've done this twice now for other reasons and it takes for-fucking-ever), so I felt that this was adequate. The wife looked at me questioningly and then left. And initially I thought nothing of this. Initially.

As the night went on I became more bothered and bothered by the events to the point where after dealing with a customer who had to tell her child to be quiet I slammed my fist on the register upon their departure. I went outside for a cigarette to mull this over, and all I managed to figure out was A) this bothered me and B) I felt guilty over not filing a report. Unable to quell my disgust, I returned to work and trudged through my foul mood.

At 10:00 I began closing duties, the first of which was returning movies to the wall. When I returned, the father had returned, now wearing a Gold's Gym t-shirt and a pair of excerise pants. My manager informed me that he wanted to speak to me. There were no customers in the store at the time, so I leaned against the counter and let him speak his piece.

He began his tyrade by asking me if I knew the difference between discipline and abuse. I answered yes, and he proceeded to tell me that what he'd done was discipline his daughter for not putting the toy down when he asked and that, in the future, I should keep my nose to my own "fucking" business. It was when he said this that I understood why I was so bothered, but I let him continue. He informed me that he worked with children and knew the difference of what was allowed and what was not allowed, and that as a retail employee I was ill equipped, intellectually, to make any descision regarding what actions he took to discipline his own kids. He said a great deal more than this, but I really stopped paying attention. I wasn't going to listen to anything this fuck had to say. He stopped speaking and asked if I had any questions "mother fucker."

I smiled that smile that most of you who know me know I get when I feel morally superior to another human being. "Sir," I began, "I respect your right to discipline your kids. I believe in spanking, and in light corporal punishment when it is called for. But you did something else to your daughter tonight that I don't think you realized and, at the same time, you did something to me. You said that it was 'none of my business,' and under normal circumstances you'd be right. But you laid hands on a child in my presence, in my place of business, where I am unable to walk away. And you did not only raise your voice to her, or yell at her, or take her out of the store. You did those things, and if that was the case I'd have thought nothing of it. But you raised a hand to your child in public, and you did it in front of me. You brought me into your home tonight sir, and you made it my business, because I was forced to watch you do it. When you dragged your daughter out of the store, I had to watch the tears well up in her eyes. I was unable to walk away because I have to be here. I have to be here. But you don't. And you never will be again. Consider your membership cancelled sir. You may leave." The smile never left my face.

He started to speak again, but I walked away from him and over to the door, opening it and holding it with my back, arms crossed over my chest. "Sir, you may leave now. You humiliated your daughter tonight, and you're trying to humiliate me. It's not working. It won't work. You may leave." In retrospect, I wished I had added "And if you think hitting me will work, you're in for a rude awakening," or something to that extent. He turned to my manager, who was too shocked to say anything. After several explatives, he left. I went back to work, closed up the store, and ended my evening at work the way I usually do.

Now, you may agree with the man, that it was okay for him to do what he did. And maybe it is okay. But not for me. And not for him. Why? Because if he felt he'd done nothing wrong he wouldn't have come back. His wife would have relayed my message, he'd have dismissed it, and that would have been the end of it. But he had to come back and justify his actions to someone for whom he clearly lacked respect. And that says that at least somewhere in his brain he needed to justify his actions when they were called into question. So again, he felt he did something wrong.

Before tonight I didn't really know how I felt about child abuse. To some degree, I still don't. I know my beliefs concerning my childhood experiences, and I now know how I feel about seeing it in front of me. So I'll end with this:

If you feel the need to strike your child, regardless of intent or strength, do it in your own fucking home. Don't do it where I, or anyone else, can see. If you have to hit your kid in public, you can go to hell. And if you do it in front of me, I'll gladly send you there.

-- VQC
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 The new girl at work amuses me...

Finally got my hands on both Ultimate Avengers movies at once. Considering they've both been out for a year or so each and I've never seen them both in stock at the same time, that is quite a feat. Tomorrow there will be much watchage and hopefully I will not be overly disappointed. I say hopefully, but my heart knows the truth.

Off for a whole week now, which is sorta nice and sorta sucks at the same time. Week off means extra time with friends, week off means lack of money on next paycheck. Fucking corporate, hooray fucking corporate.

Got it in my head that I want to do something different. And soon. I just don't know what. Or when.

Also rented Dead and Breakfast (still can't find my fucking copy!) and Johnny Dangerously. Running out of stuff to watch. Might have to resort to B movies. That... might... kill... the... CreepKnight.

Read now. More Blog later.

Current Mood: crazy crazy
Current Music: Stan Rogers- Witch of West Moreland

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In a period of twelve hours, I may have inadvertantly become addicted to Diablo II.

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37 weeks since my last post. So much for maintaining this blog. Anyway.

- Music is coming along well. Did the full run of VARF (he says two months after the fact) and had an amazing time. Done a few gigs since, mostly as favors for folks: sitting in, playing a few songs, etc. Of note was the Scallywag's Ball, which was an absolute blast and. in my opinion, was the best show I've done so far, from debuting my first new song in oh so many months to dueting with Melinda on Wild Mountain Thyme. Very happy with the direction my music is taking.

- Other writing projects coming along at a snail's pace, mostly because dedicated work days get turned into "CK's home, which means he has nothing to do! I should make him do something!" I become more and more frustrated with one project in particular because I lack extreme confidence in work that must be approved by someone else. I can take criticism, but I hate it. When I write for myself, it's different. But this project has resided in limbo far too long and must be finished. If it sucks, I know my good buddy Grymm will help it do so less. Jesus Christ, do I hetero-love that man.

- I'm still at Blockbuster and hate it every waking minute. I used to be a social person. I used to enjoy the company of strangers. Now I look at people and wish their eyes would explode while their stomachs liquefied simultaneously. And these are just the people who say "excuse me" when they bump into me. Imagine how I feel about the rest of the world. Fucking people.

- The job hunt yields no results. There's nothing out there I want to do anymore, except write and play music. Damn I wish I had the deadened palate to live of Ramen and Mac and Cheese.

- Need to buy a new car, as the Taurus continues to prove that Ford is the devil, and not the cool devil of old but the evil devil who puts wads of lard in the bottom of Doritios bags and has the parking meter refuse your quarters. First the cooling system, the oil pan, and the fan belt. Then the driver's side door and a whiny sound in the engine. This is all in the last year. I could have bought a new car for what we paid to fix Freda.

- Have given up on clubs, prefer bars. Given up on concerts, prefer music halls and festivals. Given up on the cold. Heat makes me uncomfortable, but cold actually hurts me.

- I officially watch too much Food Network. Small talk has gone from "How's the weather?" to "Do you know where I can get Saffron in Richmond? Cause I really want to make some more... stuff... that needs Saffron."

For now, that's all. See you all in another 37 weeks!

Current Music: Great Big Sea: Straight to Hell

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 Doing well, for the most part. Went to Mars Bar tonight with Bowler and Grymm. Bowler had fun, Grymm and I... not so much. Good to see Chris and Casey again, as they're good folk. Everything else... meh.

But I got ice cream. Half Baked, ala Ben and Jerry's. Gods damn that's some tasty stuff.

Mmmmmmmmmm...

Sleepy now.
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I  begin this entry at 4:30 in the morning on Halloween. It's still dark, but the smell of sugar pressed into the form of half formed vegetables steadily fills the air. Outside, the sound of Autumn silence is in full swing and inside the air is chill but warm at the same time. The flanel pajamas, once resigned to the bottom of chester drawers and closet bins, are now on and rather loose with the weight loss of the previous year. It's a feeling I think I rather enjoy.

More and more I find myself in conflicting states of being, and ideas that once seemed to hold the spark of something amazing now wane like candle wax. I am a good person. I am the fountain of affection- the instrument of joy. I listen to Great Big Sea too much; I'm starting to quote them in stream of consciousness ramblings. I'm hungry for something, and it might be food but it might also be something external. I don't know which and truth be told I'm not so certain I want to find out. Mostly, I want to sleep. Sleep is good. Sleep is best done with eyes closed and mouth open, inhaling deep and uttering gutteral chants in the form of sleep speak. Or dream speak. Peanuts. 

Mind is blanking. This is good because it means soon I will tire and fall asleep naturally. I have plans tomorrow; big plans that require I be asleep now and probably as early as five hours ago but didn't because I can't sleep and it's really starting to get on my nerves. 

Also I'm pretty sure my neighbors are watching me right now, wondering why there's a light on at my house at 4:37 in the morning. I wonder if they realize that just because their lights are off it doesn't make them any more normal. Any more. Never more. It is Halloween. Samhain. Waiting for those fucking spirits to rise has been a collosal waste of time. It makes me want to dance on graves and say "Spirits! I've been waiting for ten damn years now, where the fuck are you? Do I need to get a shovel out, dig up your body and use the handle and an impromptu rectal thermometer?" 

Eh?

End, The

Current Mood: crazy crazy
Current Music: Great Big Sea- When I'm Up

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The first week of my new job, while technically not over, is reaching its climax and resolution and already I feel alienated from my old life. I can't count the number of phone calls I've missed from people I really care about hearing from because of my new position and it's starting to get to me. It's been nearly three days since I've had a meaningful conversation with Bowler, and two since I've had one with Grymm. Don't get me wrong, we've talked, but it's been stunted. We're all seemingly tired. And I think its the lack of talk time with them that I miss the most.

(Note: Since one of them will most likely read this, and thus the pair will be worried for my mental health, I just want to say that I'm not depressed or upset or anything. Merely whimsical, nostalgic (even though it's been what, a week?), and a little... missing... them... ish.)

I missed Benzo leaving, and he'll be gone for about a year. I wish I'd had the chance to say goodbye. He's been a good friend to me, in spite of the hell we seemingly put each other through. I miss Kali and Matt, two new friends who have made me feel very good about being me- which by certain definition involves putting foot to derier and writing down handles, so to speak. I miss Steven, Johnny Du, and a host of other people from  faire...

This might get a bit bleh, but that's what Blogs be for. Bitch logs, get it? (I think I've said this before)

On a brighter note, things are getting a little better at home. With a job somewhat secured and money in my pockets again I feel a great deal better about myself. Most of the people at work stare at my enthusiasm and odd handling of customers with a mixture of awe, fear, and envy, so that's kind of cool. 

I did sort of get "draped" tonight (those in the know are... well, in the know). Two girls, just barely out of high school and with a serious case of stupidity came in and decided that I was their Han Solo, leading them on a galactic quest through the video store. Ugly scags, the both of them, but it was nice to have the attention. For a while. The first six minutes. Then I decided "Wow, the have enough intelligence between the two of them to power a remote control car! For all of seven seconds. And why would I want to know that watching 'Snakes of a Plane' made you constipated for a week? Did you think whipping out the big vocabulary would make me forget that you were hitting on me and talking about not being able to shit in the same sentence?"

Some women. I don't mean to be picky, but I am. I know what I deserve. It may not exactly be a poet/ plus size- supermodel who can recite the entire body of work written by Neil Gaiman, but it's certainly more than an obnoxious seventeen year old who just told that she's afraid to sit on a toilet because of a movie.

I mean, damn.

So yeah, works good. Life is... well, worth figuring out. I'll make it work. So help me. God.

And my feet hurt. And I want pancakes.

Bitch, bitch, bitch...

Current Mood: content content
Current Music: Great Big Sea, Barque in the Harbour

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No seriously, I feel as though my feet have had nails driven through them, pulled out, and then sealed with a mixture of salt and gun powder. Also, my knees threaten to give if I stand for any ammount of time.

What a hell of a night to start at Blockbuster; Monday, when all the new movies need to be shelved. More than that, to have a store manager from another store training and speaking so fast that I can't understand a damn word he's say. Nice guy, awesome conversationalist... just so long as that conversation has nothing to do with an overly convoluted cash register computer program designed in 1996, but manufactured in 1988.

And yet, not the worst job I've had. I believe I will come to hate Monday nights.

Must reach Sales Manager position soon; will force others to be shelf bitches.

Fucking ow. I thought Faire was hard; it's a cakewalk. Up down, up down, on knees, on butt, on feet, up down; Sir, how do I make the beeping noise stop?

I'm a pussy. I know it. But you know what "blog" stands for?

Bitch log.

Current Mood: cranky cranky
Current Music: I think there's a Buffy episode in the background...

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My cat, quite possibly the devil incarnate, bit me on my right hip just beside my ass today. I have no idea how or why.

Cats are evil.
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