Month: December 2020

Men Who Say, “Glad to Be Living Rent-Free in Your Head.”

December 30, 2020 — 1 Comment

While it’s decidedly more of a dumb cunt thing to say something as “Live Laugh Love”-inspired as, “Glad to be living rent-free in your head,” there are “men” who have fallen prey to the feminine disease that is this “rejoinder” to just about anything deemed “too negative” to be “absorbed.” Such “thoughts” tend to come into play most in the conservative versus liberal death pit, where one party consistently tries to one-up the other for relevancy, therefore grotesquerie. Spoiler alert: neither party will ever be relevant as the entire “system” needs to be blown up and remade.

Going back to when the phrase first started to be regurgitated noticeably ad nauseam, in 2018, many were likely delighted when a “man” such as Michael Avenatti, a.k.a. Stormy Daniels’ lawyer (who would end up embezzling $300,000 from her), responded to Trump’s accusation that he was a “lowlife” (just another white bread 1950s insult the Orange One has brought back, along with “nasty woman” and “thug”), with, “I am thoroughly enjoying living in your head rent-free, Donald Trump.” Just as Lady Caca would echo a similar sentiment as the election dragged on back in November (with Caca performing at his Pittsburgh rally) of this year, the “insult” seems often to be directed at the Orange One, who, make no mistake, is never really allowing anyone in his head “rent-free” except himself. What’s more, do the people offering up this “witty” riposte understand how untenable the idea of being anywhere near Trumpio’s “mind” is? It ain’t no fuckin’ picnic the way it is inside John Malkovich’s head, let us say that. No sir, that is one “sunken place” you do not want to end up in, free or otherwise.

Then, of course, there are the non-famous “men” who feel comfortable using the phrase with women they feel have been dwelling too long on a slight (usually pertaining to ghosting or a heartless and heinous breakup). If they offer you anything at all, it will be this sentiment, as though to make you look like the “freak” for giving so much of a shit that they fueled the fire of your abandonment and trust issues. Because if living in an epoch since Gen X rose to prominence has taught us anything by now, it’s that caring is not “cool.”

And to the “man” who would say to me, “Glad to be living rent-free in your head,” the only response is: “Are you? Are you fucking glad to be living rent-free in my head? Because I really don’t think you fucking would be. I think you’d look for any means necessary to kill your damn self, and would probably find a more than adequate tool to do so as suicide is one of the primary thoughts at the forefront of my mind at any given moment. Along with the contempt of being a misanthrope that sparks random rage flare-ups at the drop of a hat (especially a beret).” So sure, please, enter one of the rooms in my vastly expanding tenement, with so many people inside of it to think about on a loathing basis that pretty soon, I might actually have to start charging.

Men With Histrionic Tendencies.

December 28, 2020 — Leave a comment

While it is generally women who are accused of histrionic behavior (see: any one of their Instagram accounts, whether high-level influencer or low-level wannabe, and also the fact that “women are diagnosed with HPD roughly four times as often as men”), the “male” tendency toward it cannot be denied. Nor the fact that when a “man” does have Histrionic Personality Disorder, the consequences are often far graver (no murder pun intended). Let us take one of the most glaring examples of this phenomenon in the form of Michael Alig, recently departed by way of a heroin overdose (even going so far as to seek attention via such a dramatic death). His entire existence was based upon upping the ante on methods of being noticed. He craved attention as though it were a SAD lamp, giving off, at the bare minimum, 10,000-lux rays of approval in his direction.

If this sounds familiar, it’s because, yes, the current “president” still clinging to his final dregs of power is the same way. In both the cases of the Orange One and Alig, it’s the stock excuse of blaming childhood for their eventual mutation into monsters, one political and one party. For Alig, being bullied as a South Bend, Indiana gay boy was likely plenty of negative attention to make him yearn for the approval that came with “positive” attention of his own making. For Trump, constantly desiring to both one-up and be revered by his patriarch has led to the gross ogre we see before us today (though Daddy Trump was perhaps even more despicable–or it might be neck and neck–it’s just that he didn’t end up ascending to the highest office in America in order to spread that contemptibility so far).

Like a not so distant cousin of Narcissistic Personality Disorder, HPD, too, leaves “men” feeling (granted, they can’t feel much at all) cold and unmoved by anything other than validation, often by soaking up the energies of those around them–whether women or “men”–manipulating the social strata for purposes that will make them the center of the “narrative” they’ve crafted in their mind. One in which, of course, they’re the star. It’s all very Norma Desmond, herself likely a sufferer of the disorder.

Alig’s blasé approach to the murder of Angel Melendez retrospectively comes off more than ever as a symptom not only of HPD, but white “male” privilege. Drugged out of his mind or not, if Alig was Black or Latino, there’s no goddamn level of inebriation that would’ve made him think it was okay (a.k.a. he would get with it) to kill someone… and then dismember him. HPD itself also reeks of a privilege generally reserved for white “men,” which is just another reason it’s a more odious disorder in this sex than in the female one (no one ever got that upset over seeing some titties and ass flashed at them for attention, whereas being, oh, murdered or subjugated in cruel and unusual ways tends to be the fallout for dealing with a “man” who has HPD).

For those who fell for Alig’s “good time” shenanigans, tinged with such an overt toxicity as they were, it was difficult to reconcile–especially for Melendez, clearly–that they had been mere props in his tableau. Still, some were happy to be associated with and used by him even after he was jailed, visiting him at the correctional facility as though it was just another “offbeat” locale where he was having a party. That’s the thing about “male” histrionics: they’re oddly capable of maintaining a devoted following. Even long after they’re dead.