C-Side Musings; The Recruiter’s Lament.

I have this sort of disbelief as I see many peek and prear throughout my community. People that changed my diapers and remember when everything was so dismal when I was a Branch 1 Dept 8 Graduate of CedarsSinai @ St.Jude. I see these Elders show up who have played many roles in a life plagued by Ehlers-Danlos. Ya know.. of course I know them and they’ve been many figures and positionary roles in my life. My legal age changed, my memory didn.’t Just uh, lot to keep up with.

Godchildren that are older than me now due to legalities but the kids I took on my ventures regardless and now on their own adventures. Maturity outweighs age in almost any background I could find a liking to genotype of ethnonicity – which is pretty much all of them as Inidigenous ‘Soy-Mixto’” Individual. By namesake: Palestinian Black Arab Hebrew (Samantha) Sam (Non-binary Clergy member: Dualpurpose_)) Borromeo is obviously ROMMAAAA (Milian / Italiana) Wilson is Scots-Irish and Northern Ireland, Native duh, read your history books. [The lost tribes looked mad crazy once they came back to America broh. What was going on over there in frozen soil woof. It’s frozen in Canada y Alaska too dawg. Guess the topsoil changes.] Villalobos is a title bitch. You got lucky if you’re a namesake; like my Mother. Inherited ? Earned. Doesn’t mean all the same thing but the retainer part gives me a tip or two into authenticity and demeanor of holding an earned transaction such as a Positionary Role.

I find myself annoyed in all my own manners when I gotta express “where i’m “”””REAAALLLLY FROMMMM???”or I get asked if I’m a citizen. I was born on a Naval Base in California you asshole; I got gov, dept, militarial, branched, dod, state, and res birth certificates. You new here punk to the American Game; not me. Nor my family. It’s not biological I’m a fucking repeat orphan. Why? I’m Indigenous dawg, that means first. I don’t wanna Genetics to you if 7th grade seemed hard and 7th grade is like the 50s version of a baby ph.d now. I ain’t gonna lie. Duke University changed the curriculum if you show up confused at ATCHAAGHAAA raps in science class, my fool – genetics is not for you.

Everything is a crowned double helix and it all fucks cobs. That’s science. The whole damned world is a cob and I’m a cog in the ant of the machine. One ant, one wheel – no hamster or gerbil this time; and this slupoodlyrooney juts keeps time’ a going.
I’ve reached my eating spoons of salt game in verbal dialogue instead of perhaps the “Figurative sense of definition upon community enhancements: “uses words for bullets.”” ‘ Well I’m 86ox long-range triple-action sniper kid and I got to shit Combat Action Ribbons like fucking community homes and group daliences. They sit somewhere in some other legend’s shed that became some other legend that is his son’s place. Otherwise the Louvre steals my mp3s. I keep getting friendly threats of readmission into im-so-smart clubs. Harvard – you know what you’ve done to me. A damn brownie from dorm3 and a french onion soup dipped grilled cheese from the 108 shitbin crossroads. Gawd, they treated me right that weekend (they banned me from campus and game me a 1.2 million grant in Culinary Arts)

I’m so scared and my life keeps changing and you expect me to glorify every accomplishment. Dear, the whorebath and hagstone tapping my thigh while I sat in gravel sink-hole at the topo’damorning beach of the Carolinas makes me happier than the goddamn degree or another fucking gold to bronzzzeddd out medal (I’m asleep after this exhausted.) Oh buster, first day in and they shipped me out and I’m Top Ranked {Wtf do I do with my life. I keep fucking up and feeling insecure, guilty, and shameful or I’m a narcissist and deceitful withholding truther waiting for a fucking chance to nap without pavlov pavlovaviling my floating island of memory foam into half-awake dolphin brain trying to shit out another piece because the block o writing will fucking kill me. (WHAT DO YOU MEAN I GOT NOTHING TO SAY> THE KEYS LAST MUCH LONGER ) THE BREATH RUNS OUT SOONER) “”iT tAKES A BOKE TOe Em TELl MEME STORy) sure kid , sure grandfather. Fucking lazy assholes made me type their documents on traveling typewriters for $5 a sale. The first “quick term paper + conditions for tomorrow’s training” from my Granddaddy y Grandfather y Partner Y Husbandado y Best Friend y GReat Uncle Granddaddy Paw Paw y some asshole angelic clown (i love him endearly Bestfriend Cousin Grandfather Great Uncle of some-sort_ ) The love is there, but Father Figures y Father Figures I’m raising (bondozosclown y rc cola man no moon pie for no collusionary effect (he was driving the boat wo black licorice stripes training w/ permit) – that first book took 11.57533028 packs of copy paper and I spent 3 hours editing for types and you made me write it again Granddaddy in your handwriting which you described as “~~~~ Verdana but like a Verbana with d-for-dick because I’m a man but green is my favorite color but they’d they I’m a french-baguetterolledinmint otherwise so I tell them Black – It matches everything, this is true. The lucky like everything unlucky in my family. Pumas, clothing, shades, the number 13; I prefer 27 bc I’ll double it +1 bc I that 1 is the moment I take out of my shitter of the day to rest before I kill myself in work ethic bc I will hate myself if I lie in that bed all day. Lie/NotLay as in – You’re fucking shitting yourself kid thinking all you wanna do is live a quiet life and not compete ate Inventing Innovation like all the other assholes you’ve taught in a life that just doesn’t stop running. Huh?? ‘’’ {[everyone and anyone who knows I have EhlersDanlos genetically, not earned, such as my Partner as well. It runs in the family bc they have various earned versions]} We’re the only two that stick around and don’t leave for too long. Away but always in the house somewhere. Someone around and I guess it’s him. Irish fucking bastard made me take his name and makes me go to the Cousins everytime I turn 0 in the Clergy again. Fuckin checks-n-balances.}}

So I leave you all with a quote per my Mother from mi ITa-Lolo:
“Don’t ever become Accoutant, Sam – CPA make my soul die.” He went into Agriculture and Politics (Mayor’s Office) in the Philippines after that. Chemistry was his background and 4th PH.D (in Italy). What an ya do, bunch of fucking Military Universal Candidate Graduates (they will never stop reaching out, as there is always more to do.) One day, I’ll do all my laundry in one-go again. Until then; a community shoutout to every 28yo filipino mans living in his Mom’s furnished attic or furnished garage that you built shelfs into bc of the basic beam bars in the door and your lil cousin ruined your collect-collection bc they wanted to hit the button; your fucking room is hot bc it has the nuclear fan to control the HVAC> Cured clothes – o no – you fucking rat this has cheese on it (your plate – stop eating cheez whiz and crackers and get your head out of your ass) (why no coffee, baby want tea??? I’ll get the welches, even I have to earn the Martinellis (I make it and distribute it every 12 years that’s fucking the blood of Milian you cuntwint).
I’m so tired.

Moderate me, moderator.
It’s for checks-n-balances osiris of eyes burning suacer yes.

Ho’hium I’m jmyum. Is the name.
[I have no creativity, it’s fucking hot, and I’ve shit out humor. Consider this a C-side Musing.”] [these fucking puzzles are calling my name and everyone wants me to shake dice. Oh offline games- you’re next. Merge the kawaii fruit children. Merge for gawdssake. It’s fucking plinko and tetris and interactive bejeweled) I’m going to wait for the assurance of my ratified addiction to naval barge fork lift operating games bc the most peace I had in my life was going to work with my dad for career day and my granddaddy kidnapping me bc we gotta ship the granite to Milan and wanted to know If I wanted to ride since my Ita-Lolo and Great Uncles would be there.

Get the fucking roses, Granddaddy. The gloves are OOFFFFFF. (I would use kids irish rose boxer glvoers since there weren’t any in my size at 2’2 after I shrunk from brain cancer and comas and shit. I got my first CAB ribbon in Palestine and the Marine Corp never let me go since. I still don’t really know if my dad knew I was active duty the whole time. I just was uhhhh “touring-basic-duty-full-time-fleet-wfh’” {never let yourself and those assholes check every box of what type of work you want to do. .. they will accommodate you.) {cries in fascismiles} New York and hiking the range in the Poconos for 4,000 miles certainly didn’t help. Woof. I’m from Cali, I love Bays. {finally some peace, got around to reading that damn series over there. Food was excellent, world class. Every chair has massaging. I’m so confused why anyone wants to leave} ]]The Recruiter’s Lament.