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Jan 05, 2005 11:05



Well I spent my Christmas is Georgia and I have to say that, as a general rule, any place where the churches outnumber the bars 2 to 1 is really hell on earth. I know, calling such a place, with so many people ‘close to God’, hell seems a bit of a stretch, but really, believe me, it is. I can’t imagine how all of those people can live with themselves. They call L.A. the fake plastic planet but never have I seen such a fake place. Fake smiles, fake happiness. All the girls with their fake blond hair, clones of their mothers and the beauty queens they see in the Miss America pageant, each and every one of them devoid of any sort of passion or soul. Give me the multi-colored hair, pierced up, dark rimmed glasses wearing scenesters, or the fake breasted, manicured blonds any day. At least they have a purpose, have a soul. They have a passion for something greater. Sure, not all of them are noble; I’m not saying that they are, but that passion is still there. A passion for dancing in the clubs, for the music they listen to, for the rich men they seduce and for that dick stuck inside them as they are being filmed. Even the dirtiest of them is far beyond what the deep south stagnates can ever achieve. In a world governed by no alcohol sales on Sunday, AT ALL, and secret, behind closed-door lives there is a darkness permeating the lives of each of the people in this state. Keeping their vices, their fetishes and libidos hidden far beyond the prying eyes of the neighbors.
“Don’t let them see us with our porn,” they say.
“What would the neighbors think if they knew our ‘Little Miss Pre-teen Georgia’ gets touched by daddy before every pageant so she feels like a woman.”
What goes on in places like this disgusts me. They call us heathens and savages out west, and yet they are all the same just keeping it all closed up and hidden. We are not pure by any stretch, but at least we are honest. Open and loud with our failures, or sins and transgressions. I have to think there is some greater honor in that. I have to think it is one step closer to sanity and truth than the back woods, closed door dealings of the Bible belt. In this place they call the dirty south, where they coerce if not force their sons and daughters to join the Greek system as soon as they hit college to mold them into perfect little clones of themselves, further perpetuation the stagnation of man…the indoctrination of man. A place of no heart, no soul, no passion and a place of no life.

It seems appropriate now that my sister chose to call this place home, with her judgmental eyes and piercing glare. I see how she looks at me, thinking to her self how far down I’ve fallen. My ‘L.A. look’ with my make up and messy hair. My ‘alternative’ life style of parties, clubs, recreational drugs and nights out drinking. Can’t you just see how much better than me she is. What does she know of me as a person, as a man. Nothing, nothing at all. She knows nothing of my goals, my triumphs or my trials. She knows nothing of my pain and happiness and yet she is sure she knows who I am…knows me.

Why have I chosen to write about my weekend like this? Well, that’s pretty simple. Never before have I felt less wanted, more unwelcome. Since I landed in Atlanta till the second that I left there were her eyes, bearing down on my with that, “I know I am so much better off than you”, look. It gives me a silent satisfaction that I can finally not push her back. I have finally learned to take her jabs and barbs with out retaliation. Does that make me better? Probably not as I’m still here writing this, but at least she gets no ammunition. For that reason I can feel good and go home a better person than the one I was when I got here, while she’s left thinking she’s won a battle that never even took place.
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