Diary Of A Madman, Book 3: More Madness

By Jaysen True Blood

A little bit of everything. Political reform ideas. Opinion pieces on television programming. Show ideas. And more.

 

Jay shows what he believes in  and why. From education and business to politics and economic reform, Jat shows why he is a thinker, a visionary.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaysen True Blood
• Release date: Feb 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393323686

Jaysen True Blood

Jaysen True Blood was born and raised in the Midwest where he currently resides. His first taste of writing came early in grade school with a class assignment. a few years later, his love for writing would return as he found himself with another class assignment, this time a poetry unit. through junior high, he would write a series of novels, many poems, and begin his long interest in writing song lyrics as well. In high school, he would learn the value of tall tales, myths and other kinds of stories as he continued to build his store of stories. upon graduation, he went for a semester at a university, where he would write two stories, one of which would become a serial online for about six months. Returning home, he worked at just about anything he could find, but never strayed far from his love of the story. After his first marriage, he signed on with Keep It Coming, an e-zine, where he wrote two serials, "Tales From The Renge" and "Breed's Command" (the same characters appear with Fancy Marsh in several subsequent westerns. The serial was taken from a manuscript written for a class assignment while in high school). H also wrote writing and music related articles for the print version of KIC that came out for just three issues. When KIC went under, Jay was once again forced to work at different jobs just to make ends meet. between 2007 and 2010, Jay would release "Seven By Jay: Seven Short Stories", "The Price Of Lust: Book One Of Faces In The Crowd" and "So Here's To Twilight And Other Poems".

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It’s Not About The Hair (originally an untitled Facebook Post)

After my having long hair for over 20 years, mom has finally admitted that the length of my hair means absolutely nothing. I began growing my hair out when I was 17. I didn't allow it to grow extremely long until I was 18 and old enough that my father could no longer tell me how long my hair could be. Since I was 19, my hair has been hip length. It has been over that at least twice, but I keep it lower back, no further.

My decision to grow my hair was due to my dad. He had an obsession with cutting hair. I call it an obsession because I was the only boy in the schools I went to whose father cut his hair if it was barely over an inch long. Sure, he skipped a few times, but he made sure to do double duty the next round and make sure I was completely (or as close as he could get) bald.

I grew tired of being made fun of about my hair. When my friends had what I considered regular length (enough to brush/comb) hair, I had...nothing. Stubble.

I hated short/nonexistent hair because it was so much easier to sunburn the scalp and end up with a headache. And the shorter the hair, the more my scalp (sensitive as it was and still is) itched...and made people believe that I had lice, or fleas, or...well you can imagine what kids will dream up where itchy scalp is concerned.

While it is easier to care for, it does become a drag (I am still talking about short hair). you can't style it using the latest hairstyles/fads other kids get to choose from. You only have short, shorter, and shortest...or nothing at all. And that is all you get.

My father cut my hair. He refused to take me to a barber shop where I could choose the style. He was obsessed with short, short hair. The shorter, the better. But then he was a control freak. And don't get me started on dress code.

So, when I turned 17, I began demanding control of my own hair...though I actually attempted it when I was 15/16 and failed. And after I moved out of the house, I allowed my hair to grow.

I used to tell people that I did it to make them ask questions or to make them question their own views. After all, hair length, like everything else is a matter of personal view.

Oh, I have been called a hippie. And I would much rather be called that than some other things I have been called in my life. But I am not really a hippie. I am not old enough. I did not witness the summer of love, the communes of the late 60s/early 70s. I cannot claim that status. Though I do admire and respect those who have experienced those things.

I am a child of the 70s/80s. I was born Nixon's final year/month in office. I grew up during the Carter and Reagan years. I watched as promise turned to nothing. And as a nation squandered chances to advance beyond what it was. And all before I was ever old enough to vote. And these things formed my opinions, my views, and my reasons for being what I am.

I began writing when I was seven. Maybe eight. I fell in love with poetry when I was eleven. I found I could write scripts, though very rough and what would be considered unprofessional now, when I was twelve. And somewhere in here, I also learned that I could create song lyrics.

I fell in love with languages,foreign languages, when I was thirteen. I fell in love with linguistics and rhetoric when I was fourteen. But I remained a very shy and awkward child, not really fitting in anywhere. My gift of words made me an outcast...but a very sought after outcast. Especially when someone wanted a love song (or should I say, the lyrics to a love song) written.

At fifteen, I had written three books in a five book series. At sixteen, I sent my first story in to be marketed by an agent. by seventeen, I had already published three poems and two songs. By eighteen, I had plans to start my own metal/blues metal band.

When it came to girls, I was socially awkward and it led to countless rumors about my sexuality. And my turning a few girls down did not help any. I guess part of this was because we had moved from town to town when I should have been allowed to nurture friendships.

But that wasn't all. The religion I was a part of, as a child, did not allow for outside interaction. Very strict. very antisocial. Very separatist in nature.

And then, there was my father. Overbearing. Controlling. Extremely abusive, but always feeling justified by his religion. No, he never taught me anything. At least, nothing useful. Or rewarding...except maybe through showing me what not to be.

But through it all, I sported one style of hair. Short. Or should I say, beyond short? At least until I was seventeen. then I had what I felt was normal hair. Hair that I could run a comb through.

A Friendly Reminder To Stay In Your Own Lane

We get so wrapped up in our own will. Whether it be our political will, our religious will, or our social will...or lack thereof. We get so wrapped up in it that we forget that we are not the masters of our fellow humans.

We forget that we are all on the same freeway called life and if we get too wrapped up in trying to control the ‘cars’ (lives) of those around us, we forget to maintain control of our own. We forget that we cannot control the paths others take. Not through legislation, not through preaching condemnation, not through killing, not through any means, we can only control our own path.

So here’s your friendly reminder to stay in your own lane. Stop trying to be something you were never meant to be. Stop trying to bend founding documents meant to be the foundation of this nation so that it supports your desire to control everything. Stop demanding that your neighbor live according to your ideal. And most of all, stop demanding that everyone bow to your wishes.

If you focus on driving everyone else’s car on this freeway called life, you cause accidents. Injuries. Traffic jams and tie ups. In essence, you become the liability not the example of good driving.

Remember. We’re all on this same road. What you do can have major consequences for all. And many of us may be somewhere ahead of you even though you perceive us as being behind you. But stay in your lane. Focus on driving YOUR vehicle. Leave our driving to us.

Yes, I am speaking to the ‘Christians’ who get offended at someone’s gayness. Or their transgender stance. Or their non belief. Or their color. Or their creed. Or their ability to stand up to you and correct your vision.

After all, the success of your journey is not determined on how many souls you perceive that you have saved, but on how well you treated those around you. It isn’t determined on the number of missions you completed abroad, but on how well you completed your mission within yourself. It isn’t based on how much evil you have banished from the Earth, but how much evil you have banished from within your own heart.

No, it doesn’t matter whether I believe, or your immediate neighbor believes. It doesn’t even matter whether we agree with you. What matters is if you can change you instead of trying to change us.

Yes, I have been guilty of not staying in my lane. Just as have every person on this freeway. And yes, I imagine that this will anger - and even offend - many. I no longer care whether my words offend. They are much needed.

It doesn’t matter if you wear your religiosity on your sleeves. That doesn’t necessarily make you a better person. In fact, it makes you far worse.

‘You shall know them by their deeds’. No words were more aptly stated. And, indeed, we know you by your deeds.

Want to be known as Christian? Then follow Christ. And only Christ.

Not Paul. Not James. Not John. Not Peter. And Not Moses. Christ.

Show us the love and compassion he preached. Show us that you can change your way of thinking, being, and doing to match HIS commands. Not the Old Testament law which he, if you truly believe in his sacrifice, fulfilled and sealed shut. After all, he gave you a more perfect and easier law to follow: Love your neighbor as yourself. ‘Judge not lest you are judged’. ‘Condemn not’. ‘Do unto others as you