Daily Tangent

ET Go Home

2012-01-25T17:09:00.001-05:00

Months ago, I overheard this statement:

"There are times in the life when the soul says, 'ET, go home, I don't like it here, it's a terrible squalor nasty place, and I wanna go back to Heaven...I wanna go back to the Garden of Eden, and merge back into the Whole, and God's eternal grace.' But I can only have that I if I die, but I wanna live, so I choose not to do that. At that point we begin to look for something in this world of reality to take the place of connecting with GOD."I was eavesdropping, I know, but it struck me, as if my own soul sought out these particular words as an opportunity to poke me and say, "See?! See what's been going on? Now maybe you'll understand what we've been going through!" Immediately, I wrote it down (hence the grammatically incorrect format; it was also a spoken statement, and so was made without the normal care a writer would take).

I've allowed this statement to rattle around in my head ever since, weighing its validity from time to time, and I've never found cause to reject it. In fact, I've found it's the key to understanding many of my behaviours and some of the situations I've found myself in.

Of course, this statement is based on the assumption that a body has our soul 'installed' at some point during conception. A reiki practitioner once said to me, "Your body is not who you are; it's just a vehicle." I remember those words very clearly, and when I heard the ET statement, this experience came rushing at me like one of those movie epiphanies that ends with the camera focused only on the character's eyes, leaving me a little dumbstruck.

The ET statement is also based on the idea that there is a separation between the spiritual world and the physical world, and that we as human beings have the unique capacity to inhabit both simultaneously. This is something C.S. Lewis first introduced me to while reading The Screwtape Letters. Unfortunately, our modern existence revolves mostly (completely, in most people's cases) around pursuits of worldly gains, and not entirely because we have a choice. Screwtape writes that inhabiting both worlds comes at a cost: we lose our understanding of the spiritual world. That doesn't mean we shouldn't try, though. It's true that I could choose to focus solely on tuning my spiritual radio back to the Divine Channel, but I've grown up in a life that requires some degree of material success to provide for and maintain the other gifts I've been given from God: notably this body here that sits typing, nourishment enough to keep it healthy, the means to become and remain employed, a warm bed to sleep in at night, and the people who love me. Ironic, I dare say, but I'm sure it's all just part of the Plan. Not knowing, and having no control anyway, makes faith so much easier.

A spiritual man (one of the few I've ever really trusted) once told me he believes babies have memories of God when they're born, which totally jives with the concept of soul 'installation.' Eventually, of course, these memories fade, due both to the enormous worldly experiences we have growing up, and also to the teachings of the people surrounding us who have become 'seasoned' (wearied) and therefore willing (though unknowing) agents of Pantheon of Worldly Pursuits. Even when a human being grows up knowing God, that knowledge is always subject to the interpretation of those human beings who raise him or her, which, in my experience, always seems to be some self-interested perversion of true faith based on exclusion of those who disagree or believe differently, or don't match some description of the thing one finds oneself to already be. Zappa was right when he said we are dumb all over.

It's a terrible, messed up world we live and grow up in, but we're not completely hopeless. The ET statement reminds us that we all have the secret decoder ring to make sense of it all: our soul, and that if we listen, we will have the knowledge we need to make it through. I don't just mean survival; I'm talking about actually thriving in both the physical and spiritual worlds. We were all put here for a reason and given a unique Gift with which we were intended to make the world a better place. As I teach my children, it is up to each one of us to discover what that gift is, develop it, and then make good on our end of the bargain by using it for the betterment of the world (and people) around us.

Easier said then done, I know...but I'm trying. Even if I hadn't spent years developing this philosophy, there's almost no chance I (or anyone) would get it right on the first attempt. I've held many jobs and had many successes and failures, all of which only contributed to my understanding of the whole ordeal. We are only blind, feeling our way around a huge room to find the thing that feels just right, occasionally bumping into others who are blind, sometimes believing we've found what we were looking for, sometimes giving up and settling down wherever it was we stopped searching last. Sometimes we get up from a place we've been resting and continue the search, much to the anger or disappointment of those around us.

And all of that is okay. I don't believe we are meant to know right away what our intended role is, and I also believe if we don't get it right this time around, we're given another chance, and in between times we do get to go back to where we came from, and have a moment of rest with our creator before we're dumped back into the maelstrom.

There will be no disclaimer with this post. Even if I was formally educated in theology or philosophy or psychology, I don't think any of these professional fields includes what I think I've learned in my brief time exploring my own space in both the physical and spritual worlds. I don't claim to know what works for others, only what has been working for me, and I'm not interested in anyone's judgment of that. If I'm completely off the mark, so be it, but even if I'm driving myself off a cliff, I know I'm at least providing for a few very important people along the way, raising them up with love, having fun and enjoying each other's company, and encouraging them to develop their minds, thereby enabling them to ask those same questions of themselves that led me to my own conclusions. Even if I'm wrong, maybe they'll get something a little more right, and that will make it all worth the struggle.

SCWA

No Love For Narnia

2012-01-19T20:32:00.001-05:00

(alternate title: I Am A Very Bad Man)

I'm ashamed to admit it, but...

I just can't find love for the Chronicles of Narnia.

I know--just stone me. As literature goes, this series is supposed to be universal, loved by young and old, generation after generation. As authors go, C.S. Lewis is supposed to be captivating, inspiring wonder and excitement in the deepest recesses of the reader's mind. As epic stories go, the Narnia series is arguably a modern Aeneid, missing only a visit to the Underworld (and possibly a tragic father/son power struggle). And I'm sorry. But I just can't get there. Believe me, I've tried.

I made it through The Magician's Nephew just fine. I started The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe only to get shut down by the kids with Lucy crying, "Mr. Tumnus! Mr. Tumnus!" I remember the very moment I read that line, feeling very goofy, completely unable to imitate what I'm sure Lewis meant to portray as a frightening and terrible moment. But the kids weren't having it. They'd given me twenty minutes of their bedtime ritual, and they were done. They politely requested I read something else.

I was genuinely aghast. Really, I knew *I* wasn't getting into it, but these little darlings were supposed to have been enchanted. Wasn't everybody when they first broke into this novel? I thought by that point they were supposed to be hanging on every word, knowing in their hearts that Mr. Tumnus, the tragic pawn of the White Witch's trap, had been caught and surely punished, but hoping with their last breath that he would somehow escape his inevitable fate. But they weren't. We opted for Brave Potatoes instead.

Eventually I finished the book out of principle, but it took me several weeks. I even started the Horse one after, but when the evil guy bargaining for the kid turned out to be everything he'd been presented as originally, with nothing either sincere or sinister beneath the surface waiting to be revealed at the last minute, I just gave up hope. I finished the chapter and re-shelved the book.

Now I'm trying again, this time working in the order in which the novels were written in an attempt to revive interest. Having Read Wardrobe, I'm now digging into Prince Caspian. I wasn't worried about missing anything in the long years between, because I made absolutely no emotional investment in the former. What I've found so far is what I remember experiencing before: a really good story told in a flat, linear, single-layered monotone. And every time Peter says, "By Jove!" I almost want to puke. The greatest value I can find overall are the colorful and wonderful passing descriptions Lewis makes of characters and landscapes, but he never stops telling the facts of the story long enough to let me, as a reader, enjoy the mental image he's just flashed before me before it's snatched away.

I don't know what my problem is. I am sure I'm missing something. I do, of course, realize that the story as a whole, in particular Wardrobe, is a Christian allegory. I also know that Lewis was a dear and respected friend of my very most favorite, J.R.R. Tolkien. And the people in my life who love books and stories and fantasy and literature love The Chronicles of Narnia. I've also read one of Lewis's earlier books, The Screwtape Letters, and I couldn't put it down. Not understanding the passion for this series is like stepping out of the theater for Snowcaps just as the key moment in the movie is about to occur. Everybody else is in awe by the time you get back, but it's simply too late for you.

Please, somebody help me. I want to find beauty and wonder in this series. I want to find what others say they love. I want these books to change me the way other classics have, but I guess I keep missing the mark. If anyone can offer some pointers, I'd really appreciate it. Don't worry though, I'm not giving up this time. I intend to finish Prince Caspian and The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. And then I'll watch the movies. But after that, all bets are off.

I'm so sorry, Clive. You know, it could be worse: I absolutely hated Voltaire, and I didn't even feel bad about it.

Insanity

2012-01-13T15:27:00.000-05:00

14 October 2011

This much pain creates a kind of insanity that drains the waters of confusion from the morass of self-imposed disorientation, and presents the difference between reality and fantasy with stark and unwelcome clarity. Thank God it only comes on rare occasions, and for tension headache pills, and for the Muses that help me exorcise these demons that escape as words written, chords played, and a rain of tears I can only hope will cleanse the Truth of a rotting plague.

SCWA

Murder

2012-01-07T00:57:00.001-05:00

Rage grew in my eyes.

"I know you're in here, and I'm going to find you," I muttered, "and I'm going to kill you."

Movements slowed as I watched the contours and shadows of every corner.

With the CRACK of my weapon, I struck. A body drifted to the floor. Victory!

The fly was dead.

* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XXX. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

The Review and Experience of The Book Thief

2011-12-22T14:59:00.001-05:00

The Experience
Today I finished The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak. In all my years of reading, my only memory of being moved to sobbing like this from a book or story way was caused by James Hurst's The Scarlet Ibis in 8th or 9th grade.

My wife was worried about me. My little daughter walked in and saw me in the aftermath of Himmel Street's destruction, and was concerned, but said nothing. They wonder why, and I have an answer. But how can I express it?

I imagine the questions. Or rather, I've heard the questions, and imagine the answers, if any askers ever had enough patience to hear them. The Question: Why read such things if they affect you in these ways?

Why indeed?

Because, my child, my wife, my neighbor, my friend... I am but a human, and being human, by definition, means being alone. We are all islands of Body cursed with the ability to see beyond ourselves, but never be beyond ourselves. This causes feelings of desire, want, hunger, jealously, ambition. We are plagued by our emotions, and they drive what we become. This happens to us all. But it happens to each of us alone.

If we were all as self-contained as our Bodies and Emotions would have us believe, we would never be able to share or express what we want, what we feel. We would instead go day to day doing what the powers that be make us think is the "right" thing to do. Enlist. Educate. Graduate. Employ. Marry. Procreate. Provide. Rinse. Repeat. Most of us are stuck in such a state, and I imagine most such folks are locked in some self-perpetuating cycle of confusion about why they might have landed in their particular life. More often than not, they bemoan it. Enter the existentialists.

It is for this reason that I believe there could never be such a thing as a true atheist. Who could imagine, let alone accept, that this is all there is to our lives? But I digress.

Maybe I'm alone in my answer to the Question, but I suspect not. The Answer: the reason I subject myself to such artisticly inspired depths and heights of emotion is because I refuse to be an island. I may not ever be able to be anything other than what sits in the chair as I write, but I can certainly reach and try to experience what else is here, what else has happened. Because I am certain to feel love, and desire, and loss, and when I do, I want to know what it looks like from the outside. I want to be able to recognize the smell of an experience when it comes my way. I want validation that those events that hurt and excite me are worth the trouble. I want to see someone else suffer, and love, and fail. I want to see how others deal with the tragedy and confusion of enduring the unendurable. I want to see it all because it will happen to me, and when it does, I want to be ready.

To refuse to acknowledge the experiences of others, shared through art, is to limit one's own human experience, and condemn oneself to being truly alone in an already lonesome existence.

So when I lay in bed sobbing over Liesel Meminger's loss, do not have pity for me; do not worry for me. Celebrate and recognize the bridge I've made, or rather, that I've found from my lonesome island to someone else's, in this case Zusak's. See that when I discover and cross such a bridge, I do so with every other person this novel has touched, and in this way, we all rise above the ocean that separates us. And know that for a moment, when the words on the page become more than dried ink on processed wood pulp, the story before me is transformed into real emotion handed directly from author to reader, and all I had to to was reach out and accept it.

Why, oh why, would anyone deny themselves such a gift?

The Review
The Book Thief is a beautiful novel, and true to its cover review, it will be life changing. It isn't an easy read, and though I know it's being assigned as middle school reading, it isn't for the unseasoned soul. Being narrated by Death, it becomes two stories, each intertwined with and dependent on the other. Though set in a familiar place for stories of love and tragedy, this is entirely new, and told in an entirely different way. It's not really possible to describe the novel beyond the characters and plot, because such a description doesn't even begin to say what the story is about.

If every other decent and common story you've ever read was a hamburger, you'd have a wide variety available. Most would equate themselves to McDonald's hamburgers, which are hardly hamburgers to begin with. The Book Thief, by comparison, is akin to the juiciest bar burger you've ever had the pleasure of biting into. It's thick and messy. It has lots of everything else you've ever had on all your other burgers, but something new too. There's a flavor you've never tasted, and it's almost too spicy to endure, but its addition to the whole makes this meal greater than any stack of meat and bread you've ever seen. This book demands to be read, and demands to be finished. In truth, you don't actually read this novel, you experience it. You let it in and offer it your chair. And though much of it is ugly and unpleasant, every page contributes to one of the most satisfying book experiences I can ever remember having.

Bibliophilia

2011-12-15T22:49:00.001-05:00

Closing the book, I wipe away tears. My new acquaintance, Markus Zusak, has again brought me to such a state of reflectance. Such beauty in my hands, such tragedy. Such truth.

But I am alone in this houseful of people. There are none else who share this love. Not here.

T.S. Elliot and Emily Dickenson sit beside me, offering such treasures that no one else seems to recognize.

I am both enraged and ashamed. I am dumbstruck.

Poe sits above me and tempts my imagination, but I am the only one with enough patience to enjoy such a fine and delicious treat.

Milosz makes frames for my emotions. Dahl sits down to share an evil laugh. Hawthorne engages me in the finest depths of guilt. Buck reminds me what is just and good. Both Lewis and Carrol will walk with me along their separate paths. Homer and Virgil and Melville too, though most nights are usually too short to enjoy their company. Bradbury, Flaubert, Silverstein...when will there be enough time?

Figures crowd the room around my shelves, and only I can see. They smile silently at me, each knowing too well that part of my soul they alone have touched and spoken to. I carry them always with and within me, for the lessons and tools they have given have made me strong and rich.

Oh, how I am loathe to let those others be content without these gifts. But their time will come. They will find their way.

Or they will never truly know me.

Close Call

2011-12-15T22:00:00.002-05:00

When I was little, my dad stood with his head in the linen closet. “Can’t you hear that?” he asked, but by the time all us kids were upstairs, it was impossible for him to hear the tornado siren.

Light years away, a tentacled arm wiped a sweaty brow. “Þ∩Ħפ⁯⁯⁯⁯⁯⁯⁯⁯⁯⁮⁮∩∟ך○Ŧ!” [Translation: “Phew, that was close!”]

* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XXIX. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Message

2011-11-21T13:04:00.005-05:00

21 November 2011

We seem to be at an impass.

This situation has oscillated dozens of times by now from wildly convoluted to painfully simple. At each turn, there is a small moment of uncertainty when I feel anxiety about what's to come, and you revel in my apparent thoughtlessness. It is at these times when you believe me to be the most vulnerable, and while that isn't an unreasonable conclusion, you are sorely mistaken.

Right now we are at that latter stage of oscillation: painfully simple. I thought everyone's roles were well understood. I thought, for once, the bases had been swept clean, and everyone knew their place, and we could start a fresh inning. As an added bonus, I also believed there would be a relative peace about the whole encampment, which is not typical of our ups and downs, as everyone's weater-beaten shelter can attest to. Recent events prove that this time, I was sorely mistaken. There will be no such rest.

It seems we may be back on an upswing. Energy is being added to the system. Instability is being created which will lead to another inflation and inevitable uncontrolled reaction. We are tempting Entropy, Pluto's ever faithful hound, to come in and set things right all over again, leaving another giant mess we can all pretend to be surprised and regretful over.

But I have news for you. I'm no longer in the mood. I'm taking my ball and going home. I am reaching a level of self-acceptance that, while totally unfamiliar and anxiety-inducing, is increasingly comfortable. True, there are complications, but I'm learning to wear my scarlet letter well, almost proudly. I am branded, yes, but I am also free of the secrets that held me down for so long. I can no longer be hurt because the armory is empty.

So while I may not have the grace of Hester Prynne, I am still striving for the self-honesty of Reverend Mr. Hooper. Like both characters, I am surrounded by Puritans who display horror at such realities they deny any knowledge of or experience with. Like Prynne's community and Hooper's congregation, my acknowledgement of wrongdoing is repulsive to those around me. Like these two, one a blatant sinner who proves herself to be a good and worthy person, and one a pious minister who mourns the Weltschmertz he can't help but notice, I will experience expulsion and suffering, and be better for it.

Sneer at my scarlet letter and my black viel. Point and accuse. Curse me with your self-righteousness. And thank me. It is people like me, we scapegoats of accusation who bear the blunt ends of the shameful secrets you keep, who enable you to live in your pristine existence unnoticed. It is I who will stand by and publicly endure my own sin so that you can sit quiet in yours which is hidden.

You're welcome.

Busted

2011-11-17T21:56:00.000-05:00

It usually happens that I'm caught with her on my lap. Many nights, we're snuggled on the couch watching TV, and we'll see my wife's car pull into the driveway. Quick as a flash, she jumps down, leaving me cold. Usually, though, after that she's greeting the wife at the door, her tail wagging furiously.
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XXVIII. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Temptation

2011-11-09T16:16:00.001-05:00

I looked sidelong at Pluto, who’d just handed me a key. He noticed I’d been standing at the door a long time looking in, and thought I might want to open it. “But I can’t,” I said, looking down my wide, chosen path. Nodding, he turned away. But he didn’t ask for his key back.

* * * * *

FFF-55 Vol. XXVII. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Mischief of One Kind And Another

2011-11-08T12:48:00.003-05:00

I, like about a zillion other people, am an enduring fan of Maurice Sendak's classic children's book Where the Wild Things Are. The appeal of the book isn't just the story or the illustrations, it's a universal identity with the inner Max in each of us. Everyone's misbehaved without regard to the consequences, everyone's been pissed about the inevitable punishment, and everyone's fantasized about escaping the unpleasantness of real life. Sometimes, everybody wants to be king, regardless of how old or young we are, where we are from, or how we are raised. To me, the book's most important lesson comes right at the end, when Max finally decides to return home, and finds that he hasn't, in fact, been abandoned by his mother, and that his dinnenr is waiting for him, "still hot."

Isn't that the perfect ending to any story?

When the live action film was announced, I was ecstatic. I couldn't imagine how anyone would make the movie, but I didn't care. I couldn't believe a feature film could be adapted from a story that's less than 350 words long, but I didn't care. I wanted to see it; I couldn't wait, and I have to admit the trailer itself ~~nearly~~ brought me to tears, due in no small part to that song playing. I was hooked in the first five seconds.

When the film was released, I was surprised to hear negative or hushed reviews, and criticism that the film's story didn't follow that of the book exactly. Truth be told, I became even more intrigued. I was secretly happy the critics weren't raving about it, because it meant the film was made for its own reasons, not those for which it would be judged successful entertainment. When I heard about the parents who threw a fit because it wasn't a happy kid's show, I knew even better that it had been made for me, and nobody else.

I didn't see the movie in the theater; I couldn't get anyone to go, except when I could, and then there were always more 'entertaining' movies to go see. Finally I watched it on Netflix. I didn't know what to expect, but whatever I got was more than satisfying. I haven't had the experience very often of seeing a movie and not feeling some closure at the end, but this one came close. Sure, it has a conclusion: Max makes it home, just like he's supposed to. But unlike most stories that are neat and clean, that go around their story arc from beginning to end, Where the Wild Things Are kept turning around inside me, following the same arc over and over, just in the context of my own self instead of Max.

When I described the movie to my family, it was difficult. All I could come up with was, "it's a movie about growing up, and facing your fears, and finding out who you really are." Which is lame as movie descriptions go. The movie is different. Where as the book gives us a story of exploration that's fun to read, the movie is sometimes difficult to watch. The characters get into uncomfortable and unpleasant situations that are common, at least in my family, but nobody wants to see, and certainly nobody wants to deal with during an evening out. They fight. They call each other names and hold grudges. They hurt each other.

Today, for some reason, my mind went back to that story, the one on the screen, and I found out more about who I really am. I saw myself in every predicament the characters endure. This morning as I looked into the bathroom mirror, what I saw partly completed a picture I've been piecing together my whole life.

I could see my own wolf suit.

We all have a wolf suit, and we all do with it exactly what Max does with his. It changes us; that is its purpose. It allows us to become brave and reckless; it lets us present to the world that which we would like everyone else to see, instead of that which we know will be disapproved of, that which is weak. It lets us tame the wild things in our own lives, and gives us a barrier of protection against the terrible roars and gnashing teeth that would otherwise reduce our broken souls to tears.

My personal realization is that I have relied too much on my wolf suit. I have never taken it off, because I have never believed myself strong enough to live without it. I have hidden inside from everyone I've known. Some, a tiny few I could count on one hand, have been shown this truth. But no one, including myself, has a real understanding of who is inside.

This must be my quest: to do what Max does, and finally come home, still loved, and feel safe enough to start taking off my wolf suit. People will be hurt, more than have already been. I will be shamed, more so than I am already dealing with. But maybe, like Max as he sees his dinner, I could just start with the hood.

I am scared to death.

Interruption of Service

2011-10-21T08:26:00.000-04:00

Dear Sir:

The Department for Internal Moral Upkeep (DIMU) regrets to inform you of a partial system failure which has resulted in an interruption of service. As a result, you may experience lapses of judgment including, but not limited to, lust, greed, apathy, wrath, pride, and envy.

We apologize for any inconvenience.

Kind Regards,
DIMU
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FFF-55 Vol. XXVI. Write a story with exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Disclaimer

2011-10-18T12:07:00.002-04:00

Dear Friends,

Big news: I may not be the man you think I am. I'm certainly not the man I want to be. If you've read more than two posts in this blog, you likely already know this. No, see, the man I actually am is not very respectable.

Maybe you've figured this out. It's possible you've been personally screwed over because of it, or that you've heard it through the grapevine. I probably won't come out and say it to you, not unless you're willing to commit a few hours to sharing a pair of barstools, and you might have to buy shots. But the list of people I'd talk to even if those conditions were met is very short. I am ashamed, you see.

So here's the truth: The real me, my True Self, took off 15 years ago or so, and left a shell that has been operated like a grotesque puppet by an Evil Twin on and off since. It's a lot like those movies where a guy is taken over and controlled by some entity, but occasionally breaks through to warn the people around him to flee before he loses control again.

Or maybe it's the other way around; maybe this has been the real me the entire time, and I wear my public perception like a garment so no one will suspect it. A wolf in sheep's clothing. I operate in this guise to manipulate those around me into thinking I'm a good guy.

Actually, both of these descriptions fit who I've become, but the key to understanding myself is that my True Self, the man I wish I could be, has been drowning, held under water by both the fearful and addictive behaviour of the Evil Twin, and the man driven by a desperate need to maintain a respectable public image.

Anyone who's known me any decent length of time has actually seen this True Self, this elusive man I'm struggling to free. You've each probably seen whatever little slice applies to our relationship, whatever that may be. Some of you have access to more slices than others. But I can't leave him out, you see, because he is both respectable and repulsive, both compassionate and cruel. He is not universally accepted, and so must be squelched in the name of social duties and standards.

This is a cruel fate, because this man, this True Self, is actually a good man. He's good because he will speak the truth even when it's offensive, but he is learning gentleness and tact. He's good because he speaks his mind, and is thorough and eloquent enough to do so in a way that even those who would be hurt by the words can't deny their truth. He's good because he honors his committments, even though he needs help learning how to say no, both to the people he should not cavort with, and those who pretend to like him but create unhealthy situations. He's good because he is willing to explore and develop himself in unexpected ways, and takes the risks necessary to realize change. And he's good because when he makes mistakes or misjudgements, he acknowledges them and pays his dues.

I do not know how I will manage these three identities: the pure deciever who lies for shame of the truth, the smiling neighbor and happy face at kids' school events, and the man in between, the one I really need to expose and become. I do not know who I will hurt or abandon in the process of revealing that man, first to myself, wholly for once in my life, and then to those who claim to love me. And then that love will most certainly be tested.

So whatever your relationship with me may be, consider this a disclaimer, but not an apology.

SCWA

reality

2011-10-17T23:59:00.002-04:00

20 February 2006

to fuck
is to feel.
to rend the delicate fabric of gentleness
is to need
to shatter the innocence of naivete
to crush the hand of generosity
to pull the fragrant hair of beauty
to scream in the face of piety
is to LIVE

A life without beauty is only half lived.

To live--
Within that fabric of gentleness
Innocent and naive
Extending the generous hand
Inhaling the scent of beauty
Striving to understand God

is to LOVE

The Gardener

2011-10-17T23:58:00.000-04:00

6 March 2006

What I've really lost is my humility.

It's fairy-tale-like, remembering back. I had a healthy sense of shame. I knew what felt wrong, even if I didn't know why, and I just didn't do those things. And I remember the gratification that comes from decisions like that.

It took me years to learn to admit when I had misjudged, at least out loud, to face the people I'd hurt. But all honest mistakes...mostly. The seed was always there. Once, I decided I could be both things, be both kinds of people. I justified it by looking around and watching who was successful at this or that. The key thing I missed was that neither this nor that were the things I wanted to be successful at. None of those people were really the kind of person I was trying to be. But I sacked the Gardener anyway, and the Seed flourished.

Now look at the grounds: still with promise, silent with potential. Silent. And overgrown. The stone bridges over the brooks that once ran here are cracked and dangerous. The trellis that supported a budding vine in childhood is weather-beaten. The house, standing as alone as it always has, though still a home, is not the manor I once envisioned.

I call this life, and some days I am ashamed for it.

Step Four

2011-10-17T23:55:00.000-04:00

16 March 2006

    I was thinking of that TV commercial where everyone wore signs on their backs revealing their financial problems. Like the older guy in the business suit's said something like "Can't make his house payment" and the haggard-looking housewife's said something like "Credit score: 752" and shit like that.

    If we all wore signs detailing our biggest secrets or sins, mine would say "ADDICT". I'm not proud of myself. Most days I do my best to stay on top of damage control, while allowing my addict-self to wreak havoc, much like simply cleaning up after an irresponsible child rather than teaching him the rules and enforcing them with punishment and positive reinforcement. I do not know what drives my addict-self, but I am very aware of the returns, and I will be the first to admit the instant gratification feels good. It's the damage control, and guilt, the hiding, and the constant fear that I hate.

    We all have signs, just like in the commercial. Some people's problems aren't really terrible, they're just embarrassing facts they'd like to keep secret. That's fine. I learned a little about real problems from a Chaplain that had served on a B-52 during the first Gulf War. They flew home from a sortie with an unexploded ground-to-air missile stuck in their wing, having gone right through and stuck in the middle. They didn't know if it was a dud or not; for all the crew knew, it could have detonated at any time, killing them all. They didn't know if they could even land with it. That, I agreed with him, is a problem. Rear-ending somebody on the way to work when you're already late is not.

    During lunch today I pondered what the others' signs around me might say. The wholesome girl next to me might have been paying for her burrito with money she got after hocking her mother's earrings. Thief. The lady with the twin girls, no more than 3 years old, might be on her way to meet a lover after dropping the kids at daycare, eager to taste forbidden flesh. Cheater. The older woman with the high school ID around her neck might have just taken advantage of a vulnerable student during a counseling session. Molester.

    Is it presumptive to think that everyone has issues, that we all carry burdens in our hearts we'd dare not share with others? Or is it naive to believe that some people are actually happy, that some facts about their lives are simply personal, and although potentially embarrassing, would not completely ruin their lives if revealed? I know the answer to this question, but I can't figure out how it might be. And so I deny that it is.

    The truth is I have more than one sign. Most are in the second category: I would not be happy to admit to some very humiliating things about myself, but if confronted with evidence, I would nod and say "yes, I did that" and nothing would really change. But there are a select few that would almost certainly ruin my life as I know it now. From a distance, I cannot fathom what would make anyone continue these behaviours given the risks. On the inside, I know it's the rush of pure gratification, it's the depression that sets in between fixes, it's the constant questioning of my identity and self, whether I am worthy, pure, good. It's fear of facing who I might become outside the context of the drug.

    I am an addict, I know. Some day, I will have to admit this to other people openly, with my voice, and acknowledge what I've done to feed the drive. That is a prerequisite to understanding the addiction and finding the source. Of all days, I fear this day more than any.

Winter

2011-10-17T23:31:00.000-04:00

6 March 2011

Walking through the frigid air
The wind passes over me
Like your disdain.
I lift my feet as high as I'm able
In heavy boots
But the snow is much too deep
To clear
Without leaving some regrettable act
Behind.

Still, I push on.

Every step takes me further
From a truth we both know
All know
Every day I'm another mile away
Every inch is an eternity I'll have to retrace
When it all comes pouring out.
Why was I ever walking this way
To begin with?

Into the ever cold night
Writing letters I'll never send
Because those feelings are too hot
For soft hearts to bear
Those words too sharp
They rend and tear
Gentle emotional flesh
Tender spiritual mesh.

No, these words I will hold within.

There they still burn, still tear
But only one person
The wrong person?
But isn't it right to carry this weight?
For you, for them, for everyone
To see?

But who is doing their best, for me?
Who will be their best

For me?

Dedication

2011-09-30T09:26:00.000-04:00

It’s always a good thing when the spiders’ silk has time to build up in the lanyard that keeps Old Glory held high. Unfortunately, the emails keep coming, and I keep walking to the flag pole, and inevitably evict some poor arachnid as I lower the flag to half staff for yet another fallen hero.

* * * * *

FFF-55 Vol. XXV. Write a story with exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Dedicated to Specialist Chazray Clark, age 24, a Michigan soldier killed in Afganistan. His loss is no more or less tragic than any of the dozens of others for which I've faithfully lowered the flag they fought under, the symbol of the reason all the rest of us can selfishly watch our TV shows and complain about our jobs instead of put our own lives on the line for the sake of others. No matter how you feel about our president, or the wars US troops are involved in, you can not deny the truth of the privileges you enjoy thanks to their sacrifice.

If you want on the Governor's mailing list so you, too, can honor Michigan's fallen, go here.

Resonance

2011-09-29T15:22:00.000-04:00

I heard there was a secret chord

That David played, and it pleased the Lord

Wikipedia says that "in physics, resonance is the tendency of a system to oscillate at a greater amplitude at some frequencies than at others. These are known as the system's resonant frequencies (or resonance frequencies). At these frequencies, even small periodic driving forces can produce large amplitude oscillations, because the system stores vibrational energy."

You don't need to be a physicist to understand this. Everyone knows when a kid is on a swing, pushing at the right time will keep the swing going, either adding energy or at least making up for what's lost to entropy, while pushing at any other time will probably result in a bigger-than-natural reduction in the swing's oscillation, and also maybe a hurt or angry kid.

Another easily understood example comes with sound waves; any musician knows this. When tuning a guitar, playing the 7th fret harmonic on the E string and the 5th fret harmonic on the A string should result in the same tone. Small variations in tuning make the combined sound 'bumpy', meaning that the sound waves no longer reinforce each other, but periodically negate each other in cycles based on how different the tones are. The more off the tuning is, the more frequent the sound waves kill each other, and the bumpier the combined tone becomes.

I submit that art creates a similar resonance that produces reactions in the people who experience it. Human beings are, after all, energy systems. There are sculptures, paintings, photographs, poems, stories, songs, and even architecture that have moved people throughout human history. Among these many media, however, music has a particular effect on me and many people I know.

Like every art form, music is created as an expression of some human condition. The audience that appreciates any music most is made of people who can identify with those feelings expressed in the piece by its composer. I heard it said once that sad songs are always more memorable and loved because they mean more to the people who hear them, which is, of course, because our sad life experiences always make a more lasting impression on us and always demand some kind of reconciliation, which can be partly found in song. In my opinion, this occurs because music, especially when created with a deep passion, carries with it some emotional 'resonant frequency' that strikes those individuals who are most 'tuned' to understand its message.

Sadness isn't the only emotion that touches people through music. My adolescent years are characterized by the many expressions of anger and discontentment found in my musical choices, many of which I still turn to when necessary (hence the FB nickname 'DamageInc' for all those people who asked). Happiness, too, can be conveyed via music. Throughout the history of Christianity, artistic works commissioned by the church were essential to its vibrancy, and still have an enormous effect on us today. Revolution and social change have been driven by music. In short, there is no variation of human emotion or experience which has not, in one way or another, been set to song in a moment (or a lifetime) of inspiration.

This is not news to anyone who's ever seen a favorite band in concert, or had to close his/her eyes at some point during a song in order to take in more than just the sounds, or been moved to emotion hearing a singer perform a certain way that speaks to his/her core. These experiences are deeper and more meaningful than sound waves travelling through some transducer to a listener's eardrum that results in neural impules in a familiar or desirable synaptic pattern. Of course, in the biophysical world alone, that's all that's happening, but another purely biophysical result is the release of endorphins, adrenaline, testosterone, etc. Such a hormonal release isn't a routine reaction to hearing just any old song.

I do realize, of course, that psychology also plays a role in how we feel about some music. That song that was played during our first kiss or dance, or at the funeral of a loved one, or the moment a car accident ruined your life, always becomes linked to that experience and all those emotions and hormones that went with it. I don't discount that. In fact, I think what happens during such an experience is that we become 'tuned' to that song in a very specific way. This emotional resonance can then be perpetuated by anyone who uses such an experience as inspiration to create their own artistic work. And the cycle continues.

Though the origins of my thoughts on sonoemotional resonance came earlier in the week, Tuesday I had an experience which only confirmed every word that was forming in my brain. I heard Jeff Buckley's cover of the Leonard Cohen song Hallelujah (this version in particular) on Pandora. It's beautiful, of course, but I found over the next 48 hours that I could not get the tune or that first verse (atop this post) or any of the chorus out of my head, and I don't mean in the annoying, earworm way. I mean in the way that I had to hear the song again. So today I found it, and listened to it more times than I'm comfortable admitting. Then I clicked to hear another cover by an LA singer named Kina Grannis. Yes, it was partly because she's pretty (what can I say; I'm only a man), but her rendition put my emotional resonance with this song at a new level. Her cover is here. In the hours since, I've listened to other versions of the song, including the original, so that I can not only fully appreciate the song's meaning, but learn to play it myself.

Lust

2011-09-16T13:57:00.000-04:00

Drunk with lust, I beg your attention. Let me fill you, let me [expletive] you. Let me show you the ecstasy I bring. Allow me to slide into your night and give you a ride. I will make you beg, I will make you whimper, I will make you scream. I will make you mine.
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XXIV. Write a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Cloud

2011-09-15T09:07:00.002-04:00

Looking out at the horizon this morning, while sitting at the intersection waiting for the red to turn green, I saw a wall of clouds squeezed between the tops of the cars and buildings and a vast expanse of sky. I imagined I could drive five or so miles down the road to reach a railing, at which I could stand and look down a deep dropoff, seeing the lower altitude towns below, and see straight into the rest of that wall of cloud as it extended below me, and still marvel at the top contours and curves at eye level.

Remember

2011-09-09T09:38:00.004-04:00

One silent moment

Is never enough

To remember the thousands of lost

Lives that were taken

Not only the dead

But the living have suffered the cost

Of all that has changed

Destroyed on that day

The things we will always regret

Having not said

To those dearly loved.

We swear we will never forget.

* * * * *

FFF-55 Vol XXIII. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.
Remembering the 10th anniversary of the tragic attacks of 9/11/01. Honor the fallen: take a moment on Sunday and find your own way to remember.

Lost

2011-08-25T13:12:00.001-04:00

Every time I see her, there’s a pain that slowly stirs in deep places. I catch myself watching her simplest movements: the way she reaches to greet a friend, her smile at each stop through the room. I have to turn away before my memories overtake my emotions.

She remembers nothing from before the accident.
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XXII. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Procrastination

2011-08-19T12:47:00.001-04:00

He sat at his desk, elbows on either side of the keyboard, fingers clenching hair above each ear. Ideas and inspiration sat atop his head, but did not sink in. Clever strings of words assembled themselves, but could not be knit together in any logical or respectable way.

“I’ll write one next week,” he grumbled.

* * * * *

FFF-55 Vol XXI. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

On Marriage

2011-08-10T10:37:00.001-04:00

[Unfinished]

11 March 2011

I was thinking today about marriage.

Marriage, the legal union between two people who've decided they're done searching the world for a good partner with which to share their lives, is one of those social institutions so embedded into our culture that it means something a little different to everyone who engages in it, but also has solid legal, historical, religious, and traditional meaning as well.

So now's your chance to move on; go for it: hit that 'Next Blog' button up there. I'm warning you.

Still here? Okay, you asked for it.

What I was thinking is this: all the things we grow up thinking about marriage, all the things we read in books and see in movies and on TV, all the stuff your pastor and parents tell you about marriage, is all a joke. The idea of marriage, presented in the context of all this fluffy crap, is just plain silly. And I'll tell you why.

Marriage is this: dirty, heart-breaking, scandalous, exausting. It's a social and legal construct that forces us to act out expected behaviors that may or may not be agreeable to who we really are deep down, and hide those behaviors that are contrary to ideals held primarily by those around us, in particular the marital partner.

Now wait--I'm not necessarily knocking the whole package. Most of that silly stuff we grow up expecting is based, in some fashion, in truth. Marriage can be rewarding, fun, and satisfying in so many ways life as a single person could never be. At its greatest, a couple's marriage is the keystone of their household, the foundation for the family they build. And that's just the practical part. The most ideal part of marriage, the part which produces that bliss people talk about, is that you can be all done pretending for the rest of the world. I told a friend that once youv'e found a true mate, you are free to remove all your social filters and be your True Self. Your partner becomes a sanctuary. Likewise, you're expected to reciprocate and provide equal sanctuary to your partner, but in doing so you are able to further delight in your partner's True Self, that person who only you have priveleged access to, because you alone are the person s/he feels safe exposing it to.

Any married person reading this will now be shaking his or her head. I realize that marriage means different things in different cultures, and all those cultures have ideals and silly expectations regarding marriage unique to them, but I'm willing to bet that in all these cultures, most actual marriages deviate significantly from those ideals and expectations.

That's because none of what you learn about marriage beforehand can prepare you for the actual work of being married. Keep in mind that, while being your partner's sanctuary, you also have to make sure the bills are paid, shopping gets done, dinner is cooked, dishes are washed, laundry is done and put away, and--hold on a second, somebody better put away this box right now or the TV will not be turned back on the rest of the weekend! In short, there's a whole lot of work to be done in addition to all the work of marriage. Typically, there's so much other stuff that the marital work is taken for granted, put aside, postponed, or simply dismissed as unnecessary.

Holdup

2011-08-05T16:20:00.000-04:00

“Jesus Jim, what were we thinking?”

“We discussed this; it’s the only way,” I told her. I opened the chamber and started filling the magazine. “Besides, wasn’t this your idea?”

She smiled, a little embarrassed. “Yeah, I guess,” she admitted. “Let’s do it then.”

Together, we walked calmly through the doors and into the bank.

* * * * *

FFF-55 Vol. XX. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Sorry

2011-07-18T13:29:00.002-04:00

Colin and Christine Weir, winners
of the EuroMillions jackpot

A Letter to my Future Admirers

Dear All,

First, let me thank you for the heartfelt congratulations offered by so many. Despite the fact that none of you ever paid much attention to my existence before I hit the jackpot, I am sure each of you is sincere in your regards. I'm sure you can imagine that this has been an extraordinarily busy and confusing time for me and my family as we try to sort out and secure our financial affairs, so all the support so generously offered has been much appreciated.

Now then, let me address those of you who have asked for a share of my winnings in the most concise possible way: NO EFFING WAY. Please take a moment, before your undoubtely angry reaction to my statement, to reflect on how you've dealt with (or not dealt with) your financial woes up to this point in your lives. I encourage you to continue this course of action--or not. After all, it's likely your personal financial habits that got you into trouble in the first place. (I know that--until last month--my own family's habits with money were what kept us from building wealth.)

Anyway, you've been satisfied with your existing arrangement for God knows how long; I can't imagine what sort of thing would change that would suddenly require my intervention, and I refuse to believe that, whatever thing has changed, the timing of this recent turn of events coinciding with my redemption of a winning lottery ticket is a random happenstance. I know you've probably described how your situation differs from my assumption wholly in all those letters you've been sending, but I admit I haven't read a single one of them. Be comforted, however, in the knowledge that I will be forwarding your letter in one of the many bundles I'm preparing to send to various charities, along with a check for some donation I'm making to each organization. Enclosed is my working list of the charities I'm considering; maybe they'll put you on their list of recipients.

You see, I'm not completely heartless. I'm not even partly heartless. I care a great deal for my fellow humans. Please understand that it is my personal belief that our creator gave each of us unique gifts and talents with which to sustain ourselves. The extent to which we have worked to discover and develop those gifts and talents is directly proportional to our personal success in this physical existence. It is not within my means, or anyone's means, to support those who have yet to discover his/her intended Path. Just ask the government; they've been trying it for decades, and their annually budgeted aid comes to a three-digit multiple of the amount on the check you've seen me holding on TV. Money, you see, cannot fix your problems, regardless of how much there is or who it comes from.

Also, please consider the fact that I myself have endured a solidly middle class, blue collar existence for my entire life excluding the last handful of weeks. I made the best of it. I was resigned to the fact that I would continue in that existence until the end of my days, and I was okay with that. Sure I had meager investments and a 401k and some plans to borrow on behalf of my children so they could educate themselves above such a life for themselves, but that was it; that was the Master Plan: to go to work every day, to take care of myself and my family, and spend a little and save a little. I admit there was a time when our family needed assistance--we swallowed our pride and asked for it. And got it. Then we were okay again, and it went to someone else. It's not exactly the American Dream, but it's a close version of it, and it facilitated my efforts in the meantime to discover aforementioned gifts and talents in the hopes that they could be used to increase (slowly, if need be) the material means by which I made my daily life. When I say to you "reflect on how you've dealt with" and "encourage you to continue", I'm saying that, whatever arrangement you have at the moment, you've got to find a way to make it work the same way 99% of the population, including me until last month, have always done.

I know not all of you who read this will agree or understand. For those people, who would send me hate mail for not sending them money anyway, I have just one thing to say: [explitive deleted]. To all the rest, as I said before, I appreciate all your well wishes and congratulations, and thank you for your support and understanding in my desire to be left the hell alone.

Fond Wishes from Barbados,

Me and My Family

A Discovery

2011-07-12T09:11:00.002-04:00

"Dance Me To The End Of Love"

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in
Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Oh let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone
Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon
Show me slowly what I only know the limits of
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on
Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long
We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to the children who are asking to be born
Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn
Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic till I'm gathered safely in
Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love

LEONARD COHEN

Doing It

2011-06-17T12:47:00.000-04:00

She didn’t know it, but I built the pantry cabinet with this exact purpose in mind. It was just distracting entertainment to build the cabinet to be “f*** proof.” I never imagined I’d get the chance to test it, but I needed some standard for how strong it should be, and went with that.

Bonus!

* * * * *

FFF-55 Vol. XIX. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Fountain Building 101

2011-06-15T00:04:00.003-04:00

Here is where I started. I looked over the plan and thought, "sure, I can probably do all that stuff." It was mostly easy, though very labor and time intensive. Here's a little record of how it went with my 20/20 hindsight included, just in case you decide to build one, too.

I bought two extra bags... just in case

Step 1: Go shopping. The list on the source web site is pretty comprehensive:

Necessary tools:

cordless drill
tape measure
circular saw
bucket (I assume this is needed for mixing the concrete. Also may be useful for sitting on.)
safety stuff (dust mask, glasses, hearing protection, etc.)
straight edge, at least 4' long
pliers and wire cutters
sawhorses/work surface that will fit a 4x8 sheet of foam
utility knife, box cutter, etc. to open paper bags
tapered trowel to pick up and smooth the concrete as you pour it
scrap 2x4 on which to form the hardware cloth
hammer/tools with which to form the hardware cloth over the scrap 2x4
some way of mixing the concrete. I bought a large tub and used a garden tool to mix it. A real mixer will save your shoulders the weekend you choose to pour your fountain.
a cup to measure each quart of water required for the concrete, and
a container to hold all the water once measured (5 quarts per bag)
flat, sturdy scraping tool (such as a multipurpose paint tool)

Required materials:

one 4x8-ft sheet of 2" extruded polystyrene foam insulation
four 80-lb bags of concrete mix (or five 60-lb bags)
four 10-oz bottles of Quickrete Cement Color or equivalent (one bottle per bag, I chose the "buff" color and mine is the same color as that in the source site photos)
2-ft of 1/2" PVC pipe... or less. You only need enough to come through the top piece and attach your hose. See the section on assembly to read specific challenges with this.
2-ft of 10-gauge coated copper wire... or not. I couldn't find 10-gauge (used 12-gauge instead), and its use in this project is difficult to manage and of questionable necessity. Again, see section on assembly.
3" screws (I used coarse thread drywall screws)
duct tape
20 minute setting-type joint compound (1 bag). I found nothing like this. I ended up using quick setting 'repair' concrete, and used most of a 55-lb bag.
flower pot or bucket, at least 10" in diameter and 12" deep (a five gallon pail works great)
3" ABS toilet flange?
hot glue/caulk?
9" or 10" play ball
something with a 3" diameter to place on the ball to form a 'collar' at the bottom of the top piece. The source site wants you to use the empty duct tape roll, but I hadn't used it all yet. As it turns out, we had Bush's baked beans with dinner that night, and the can was exactly what I needed.
1x3 lumber, and screws to hold them together, to reinforce foam forms
1/2" galvanized hardware cloth
river rocks/stones
and, last but not least,
A PUMP. In my opinion, it's preferable to buy this before you begin. I bought a 425 gph and it's perfect, but I had to guess at which pump to get. I find it odd that nowhere on the source site does a pump appear as a required item.
hose. Go to any big box store and there will be this black plastic tubing in the fountain/pond section. Don't buy this. It isn't flexible enough and it's overpriced. I got 1/2" clear tubing from the plumbing section. It was cheaper and I could buy as many feet as I wanted, not the whole roll of 15 feet or whatever. Thinking about it, I should have got the fiber-reinforced tubing used for faucet supply lines, as it won't kink or bend easily. I also bought...
PVC fittings to make sure your hose will go on the end of your 1/2" PVC pipe. In my case, I bought a threaded adapter and a brass fitting that was threaded on one end and had a hose barb on the other.

Step 2: Cut and build the forms

My super awesome cutting diagram

Cutting the forms was the easy part. Get your sharpies or dry erase markers and just take your time. I divided the foam up into large basic sections first (in red on the drawing), and then each of those was cut into individual pieces. I worried about my blade ruining the foam, or vice versa, but shouldn't have. Just have your shop vac handy for cleaning up all that pink powder. If you don't care to make your own cutting diagram, feel free to download mine (click the pic).

The only alteration I'd make to this cutting diagram is to ensure part B (that 4" square that creates an opening at the bottom of your column) is tall enough to fit your pump. If it isn't, make it fit, changing the vertical dimension (leave it 4" wide).

Once the pieces are cut out, it's a simple matter to assemble them all with (as described on the source site) 3" screws and duct tape. There are, however, some special precautions I should have taken along the way:

1. Reinforce! goldengolfball, who left the comment on the source site, is right: you can use a mile of duct tape on this, and if you don't reinforce it somehow it will bulge. It's about 1½ bags each for the column and the base; each bag weighs 80 pounds and needs 5 quarts of water (almost 10½ pounds). This is why I put the 1x3's on my materials list (though I didn't take goldengolfballs's advice and had to make 'adjustments' to my finished product...using a hammer). Specifically, reinforce (a) around the column form, and (b) the bottom of your base form (which ends up being the top of your base). With the column, it didn't matter much because I just got slightly curved lines instead of straight, but with the base, when those part G's start separating from part H, you get a jagged, irregular concrete lip projecting up around the edge of your project.

Also, don't forget to reinforce the bottom of the forms as they sit for filling. Heaven forbid you tilt your filled form to move it and the weight of the concrete rips the bottom away from the side. For only sliding around the garage floor, just duct taping it should work fine.

Finished forms. I later added so much
duct tape to the column form it was
covered in silver. And it still bulged.

2. Level! When building the base form, pay particular attention to the height of your part G's. Make sure the top edges, as the form sits for pouring, are all even and level with each other. My edges weren't all aligned, and so I had to guess about what would be level. After I used my level to try and flatten it, I realized my garage floor is somewhat sloped, and my finished product shows it.

3. Forming the top piece The source site has a brilliant plan for making the spherical top piece, but again goldengolfball points out an issue: you must tamp this. A lot. Mix your form material too wet, as it will fill better and, later, break apart easier. Also, when first placing your play ball into the wet stuff, give it an inch or so beneath it. Mine sat pretty much right on the bottom of the bucket, and before I actually poured the cement, the very thin layer of filler cracked and had to be taken out, leaving a nice gaping hole which, again, had to be fixed with a hammer and a delicate touch. I also had some voids on the inside of my form, but decided to pour concrete anyway and see what happened. Fortunately, when I broke open the form a few days early to 'repair' before it cured too much, those 'fins' that filled in the voids broke off with the form. Something else: I recommend using a copper pipe. I tried spacing the end of my PVC from the bottom of the form and that was nearly a disaster. Copper is the right color, and even when it's oxidized, will probably look better than a thick white ring at the top of your sphere. Finally, think about a way to ensure the end of your pipe is in the exact center of the bottom of your form. Otherwise if the collar part isn't allowed to move a bit, you're stuck with the water shooting up and falling at the angle at which your pipe was sitting when you left it.

4. Those copper wires The specified place for the wires on the inside of the column works out just fine, but when the source site tells you to put them into your part H, notice in the picture that the wires should be placed inside that 4" square. I didn't see that and put mine right on the line, which is where the inside edge of your finished column will sit. Now is a good time to get your chosen pump and make sure it fits between these wires, because if it doesn't fit now, it sure won't when the base is finished.

5. THINK about how you're going to get the form apart. For example, cutting a removable section from the bottom part F while assembling your base form will make it worlds easier to get both F's out.

Step 3: Mix and Pour

Finished pieces, *finally* out of the forms

This part was easy to figure out, but took most of an afternoon to do, and made me sore to boot. Mix two bags at a time, if you can. Pre-mix the color with your water before adding it, as this will help ensure the color gets evenly spread around. Also, I'm not a concrete expert, but I'm guessing it's best to just plan on the whole 5 quarts and add it in bulk, as opposed to eyeballing the consistency for each batch and potentially getting mixing differences from the top to the bottom of your fountain parts.

I used a triangular brick trowel to scoop up the concrete and fill my forms. It worked great, and thank God... I can't imagine trying to do that job with anything else. As you fill, TAMP the form, especially at first as you're filling those bottom edges and corners. I used the side of my hammer. I filled my base form first.

Smooth the top surface of your poured concrete any way you know how. The brick trowel is all I had so I made do. If you have a tool to do this job, super. It may or may not matter, depending on what kind of surface your base will sit on. Also, re-check your leveling on the base. NOW is the time to make corrections. Finally, if you think it might be cool to put your kids' hand prints (or a date, or your initials, or anything) in the concrete, do it here and now (/facepalm for not thinking of this myself in time).

When filling the column, I put a trowel-full of concrete down each side, then tamped it. I repeated these steps over and over again until I was a little less than 4" from the top. At this point, I put my part B into place. Remember, this is the piece that leaves the recess at the bottom of the column inside which the pump will sit. If you put this in place while assembling the form, you'll only have access to three open sides when filling, and there's no guarantee the space underneath it will be nice and uniform and pretty. So slide it in just before you're done filling the form, screw it in place, and finish filling. Making the concrete nice and flat at the open end of the column form is a relative no-brainer after you've done the base.

The suggestion to leave the forms intact for a week is a good one. I read one site on curing concrete that said to cover the exposed concrete and form in plastic to prevent evaporation. Although I waited a couple days, I eventually did this and my pieces are pretty solid.

Step 4: De-form and Assemble

The finished product... so far

Removing the forms was probably the single most frustrating process. The source site says "you can reuse the outer form parts to cast several fountains." This is bull, because by the time you've managed to get all the form parts off, most of them are mangled more than a little, and some are broken beyond recognition. The foam inside the column is the worst. Have a flat scraping tool handy, as you'll be forcing this down the concrete surface to break off pieces of your part C's 4-6" at a time to remove this form completely. I later thought the 5-in-1 (or 7-in-1 or 14-in-1) paint tool I forgot I had would probably have been perfect. In any case, however you de-form your fountain pieces, it's a good idea to have a garbage bag/can and the shop vac handy. "Clean as you go" is definitely good advice during this process.

When removing the top spherical piece from its form, I overturned my five gallon pail until the form slipped out, then set it on the driveway and hit the corner with my 5-lb sledge. I was fearful of the inside piece, but after twenty minutes of trying everything else I could think of, this was my last option. After a few well-placed, not-too-hard blows, the form split nice and easy with the sphere perfectly intact.

Once out of the forms, inspect the pieces. Knock off any protrusions you don't want, straighten those green wire loops, etc. Then drag everything to your chosen location. Plan to be able to plug in your pump somewhere nearby.

Level the base at the top so that when it's filled with water, the water's surface is equidistant from the top edge of the base. Lay the column with the bottom end inside the (empty) base and carefully lift in a way that will leave your copper wire loops safely inside the bottom cavity of your column. This may require a friend to either lift or guide the bottom into place. If you're using the copper wire to secure those loops together, cut your wire and get to securing now. You will be scraping your knuckles, so have some bandaids handy. Also, recheck how your pump fits into the cavity after you're done.

Say what??

Putting the top piece into place is tricky business. I have no idea how a 3" toilet flange is supposed to fit into the 8" circular hole part D is intended to make. I'm convinced I either misunderstood the directions or bought the wrong thing, and the source site has absolutely no description on assembling this part. It's something I'm still working out a solution for. Everyone says my fountain looks fine the way it is, et cetera et cetera, but I won't be done until I find a way to support that sphere, seal around the edge, and fill the space with pretty black rocks. For now, it's there, but looks sunken. Maybe I'll update later.

In any case, when placing the top, I recommend instead of leaving your pipe at its original 24" length and cutting hose to reach your pump, that you cut the pipe and make your hose longer. This is because you'll have to hold the sphere in one hand while fishing the pipe/hose down the center of the column, somehow figuring out how to slide it over the hose barb on the pump (another process best suited for having a partner). In my opinion, it'd be easier to place the pump, fish the hose up, then attach it to the pipe, holding the two as close as possible. Any kinks or sharp bends in your hose will render your pump ineffective, so a little more slack might be a good thing.

Final Thoughts
I filled my base with water and plugged in my pump, set the top so the water went straight up, and proceeded to enjoy it as-is. I still intend to figure out that top piece; as it stands, more water falls down the center of the column than goes over the sides, and it makes an echo-ey/drippy sound, as opposed to the Zen/tinkly sound I'm after. I may or may not form my hardware cloth into the cage for the bottom. Most likely is I'll form it and cover it with rocks, and then decide whether or not to leave it there depending on how I like the way it sounds.

Considering the fact that running the pump dry can ruin it, it's not a bad thing to be able to see how much water you have in there. Depending on ambient conditions, I lose as much as an inch per 1-2 hours of running due to splashes and evaporation.

My pump is sitting on its side just outside the 4" square hole it's intended to sit into. That's something else I'll be working on. It's intriguing how the pump itself doesn't need to be in the water at all, seeing as how I can attach a fitting (and therefore a hose) to the inlet and pump out my water for recirculation. Maybe, in the next fountain, I'll put this fact to good use.

Fantasy

2011-06-03T09:08:00.001-04:00

She walked toward me and into my arms. They wrapped effortlessly around her waist. The sweetness and subtlety of her scent overcame me. I felt her hair on my cheek and the warmth of her face on my neck. She kissed me softly and whispered in my ear.

Then, reality: “What? Sorry, I got distracted...”

* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XVIII. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Violence

2011-05-27T08:51:00.002-04:00

I’d never been a violent person, aside from a few holes in drywall. I’d certainly never threatened a person before. But when he said it, I couldn’t help myself.

He seemed as surprised as me, held in a headlock with the blade against his neck.

“You’ve ruined me,” I said. “And now, you’re ruined too.”

* * * * *

FFF-55 Vol. XVII. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Rage

2011-05-13T16:14:00.002-04:00

If it hurt when I drove my fist through the wall, I couldn’t tell. I would have done it again if she hadn’t screamed. I only noticed something like pain when I opened my hand to pick up my keys, and even then it was only a vague counterweight to my rage.

It was over.
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XVI. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

The Wish

2011-04-29T06:55:00.003-04:00

This wish was no different than a million that came before it, except it came true. One night I went to bed, pissed, and the next... well, needless to say people noticed. Mom cried, Dad called missing persons. After I freaked out our old neighbor, I learned to keep my mouth shut.

I'd become invisible.
* * * * *

FFF-55 Vol. XV. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

BLJ: Big Life Journey (or Through the Fog)

2011-04-26T15:32:00.000-04:00

An essay in three parts.

1. It happens often enough that we hear some trite phrase that compares life to a journey. Not trite because it's untrue, and surely not because it doesn't fit whatever context in which we may find it, but only because we've heard this comparison a million times before. But have we ever really considered the truth of it?

I'm sure everyone has, to some extent, though not all have pondered it long. I know many who've peeked above the rim of everyday life and been thoroughly frightened permanently back below, and a few who've been traumatized by their first glimpse beyond the daily grind, and therefore are loathe to ever look again. I don't blame anyone in either of these camps, and I both pity and envy anyone who's never had need to consider those forces behind the life that is projected, as if onto a screen, before their faces.

I've spent many thousands of words and hours considering my own journey, but like everyone else, my view is skewed because it's impossible to see it objectively since, well, I'm still on it. It happens often that I (we all?) am more able to say definitively what I'd do in any situation presented to another human on his/her own journey, but for some reason find myself stymied by my own, even simpler, circumstances.

So because there really is no other choice, I just keep on moving, making each decision with the wisdom at hand, and hoping I always see it as the good choice I believed it to be at the time. This happens to everyone... right? I know this is true of many whom I have surrounded myself with for years, but for some reason all of us, every one, believe we are the only people dealing with this or that trouble at any particular time. And because we either don't want to bother anyone else, or we're too embarassed by our inability to handle something (or the fact that we have to deal with it in the first place), or a bad memory of trusting the wrong person, or some other stupid reason, we fail to reach out to those who may be able to help, and thereby create for ourselves a perpetual lonliness.

2. When I drive from Detroit to Milwaukee, a trip of roughly 370 miles, I do so with such severe limitations I am surprised sometimes that I even get into the car. For one thing, when I'm driving, I can only see a few miles ahead on a flat, straight, relatively empty road, or less than 1% of the total distance. Wouldn't it be preferable if I could see the destination before starting the trip? Usually the road goes up and down hills, is curved, and is crowded, and this of course limits visibility even more.

If I happen to see trouble ahead, it's usually a good enough distance away that I can avoid a collision or any other bad news. It isn't always far ahead: sometimes it appears right in front of me, and I have to make a quick decision. And it isn't always apparent what the trouble is: sometimes I just see the orange barrels or slowed traffic and know something bad is up the road without actually knowing what it is or what to do about it.

What's worse, if I make the drive at night (which is most often the case), I have a maximum visibility of only a couple hundred feet with good headlights (or about 0.01% of the total distance), which is not much further than the minimum stopping distance at highway speeds with good tires and road conditions. If there is something ahead of me that would stop or slow me down, I don't know it's there until I very quickly need to make a decision about how to handle it, and though the roads are typically less crowded at night, I still have the other factors to make the situation even more complicated.

To make matters worse, there are occasions when conditions aren't favorable for travel. It's inevitable that there will be rain, or fog, or snow, or ice, or mud. I can also count on the chance that something from someone else's vehicle will fly into my path, or hit my windshield, or be left on the road for me to avoid. With other cars out there, this is just a given. Though it's many long years ago, I still remember the minor panic I felt when I realized that, although my driver training was complete and I was fully licensed and such, I would eventually have to contend with less-than-ideal travel conditions.

Why on earth would I want to even consider such a trip? First and foremost, because of the people I'm travelling to visit. A close second is that I've been a passenger on the trip enough times to believe I can do it on my own. (Still, the first solo attempt was nerve-racking.) Also, I have maps to guide me: I know which route is the most reliable. What's more, I have experience that will help me make decisions when something goes wrong, even with only seconds before disaster strikes. And finally, I know my vehicle is up to the trip: it's been maintained well enough that I don't have to worry much about the transmission, battery, tires, etc.

3. Every day when I get out of bed, shower, dress, breakfast, drive, work, lunch, work, drive, school, cook/help with dinner, do/help with homework, give kisses and hugs goodnight, rinse, and repeat, I'm on that Big Life Journey, and it's not much different than when I'm on westbound I-94. But beyond that basic similarity, things get very, very different.

For one thing, I have only a vague idea of what my destination is, and I've certainly never been there before. Therefore, I have only ideas about what the best route is. Consequently, I sometimes find myself on a road I suddenly realize I've traveled before, which is not always a good thing. Also, visibility is limited to days, or weeks, or until the next paycheck, or the end of a lease. At best, I can see only 1-2% ahead of myself on a trip that I hope will take in excess of 80 or 90 years. And this road is nothing like I-94. Crappy Michigan road conditions aside, the routes available to me are never straight, never wide. Though some appear to be, it's usually only they're toll roads, and I'd therefore be forced into conventions and directions that might not always suit me--that may, in fact, be detrimental.

Troubles are common and cruel on the BLJ. I never go a day without the need to circumnavigate some pothole or debris, sometimes left there by someone else, more often thrown into my path by my own ignorance or stubbornness. Usually I can see things coming, but this doesn't always mean they're unavoidable. When I can't anticipate them, they seem to come out of nowhere, and I end up not only trying to drive and navigate but clean up the mess I've made. Sometimes it even happens that I find something's been behind me a good while, trying to get my attention, and I've been ignoring it, and that makes the cleanup a bitter task. It's rare that failing to avoid or deal with some such hindrance does not have consequences that affect other people's BLJs. It's also true that making a hard choice to take the right path for any given leg of the trip has potential to hurt others.

Also, it's rare that a dry, sunny day presents itself along the BLJ. I've spent a majority of my own in considerably bad weather. Some people would say this is a matter attitude, and I wouldn't argue with them. That translates into where you choose to be traveling. Unlike a real road trip, if you don't like the current road conditions, the BLJ lets you consciously choose to "relocate" to a place with better weather. This of course, is not easy, and learning how is a journey in itself. And, you do always have to start out from where you currently are, which makes it difficult to realize relocation is possible in the first place.

Finally, I am never sure of my vehicle's travel-readiness. Each morning, I risk some kind of breakdown. I have known issues with particular things, which I treat, but they all have root causes that have yet to be fully diagnosed. Also, many parts and systems are either wearing out for lack (or ignorance) of replacements, or are completely untested, and therefore I have no idea how much they can take. I fear situations that will push them beyond their limits, and I won't see the failure until it's screwed everything up and I'm mired in the conquences. That has happened more often than not, and typically I'm not the only person who ends up screwed or mired. In fact, thinking about it now, I realize that every known issue has been discovered by an unexpected breakdown, usually with accoutremental embarrassment and/or shame.

So, why would I choose to make the BLJ? First and foremost because of the person at the end of the journey: ME. To be more specific, it's not just one single journey, but many smaller ones; and it's not one single person that is the goal, it's just some improvement on the version that began that particular leg. A close second is the chance to make a difference in other people's journeys. Large or small, anything I can do to help someone along their way puts me further ahead in my own. It's about filling buckets. There are some people in particular for whom I strive to be a positive influence, whose BLJs are a main focus in my own. It is for them that I choose not to turn off onto a road I know will end abruptly, when that is my inclination.

I know so little about how to conduct the BLJ it's a wonder I even stay on board, but what I have learned, or what I think I've learned, is that there is no 'end' destination. There are desirable ends, yes, but no Milwaukee in this trip. I've also learned that reaching some desirable end will require a lot of circular travel: many roads will be taken again and again as a necessity; indeed, the sub-goal of any day's travel may be just to reach a familiar road. Finally, I think I've learned to take risks: to take roads that are unfamiliar, or even unpaved, because when taking these roads, like a path in the forest, the point is not to get somewhere, but the experience you have along the way. Usually you end up right where you began, but as a better version of who you were at the first step. Sometimes, you end up somewhere different, and having found that place--somewhere you never would have seen if you hadn't taken a risk--always makes dealing with some other leg of the trip that much easier.

SCWA

Complications

2011-04-22T09:08:00.003-04:00

Naliene did everything she could think of for fourteen years. Finally, she’d had enough.

She knew his old doctor was nearing retirement, and that he thought of her very affectionately. She was careful to make sure everything was ready: life insurance and malpractice policies.

Minor surgery was scheduled. There were complications. Now Naliene’s a widow.

* * * * *

FFF-55 Vol. XIV. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Angels

2011-04-20T00:07:00.000-04:00

I do believe in angels.

A couple days ago, the wind picked up my baby child and she was thrown into the air, holding on for dear life to the thing the wind had caught. She was moved at least six feet vertically and ten feet leeward. She was dropped onto this giant pad, then fell to the ground, after which the pad landed on top of her.

A vendor search tells me a typical pad is 7'2" x 16' x 30", and that's about the size of this one. It took three grown men to move the pad off her shoe, which had come off when I pulled her from the ground.

She suffered a scraped ankle, and a couple bumps on the head, and was scared so badly she barely cried with any real abandon. But that was all.

I held her the next few hours, looking for signs that mean a head injury's gone bad and praying I'd made the right decision by bringing her home instead of to the ER. I saw many futures in which that day was pivotal. I tore my insides apart asking myself why I hadn't made her stay off it, like some other parents had their kids, or at least been closer when it happened. I came up with no answers.

This was a freak accident that could have ended tragically, and given the physics of the event, probably should have. But there was some Intervention that protected my little girl. I don't care what anyone calls it; I am infinitely thankful.

I do believe in angels.

Busted

2011-04-15T12:29:00.001-04:00

The idea was simple: four million dollars by the end of the year, tax-free; then we invest it and live comfortably off the interest while slowly getting rich. With my brains and Jim’s contacts, we couldn’t lose.

That was a year ago. I hope Jim is enjoying Anguilla. I’m in federal lockup. I got caught.
* * * * *

FFF-55, Vol. XIII. It seemed fitting for tax day. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Undiet

2011-04-12T15:02:00.001-04:00

http://www.roberthouse.com/painting.html

You wouldn't know it by my writing, but I've been losing weight lately. Okay, those who know me in person may scoff and say "as if" because I've never been a heavy person... but to me, small changes have made a real difference.

I had a 29" waist as a teenager. I'm nearly six feet tall, so you can imagine I was pretty lanky. Add that to my nerdery, my social ineptness, my inability to get (and keep) any popular girl's attention before post-puberty, and my lack of athletic skills, and you could accurately imagine my teen years as being cruelly unremarkable.

Being super skinny did, however, not go without its benefits. Among them is the fact that twenty years after graduation, I still look mostly the same as I did back then. Yes, I've put on 40+ pounds, like most of my classmates probably have, but I really put them to good use. I haven't beefed up or anything, but I look like a normally slim guy now, not a beanpole with arms. Also, I haven't lost my hair or gone completely grey, and I've lost enough of my social ineptness to function well, so at the reunion this summer, I ought to have a darn good time, if for no other reason than seeing many people who were more popular and better looking than me in '91 as bald, fat slobs.

However, this past fall I noticed a little change. My clothes were fitting differently, and worst of all, I could see a difference in the mirror. I was gaining weight. Statistically, I was the 2nd heaviest I've ever been in my life. I wasn't large by any means, but I knew that if, in my future, I became a heavy man, I would look back at Fall of 2010 and know that that is when it all started. So I resolved to do something about it.

I couldn't, and wouldn't choose, to repeat my previous weight loss method, so I was forced to think in healthy terms. I went with something simple, which was just to reverse the thing that seemed to make me gain in the first place: I'd just eat better/less. I didn't starve myself or go on any formal diets, I only ate when I was hungry, and stopped eating when I was full. I asked myself each time I put something in my mouth if it was a thing a healthy person would eat. Sometimes the answer was "no" and I ate it anyway, but just having the thought made a difference. I actually, at one point, lost the desire to eat unhealthy foods. When I stopped getting heavier, I stopped sweating it, but kept up with my good habits.

Then, six months later, I found I could fit into pants I hadn't worn in years. I really only put them on as a desperate last resort: my regular (34" waist) jeans were all dirty, so I would be forced, for a day, to suck it in and go with the...wait a minute, these 33"ers actually fit! Really well!! I know they make TV commercials about this, so sue me if I'm being dramatic, but I really did feel the way the women in the Nutrisystem ads appear to, all without the yucky shakes or prepackaged foods.

The Wife gives me a dirty look every time it's come up in conversation. Her body type is different than mine, and so she and my middle son (who inherited her body type) will always have a harder time managing their weight than me and my oldest son and daughter (who inherited mine). Them's just the breaks. It's really of no consequence anyway, because she's so damn fine as-is, even if she wouldn't agree. And besides, she's known throughout our many years together that no matter what she looks like, or how she feels about herself, I always think she's gorgeous, and would do her in a heartbeat. To be, well, blunt.

So here's what I've noticed: the last month or so, the groceries coming into the house have had the distinct and increasing characteristic of having more sweets and goodies to my liking. More and more, she's bringing stuff home that defies that question: "would a healthy person eat this?" And more and more, I'm falling prey to it. My recently new habit of stepping onto the scale (keeping it in the kitchen REALLY helps) has shown me that this eating more Swiss Cake Rolls is not such a great thing. It isn't even really a change in the numbers or my pants size (the 33"ers still fit marvelously, thank you very much), but in how I feel.

Maybe that was the biggest change of all: how I viewed my health. You see, since I started this process, I've always allowed myself a little flexibility (because who can give up chocolate milk completely? seriously...), but I've also always kept the big picture in mind. The things I've come to believe have an effect on not just my weight, but my overall health in general, have grown on me, and now I've found myself breaking my happy new rules in just the tiniest of ways. None of these little things would break my healthy cycle on its own, but the combination of them would have me moving decidedlly in the wrong direction.

Look: I'm not suggesting she's doing it on purpose, but you have to admit the coincidence is strange. I know she's trying to take good care of me and all, but it brings to mind a story I read once (content warning on the link! and grammar warning: it's not prefectly transcribed. Bukowski is phenomenal and would never make those mistakes.) It would be a lie to say she's never told me she's jealous, but I never imagined her to be vindictive. It has me wondering: should I be worried?

I suppose I'll have to settle for a happy medium until my gustatory discipline gets back into shape. It's just the right thing to do. After all, I've got my eyes on those 32"ers I've kept around, and summer is coming, which means I'll have to be publicly shirtless at least part of the time. And, just in case, it'll keep me from falling victim to any weird schemes some people might have in mind that involve feeding me delicious sweets or other bonnes bouches.

"Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead." -Charles Bukowski

The Muse

2011-04-08T12:48:00.006-04:00

Image source. Posterity.

To watch her play, you’d have no idea. Every note flowed like silk from every string. Though most of the audience hadn’t even heard of her, she brought many to tears. She got a standing ovation.

After the performance, we met in the lobby, and we hugged. “Beautiful,” I signed. She only blushed, and smiled.

* * * * *

FFF-55 Vol. XII. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

And on another note...

I was just looking for an image to go with the blog post, honestly. And what I found is this. I don't care if it's connected to shampoo, I don't care if it's based on a true story, I don't care if the girl is completely made up. This will make you cry. And for real, I wrote the 55 before I found it, though I understand if you don't believe me.

Once Bitten

2011-04-01T07:54:00.002-04:00

Truly a noble creature.

Gorram dog bit me. It's my own fault; I was going to beat the crap out of him. I guess he and I are square. Well, maybe. He's done a service by reminding me what rage costs. At least he isn't holding a grudge. Neither am I, but he owes me $52 for prescription antibiotics.

* * * * *

FFF-55 Vol. XI. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Plea

2011-03-30T10:47:00.001-04:00

I'm sorry; you must have me confused with somebody who has their life together.

I know, I make a grand illusion of sanity and sobriety, and I appreciate you having noticed. I guess it's really my fault you had the wrong impression of me. Believe me when I say I'm not out to decieve anybody...well, hurt anybody, so I apologize if this realization comes as a disappointing surprise.

Really, the entire point of my facade is to trick myself into going out every day and trying to achieve a life of togetherness. If I really looked back at myself in my Mirror of Yresim and acknowledged what I saw, I probably wouldn't even get out of bed in the morning. But that's not good for the kids to see, and I desperately want them to grow up emotionally healthy, for them to lead "together" adult lives... so I have to put on the show.

Also, I have to stay employed. I'm not building wealth, or making a cache I'll be able to look forward to retiring on, or anything remotely similar, I just want to keep the lights on, and some Cheerios (or their generic equivalent, when necessary) in the cupboard. I've been lucky enough to have these resources, for the most part, for a good long while, so you must understand that maintaining this existence is also essential to the presentation I make to my family. I need to provide them with enough to keep up the lifestyle to which they've become accustomed, or it might alert them to the truth.

Finally, I'm trying to stay married. This part of the illusion is the biggest part of all. Please don't tell my wife I'm just pretending, that I'm really a hopeless mess. She thinks I'm a good man, and though I am trying to be, she has no idea how far off the mark I fall most days. She has no idea of the mess I truly am, of the emptiness inside, of the desperation to mean something to someone. I love her, and I don't want to lose her, even though I clearly don't deserve her. She loves me for what she thinks is the real me, but I know, and now you know too, that if she knew the depth of my inadequacy, if she could see through the membrane, she'd bolt like a thoroughbred in a thunderstorm, and take with her everything that has ever meant anything to me.

So will you do me a favor? Will you allow me to keep faking it in your presence? If you pretend not to know I'm no good, I'll act like I haven't realized you know the truth. This will allow us both act as civil people, at least until our business is finished. Then you can think of me as you like.

Thanks.

Proposal

2011-03-25T01:47:00.005-04:00

Add caption

I stressed over it for weeks, agonizing over the details. Finally, everything was in place.

I convinced her to rise with me for an early walk on the beach. I was nervous, but soon the sun broke the Maya Riviera horizon, and I knew it was time.

I got on one knee.

She said yes.
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. X. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

The Forest for the Trees

2011-03-20T22:17:00.000-04:00

2 March 2011

What kind of man am I?

Not the kind I thought I'd be. But not the kind I feared I'd be, either. I consider myself a coward--afraid to take hard steps toward being a better person--but I know I'm far less a coward now than I have been in years past. I have learned over and over that more regrets are generated by chances not taken than those taken. I have no idea how those things I've opted out of in life would have changed me, but I'm pretty clear that this path, the one without the risks I decided not to take, has become less spectacular than I imagined.

But what is that a comment on, the choices I made or the expectations I had? It's not hard to understand how one's choices affect the direction of one's life, not at my age, but it's very difficult to know whether my expectations were in line with the direction I was comfortable starting in, which also begs the question: were my skills and confidences suited, or even applied, to the goals I made?

Truth is I made no goals, not real ones anyway. I followed a motivated crowd right to the edge, but when they all took flight on wings well-prepared, I went right over the cliff. I relied heavily on positive words given me by mentors, but had no substantial understanding of their meaning. I'd only adopted those goals of my friends which sounded close enough to be within reach, but still lofty enough to impress my parents, and pretended to my teachers and counselors that I knew how to realize them. Because my method was twice-flawed, my end was twice-doomed.

Now, twenty years later, I'm so far along a path I barely know how to navigate I have no clear memory of what led me this way. I still have a token idea of who I was when I started, and what brought me to this place, but no real clarity and no real direction. When I think I get these ideas, I realize more often than not that I'm only seeing an old reflection of a situation that seems familiar, not anything real. What I think I've learned only has meaning in the moment. The most objective clues I have are the trail of breadcrumbs I've left, marking the way with scars of the people I've hurt or used over the years. It's a pitiful map that, when seen for what it truly is, reveals only the circular wanderings of someone who is hopelessly lost.

(unfinished)

Poem: To My Love

2011-03-18T22:31:00.003-04:00

6 January 2006

When I'm with you, I find
All the things in my mind
That would tear me apart cease to be.

When your smile comes my way
All my nights turn to day.
All the Joy in the world is for me.

When with you, Bliss wakes
And my fearless hands shake
Afraid that I'll say the wrong thing.

When your eyes meet mine
There is no other time
That I feel happiness dawning.

With you in the room
My mirthless heart blooms
All my world turns from darkness to light.

And when you have gone
I'm completely alone
My poor heart aches cold in the night.

Bereavement

2011-03-18T22:21:00.001-04:00

21 February 2006

Family is a mirror you keep covered. Relatives you never see, whether you'd choose to or not, do not know you. They remember the newborn, the toddler, the awkward teen. There are always a few from the wedding and baby showers, but still you're not a real person to them; after all those times are about being a couple or parent.

Changes you make, real changes, to your soul and to your life, go unnoticed, unless they make trouble. Big events like death or divorce are heard about and taken notice of like an accident on the highway. Feel bad, move on, and forget about it, but never take into consideration that someone else's life could be completely ruined, at least for the moment.

But my life is no one else's (this much I have been painfully aware of) and I have lived my life without serious regard to how most of these relatives have existed day to day. Why should I be so surprised to discover that they, too, have done the same?

Maybe this means I don't know who I am yet, to be so upset that when I walk into a room full of people who have supposedly known me all my life and find that they really know nothing about me. Of course there are lots of people I don't know, attached to people who were probably newborns or toddlers I can remember, but do not recognize now. And babies have been born that I might hear the names of, and people have married, and divorced, and died. And I feel bad and move on. And forget. Because the kids need to get their dinner, or there was a fight and bitterness lingers, because the kitchen needs picking up or the groceries need putting away. Because my life is happening right now, right in my face, and the people whose lives are ruined, even if only for that moment, and despite their status as 'family', are just other people, like so many faces I pass on the road during the commute every day.

The tragedy of it all is astounding. As children we all grew up together playing in Grandma's backyard, or sneaking out during a sleepover, or getting someone to buy us cigarettes. Now things like this are only distant memories, and the cousins you did them with are like characters in a book you read years ago. These things will never happen again, and the people you did them with are just other commuters, other homeowners, other people with kids you might pass in the store. No matter how fond those distant memories are, the things that make you who you are, the things that make you unique and interesting, will never be shared with or understood by anyone except...yourself.

Exceptions apply, but I do not speak in ideals here. That is for the Good One. The things that make ME unique will only ever be understood by ME. And now I've become bitter.

There will be another episode to pull the cover down, the main event as it were. I will make I am neatly groomed and my tie is pleasant to glance at, knowing that these are the only things people will see when they look at me and think of who I am. And then they'll go about their lives once more, remembering that the newborn I was, the carefree toddler I was, the pain-riddled teen I was, has grown into a man who has a nice haircut and seems to have turned out just fine.

It is selfish of me to think this is important; it is arrogant of me to even pass judgment on them for doing it.

Untitled Poem

2011-03-18T22:14:00.003-04:00

3 March 2006

When I sit quietly
My life opens up
Like so many pages of a book

The pages do not fit
From here to there
But I know they are all mine.

Some are boldly writ' upon
In brightly colored ink
While most are simply penciled in

Crossed out, erased or written over
Though some thoughts may be
None are ever truly changed, or forgotten

Though things of beauty all around
May be, they are never to be seen.
My self denial censors all true goodness.

down

2011-03-18T22:12:00.001-04:00

15 March 15 2006

Days like this I don't even know why I'm here.

Of course I know why I'm *here*, but I mean why I keep going the way I do. Why I stay in this spot. I can't remember why I'm supposed to feel good or happy, or when I think of "good" reasons, why they apply to me.

Today I am an empty shell.

Inner Child

2011-03-18T22:09:00.001-04:00

16 March 2006

Boy am I a project. Mind is blank but I feel like something is BANGING on the walls to get out. I know the screaming person in the closet. I know this terrified child.

I look in the mirror each morning and watch myself fall. I age, and I will look dignified, but I will still be a child. A small, scared face looks back at me every day. I have learned to love this child, but I know not how to bring him out, to heal him. I know his name, but his heart is a mystery.

Every day he tells me how he feels, and I know not how to listen. Though sometimes I allow him to react for me. Sometimes, it's easier, at least for the moment. Sometimes, I allow him to feel, because I do not know how.

He is a beautiful boy in a rust-colored knit sweater, with a lopsided smile, delicate cheekbones, an angled jaw, and thick blonde-brown hair. He smiles innocently and boldly and it is not a nice smile. But it is genuine. His eyes are eager to please, and eager to achieve. And for a while, he will do both. But it will cost him his innocence, his courage, his genuineness, his smile. It will cost him the ability to see what's before his eyes and name it. He will pay the rest of his life for what he has, and it will never be enough, and he'll never know why.

This boy is with me. He finally has someone to love him, even though I'm still figuring it all out. Gentleness, humor, love, and respect. And I, for one, will never leave him.

Hey Hey, My My

2011-03-18T22:03:00.001-04:00

The first "she" and the second "she" are different "she"s.
* * * * *

7 April 2006

"Rock and Roll will never die. That's what Neil says." He's right, dearie.

My oldest friend is in trouble and I can't do anything about it. I can't support her because I can barely support myself and my own. I can't see her because she lives in a blue-collar armpit city, which I also love, but is far away. I can't hug her and tell her how I miss her wit, her humor, her endless compassion.

She is a brilliant, beautiful, proud woman whom I have never properly known. We meet in tangents of our lives during special events, then we once again part ways. Her life and her passions are a mystery to me, as mine no doubt are to her. My relationship with this friend is a perfect example of how many of my friendships conduct themselves. Fortunately, I am intimately connected with this woman, and she will not fade away like others have. Still, although she is always somewhere on this earth, and I take great comfort in that, she will not always be here, and our time together should be appreciated. I need to show my love more.

* *
She was adamant last night, and I reluctantly accepted. I regret this. Despite my body's participation, my head was somewhere else. It was behind the wall. What shape would I be if I were 2-dimensional? Circular (but not a perfectly round one; more like the one Spongebob drew after Squidward berated him in art class), with my heart somewhere in the center, separatred from everyone else. My life cycle keeps on repeating, always following the same familiar contours. I occasionally hammer out a new niche, but then I come to rely on it so much that it becomes part of the same daily business. So that's where I was. And she said she had a good time, and that's great, I really truly am happy about that part, but I never got mine. I never got mine.

Out of the blue and into the black.

I have so many thoughts to uncollect and drudgingly express to no one. An hundred indecisions, Visions and revisions. What a train wreck. I may be a bit fustian but my point stands: I have not taken care of myself these last several days, and I have not taken the time to properly address it.

I'm not being completely fair. I did start something I needed to do. I did make that appointment. I have kept the kitchen counter clean, and the office. Posts are up to date. I am not a train wreck. But it's just me that isn't. Outside my circle, my perception fades. Maybe "wreck" is just the wrong word.

I read about Hawking's brane theory last night. I wonder how much work I really have to do. I thought I knew once; I didn't really, but I could get my head around the kinds of things I needed to accomplish, and had faith that once I did them, I'd be ready for what's next...but now I can't say either is the case. Maybe it's the antibiotics. On top of heartburn and that yucky taste in my mouth, I have felt energetically odd since I started on them. Maybe it was the bite, though I doubt it because trust was retored almost immediately. Maybe it's sex, but again I doubt this because I've learned to cope well without jeopardizing outside issues. But I always suspect sex anyway, because it's a natural enemy.

I am rambling with thoughts of Prufock, monomer injections, and strawberry summers. I am not safe from myself today. A pot of tea, flannel pants, Harry Potter, and my fuzzy blanket are a perfect prescription, with intermittent naps and ball-tossings with the dog. I should have taken the rain as my first clue. Take two o' dese and call me in da mo'nin.

On Nerdery

2011-03-18T21:52:00.003-04:00

This was very obviously written before it was cool, even desirable, to be a nerd...let alone proudly label yourself one.
* * * * *
13 April 2006

This morning at the gas station I saw someone who caught my eye. It was a young man, very light build, and dressed too conservatively. He had shorter hair and glasses. He was a classic nerd*. And right then I recognized myself, ten, maybe five years ago. And today. I watched him closely, and noticed something very important. It wasn't his appearance that made him so...well, nerdy. It was his awkwardness, his stance, the way he carried himself and looked nervously around, wondering who may be near him, judging. I felt this way only...hell, I still feel this way. But I was also aware of the vast physical difference between myself now and myself then. I am 40 pounds heavier than I was ten years ago (only four inches bigger around the waist), and still considered light/average build. I don't necessarily wear my hair any different, I'm still wearing glasses, and still have no sense of fashion, but I see myself very differently, more confidently, now than I did then. More than that person at the gas station.

* [For the record, I have always hated the word "nerd". I was called that name incessantly from grade 6 on, and vehemently defend anyone else to whom the moniker is assigned. I'm not condoning the use of the word at all, but I have to start with some frame of reference. These thoughts have to come out.]

There have been years of experiences to account for this change of self-opinion. I have earned my place in my self-designed social template. And I know that my own standards for myself are still higher than those around me. So other people like me, think I'm funny, good looking, interesting, even sexy. How did I become this way?

I cannot quantify what the experiences were or did. I know there has been heartbreak, betrayal, denial, sacrifice, and exploration. I know that I have been on my knees begging for understanding and forgiveness. I know that I would never live the last 10 years of my life the same way again, ever. Maybe the gas station guy will go through that, too. The way his eyes searched for approval in the faces of others, the way his half smile waited for a positive response. I know these eyes and that smile. I still cast them around, waiting for others to answer. And I still close up when I perceive that they will not approve. I retract the smile I just offered, wishing I'd never tried. Wishing I could just disappear. Some days, I am still just that nerdy, awkward young man, who does not know how to talk to other humans, how to act in public, how to like himself.

I'm going to ramble now, dear audience, so be prepared.

But I do like myself. That's the bottom line. That's what my dad always says in his three-quarter drunken fits, when he's still barely rational enough to put sentences together and hold his opinion at the same time. "The bottom line is..." and I catch myself using it at select times. Maybe just to prove to myself that something is true. Like because I heard it used in his context, I can justify what I don't quite believe by adding it as a tagline.

But I do like myself. It's not something I don't quite believe, it's a real truth. Of course there are days I don't, but they number few compared to my normal, and what I have believed to be healthy, state of mind. I am worth the effort to get to know. I am worth improving. I deserve the best. I have much to share with this world and my fellow humans, and I regularly try to do so. I am practical and decently intelligent, I'm compassionate and mostly humble. I enjoy the outdoors, fine arts, and a well-crafted wooden thing. I can install junction boxes and change oil, and also map out the rhyme scheme of a poem. I can recite Jabberwocky, Prufrock, and the first lines of Moby Dick and The Hobbit. Children and dogs like me, and I can communicate with both. I take decent care of myself physically. I am a good kisser and a generous lover.

None of these things are invented by me to make myself feel better; they are all truths I'd tell anyone, and verifiable by people I know. Yet why do I constantly shoot myself (my recovery, my success, my education, my productive days, etc) in the foot with doubt and/or self-destructive behavior? What is it that I fear? How can I be so critical of what I am not, when the list of things I am should be enough to make anyone happy?

A Message to My Male Coworkers

2011-03-18T21:36:00.001-04:00

Written long ago, but this message will never lose its relevance. (Edited for content.)
* * * * *

July 14th, 2006

Turns out they were right. Your mothers, sisters, wives and girlfriends all did know what they were talking about when they told you to put up the seat. Leaving your pee all over the place where someone else may have to sit (even you, imagine that) is nasty. NASTY. Even worse? Having to wipe up someone else's pee before placing your bare butt (up until then possibly the cleanest part of your body, provided you stayed dressed that day) on the seat of a communal toilet.

Big news: there's a urinal in the same room. On the off chance someone's using it when you walk in, and you can't wait, go right ahead and pee in the toilet. But don't be nasty: either prevent the mess or clean it up!

Guys, we all have to work together in the same building. Occasionally, we have to share the bathroom. Between two urinals and four toilets, there's plenty of capacity for everyone to do their business. Believe it or not, you aren't entitled to an easier bathroom experience than any of the the rest of us. Let's all take responsibility for our own business.

Thanks.

PS- Also, to all you gross individuals who don't wash their hands after peeing, I know who you are. You think you're alone because I don't make much noise behind the partition. But you're not. I recognize your shoes. Even you, Mr. Big Man Manager who sits near me and sneers at everyone with less experience and education than yourself...yes, you know who you are...you can wash your damn hands. Everone uses the same handle on their way out, and none of us (I'm wagering even you) want to get another man's germs and microscopic pee splatters on our hands on the way out. So find your way next to Godliness. Please. And don't make faces at me when I won't shake your hand; it's not me who's being rude.

Hope?

2011-03-18T21:10:00.001-04:00

No longer current news, but still very relevant thoughts.
* * * * *

6 October 2006

A few days ago I discovered I was only 5 degrees of separation from Emily Keyes, the 16 year old girl who was killed by the school shooter in Colorado last week.

This doesn't increase my reaction to the tragedy, or the reaction to any of the recent others, but it brings it closer to home. How soon will it be before someone I know personally has an experience like this? What if it happens to my family? What if it happens to me?

Millions of people have asked themselves that same question recently, and all have likely come to the same conclusion: I can do nothing to stop it.

As big a fan as I am of the idea that one person can change the world through positive energy and action, my ability to affect my fellow human beings is limited to those I can reach with my hands and, to some degree, my voice. But this certainly does not constitute control. If someone next to me on the bus kills everyone in a convenience store later that night over $20, I cannot blame myself.

This is a human plight. We have a need to take responsibility; we tell ourselves that a few kind words may have altered the mood or eased some pain, and XYZ tragedy could have been avoided. When we say this to ourselves...we are probably right in some cases. But we live in such fear that our personal bubble will pop or become polluted by contact with a stranger, or even with someone not so strange, that we talk ourselves out of reaching out. We are so afraid of each other that we dare not interfere. Or is it fear of exposure, and potential disapproval? Regardless of the reason, the result is the same: isolation and all its children: prejudice, fear, greed.

We all need safe places...physically, emotionally, etc., but wouldn't it be nice if we helped contribute a bit more? Jeez I'm starting to sound like John Lennon. (What, don't flatter myself? Fine...) But...just think about it a little. One day, it might all pay off, on that day when someone else decides the course of the rest of your days on this earth.

Addict

2011-03-18T20:59:00.001-04:00

This post may be deleted very soon.
* * * * *
20 October 2006

I am an addict. Call me whatever you want: criminal, freak, deviant, pervert, et cetera. Neither your opinion nor your label changes what I know I am.

Would you like to know what else I am/have been? An honor roll student, a scholarship recipient and graduate of one of the country's leading college prep schools, an award-winning author, a poet, a cadet and mid-ranking adult officer in a military auxiliary youth organization, a Sunday School teacher, and a scouting volunteer. I am a good, intelligent, passionate, creative, articulate, spiritual and self-aware man.

I haven't done these things to try to hide my dysfunction, but because I think they are the right things to do. My addiction alone doesn't disqualify me from any role I choose. I have crossed lines before, and broken laws, and hurt people (adults) to meet my needs in the wrong ways. I've been selfish and childish and decietful and destructive and all manner of ugly in the way I've handled my life and my connections with fellow humans. But...

Every day I get a new chance to be a different person. Most days I make good choices, some days not so much. I move on because there is only one alternative in this world. Every day ends, whether good or bad, and a new one starts right after it. Every action I take is a tangent of the whole curve of my life, and no single one can characterize it all. Recently I choose well more often than not, and of that I'm proud.

The Place I'm In

2011-03-18T20:52:00.002-04:00

31 October 2006

The place I'm in has strings being played with screeching tones. Ambient sounds are drowned by an otherwise silent player, callously demanding my attention through his craft. I try to be polite, but I'm not really interested, even though the melody is lovely.

The place I'm in has muted sounds. The world moves around me and I am simply carried by the water. Echoes of what might be interesting and alarming and touching reach my ears and are not picked up.

The place I'm in is filled with mediocre women. Though some might be called beautiful, my own perception is that of a faceless horde intent on drowning me in their wiles. I cannot close my eyes, but I still control my mind, at least for the moment.

The place I'm in is vast and lonely. It is an empty warehouse that has not been swept; remnants of former contents, both rich and valuable, apparent all around. But now in ruins.

The place I'm in has chest-high walls. I can see over and beyond when I dare to look, but this is not often. I put the walls there to protect myself, and now I cannot recall how I might venture through. Sometimes I tell myself it's cozy here, but what I'm really protecting myself from is a healthy fear of failure.

The place I'm in smells distantly of dust and roses, like an abandoned gazebo taken over by the garden. Wafts of sunny breeze are here, somewhere, but I can't ever catch one; they're too far away.

Broken

2011-03-18T13:04:00.002-04:00

There was no getting past the fact that the damn thing was broken, or that without it, I wouldn’t be able to get what I needed. I shoved it violently to the back of the workbench; delicate electronics and my microtool kit went everywhere. That’s when I heard my boss clear her throat behind me.
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. IX. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Letter to Dad

2011-03-18T10:51:00.000-04:00

This was supposed to be a 55, but turned out to be more like a 68 before it was even finished. I decided I didn't want to make it shorter; it deserves full expression.
* * * * *

Dear Dad,

Last night I dreamt we were hectically busy, and supposed to meet you somewhere, but couldn’t. We did our business, and I tried to think of the time, when all was settled, that I’d be able to apologize in person for ditching you. Then, outside the dreamscape, I realized I hadn’t seen you in a long, long time. Then I asked myself why. Then I remembered.

I miss you, Dad.

Love,
Son

Announcement

2011-03-11T12:40:00.002-05:00

When she said it, the universe stopped. The bottom dropped out from under the life I’d been building, we’d been building, for the last twenty years. My soul shuddered, and nothing else in the room existed—there were no sounds, no people chatting at tables, no waitresses in their smart white shirts. It was over.
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. VIII. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Parting

2011-03-05T22:36:00.001-05:00

The day they told us what was going to happen, I had no visible reaction. While everyone around me reeled in emotion, I was stoic, a model of tragic calm. It was only after, when the relatives had flown home and the house was empty and the mirrors all uncovered, that I began to weep.
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. VII. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.
Word Count Tool

Poem Excerpt

2011-02-25T09:10:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry
I'm too busy
Trying to control
The bleeding from
The exit wounds
Of the last few things you said
To respond with words that might
Appease you

If such words exist at all

Masterful

2011-02-24T17:10:00.001-05:00

Failing this bad is an art form; you should see some of my previous work. I’ve left wrecks they could write an article about in Time magazine, or that would make an episode of Entertainment Tonight. If people got paid for this stuff, I’d be a billionaire.

The method is simple: be hopelessly empty inside.

* * * * *

FFF-55 Vol. VI. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-man.

Memories

2011-02-18T16:22:00.003-05:00

This one time, when we were little, playing by the big tree, Danny poured dirt in my sister’s ear, and she got a earache, and had to go to the doctor, and themergency room, and Danny got in trouble, and groundeded. But I didn’t get in trouble, even if I did say to do it.
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. V.

Farewell Letter

2011-02-12T23:29:00.000-05:00

23 February 2009

Dear N---,

Before you leave our family for good, I want to let you know that, for all the good and bad times between us, you were a very important part of our family while you were here.

We both know why it had to end, but we'll remember it in our own ways. Maybe you'll never feel like your home was here; maybe you'll never really know what we were trying to do, or the kind of parents we wanted to be. Maybe you'll try to forget us, and maybe later you'll say you hate us for sending you home early. I can't change any of that.

Regardless of how you might feel about Mom and me, never ever forget the kids. They will never forget you, and you will always be their brother, no matter how old you all get or how far away you may be. They were not part of the problems we had, so if you have any bad feelings at all, don't blame them. They love you. Please love them back.

So now as you head back home, you'll have lots of time to think about what happened, and why things happened the way they did. I'm all done lecturing you on rules and telling the truth--don't worry. Nothing can change what's already happened.

But now you have a future to think of.

During your six months with our family, I think I've seen many parts of who you are. I've seen your soft, boyish side who likes cartoons and comic books. I've seen the way you get along with kids, and play with the dogs. I've seen how smart you are, when you really want to understand something. And I've seen what you are willing to sacrifice to get what you want.

Not all of these pieces make the whole person you are, but they are all parts of you. Not all of these pieces fit together well, either.

Soon you will be a man. I don't know what your culture teaches about manhood, but I'll tell you what I believe. Being a man means owning all the pieces of who you are. It means even if you don't understand a part of yourself, you don't pretend it isn't there, and you take responsibility for the things it makes you do, whether they're good or bad. It also means growing--seeing when something is bad, and learning what to do about it.

Every person has to go through this, man and woman. But it's especially important for a man. So many forces will tear you apart as you become an adult--sex, friends, career, family--and you will not be allowed to fail. Pay attention to how the world sees men--those who succeed, and those who don't. Don't think you will succeed all the time, because you won't. Don't fear failure--it will come whether you like it or not. How you deal with it will make the difference. Will you let your failures beat you? Will you stop trying to be better?

You should know that ignoring a failure or problem--pretending it doesn't exist--does not make it go away.

There is also a time in every man's life when he must realize that he is alone in the world, and no one else can be held responsible for his actions. You are near this time. Yes--you will always have people around you who will love you, and help you--but the longer you rely on them to make problems go away, or fix what went wrong, the longer it will take before you are truly a man.

I believe in you, N---. I know that you can succeed in life, if you really want to. I know you have what it takes to survive when others would fall. But you must know fully who you are, and accept every part of yourself, before that can happen.

I wish you all the best in life. Though today might not be the best day, it will end and better days will come. You will be in school very soon, doing things that will start a whole new life. You will be with friends again. And best of all you will be home, home with your family who loves you more than anything.

We will miss you, N---, all of us. Make the best of the lessons life gives you, keep rolling no matter what. Because I know that once you find the right direction, you will be unstoppable.

Sincerely,

(signed)

Untitled 55

2011-02-11T22:41:00.002-05:00

"Take it down, then," she mumbled. "I don't even care anymore."

John looked sidelong at the old photograph. It was a happy couple: a handsome man, now a stranger, and John's wife, who, while not much older than her photographed version, looked considerably more aged as she sat weeping at the table.

"Nevermind," he sighed.
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. IV.

The List

2011-02-11T19:52:00.005-05:00

I recently bought a new CD, my first in a long time: Rosanne Cash's The List.

The story behind this album is that, after graduating high school, Rosanne went on tour with her dad, the legendary Johnny Cash. In a conversation with him about music, he kept mentioning songs, to which Rosanne would reply, "I don't know that one." It happened frequently enough to disturb the Man in Black to the point of jotting a list he called "100 essential country songs." The songs on my new CD are thirteen items on that list.

In the liner notes (a main reason I still love the actual, physical media), Rosanne mentions the songs as part of her musical geneology: those songs which came before and helped shape the songs she'd discovered and loved in her own time. I have to admit: of the thirteen, only two of the songs are familiar to me, and all of them are somewhat obscure (in my limited musical experience) and not exactly my genre of choice. However, if Johnny Cash made the list, and Johnny's in *my* musical geneology, then obviously every song he thought of that day on the tour bus is also part of mine.

This led me to think of making my own list, and as I drove my daughter to her dance class last night, the need for this was confirmed. I put on the CD and had her listen to Heartache by the Numbers, a duet Rosanne sings with Elvis Costello. The song itself is catchy enough, and their version includes such a deep and rhythmic guitar solo I thought for sure the little girl in the back seat would find something to appreciate. When it was all over, she said to me, "What's so special about that?"

My dear girl, you are *so* missing out.

And so I present my list of 100 Essential Rock Songs. It isn't so much a list of songs essential to understanding or appreciating rock (I'm vastly underqualified to make such a list), but those songs which have helped define and shape the person I've become, at least up until now. They all have some special quality or meaning that I consider essential, and therefore all have at least a small connection to my Core.

Don't flame me; I know there are egregious, almost criminal omissions. About half the list popped spontaneously into my head during the remaining ten minutes of the car ride to dance class, and had to be reconstructed later. About a quarter of it came from a quick perusal of the musical library on my computer, and the rest came from sources outside my immediate reach, because, though I can certainly come up with 100 songs I think are amazing and awesome, I know there are songs that have shaped me which I own no copies of, and haven't heard in many years, so I went looking for some of those. Some of these are personal favorites, some are what I think is representative of the artist's work, and some are truly what I consider "essential" in one's musical exposure. Certainly each meets at least two of these criteria. On the obvious omissions, I've concluded that 100 are not enough, and even if it were, everyone's 100 would be different than everyone else's. I invite any of my three or so readers to make a comment and add their own full or partial lists.

I'm cheating a little; where multiple artists are listed, I imply that each artist's version of that song should be listened to, contrasted, and appreciated separately. With all due humility, here is my list:

1. (Anesthesia) Pulling Teeth, Metallica

2. Almost Cut My Hair, Crosby, Stills & Nash

3. Am I Evil, Metallica

4. And it Stoned Me, Van Morrison

5. Aqualung, Jethro Tull

6. As I Am, Dream Theater

7. Back in Black, AC/DC

8. Travelin Man+Beautiful Loser (live combo), Bob Seger

9. Black Magic Woman, Santana

10. Blue on Black, Kenny Wayne Shepherd Band

11. Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen

12. Born to Run, Bruce Springsteen

13. California Dreamin, Mamas and Papas

14. Cemetary Gates, Pantera

15. Come on in my Kitchen, Robert Johnson/Allman Bros. Band

16. Crazy Train, Ozzy Osbourne, Tribute to Randy Rhoades album

17. Cult of Personality, Living Colour

18. Descending, Black Crowes

19. Do You Feel Like We Do? (Live), Peter Frampton

20. Domino, Kiss

21. Dream On, Aerosmith

22. Eight Miles High, Byrds

23. Even Flow, Pearl Jam

24. Every Break You Take, Police

25. Everything is Broken, Dylan/R.L. Burnside/Kenny Wayne Shepherd Band

26. Fearless, Pink Floyd

27. Fight For Your Right (To Party), Beastie Boys

28. Fire And Rain, James Taylor

29. Flying High Again, Ozzy Osbourne/Tribute album

30. Folsom Prison Blues, Johnny Cash

31. Guitar Shop, Jeff Beck

32. Have You Ever Seen the Rain, Credence Clearwater Revival

33. Higher Ground, Stevie Wonder/Red Hot Chili Peppers

34. Holy Diver, Dio

35. Hotel California, Eagles

36. House of the Rising Sun, Animals

37. I Am the Highway, Audioslave

38. I Shall Be Released, Bob Dylan/The Band/Nina Simone

39. I Want A Little Sugar in My Bowl, Nina Simone

40. Imagine, John Lennon

41. Instinct Blues, White Stripes

42. Jenny Was a Friend of Mine, Killers

43. Kashmir, Led Zeppelin

44. Knocking on Heaven's Door, Bob Dylan/Guns N Roses

45. Life By the Drop, Stevie Ray Vaughn

46. Light My Fire (full length), The Doors

47. Lines in the Sand, Dream Theater [1,2]

48. Lithium, Nirvana

49. Little Wing, Jimi Hendrix/Stevie Ray Vaughn

50. Living' on a Prayer, Bon Jovi

51. Mama Told Me (Not to Come), Three Dog Night

52. Manda Una Señal, Maná

53. Master of Puppets, Metallica

54. Maybelline, Chuck Berry

55. Mellissa, Allman Bros. Band

56. More Than A Feeling, Boston

57. Nights in White Satin, Moody Blues

58. One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer, George Thorogood

59. Pack Up, Eliza Doolittle

60. Piece of My Heart, Janice Joplin

61. Purple Haze, Hendrix

62. Rainbow in the Dark, Dio

63. Rock This Town, Stray Cats

64. Roundabout, Yes

65. Runaway, Del Shannon

66. Sea of Heartbreak, Gibson/J. Cash/R. Cash-Springsteen

67. Slaves and Bulldozers, Soundgarden

68. Sledge Hammer, Peter Gabriel

69. Someone Saved My Life Tonight, Elton John

70. Something Beautiful, Lynn Miles

71. Sometimes, Ours

72. Somewhere Down A Lazy River, Robbie Robertson

73. Space Oddity, David Bowie

74. Star Spangled Banner, Jimi Hendrix

75. Strawberry Fields Forever, The Beatles

76. Sweet Baby James, James Taylor

77. Sweet Child O' Mine, Guns N Roses

78. Sweet Euphoria, Chris Cornell

79. Taxman, The Beatles/Stevie Ray Vaughn

80. That's Alright Mama, Elvis Presley

81. The Distance, Cake

82. The Flame, Cheap Trick

83. The Great Gig in the Sky, Pink Floyd

84. The Pretender, Jackson Brown

85. The Weight, The Band

86. Think About Your Troubles, Harry Nillson

87. Thinking Of You, A Perfect Circle

88. Trouble, Coldplay

89. Voodoo Child, Hendrix/Stevie Ray Vaughn

90. Walking Blues, Robert Johnson/R.L. Burnside (acoustic/electric)/Eric Clapton

91. Wander This World, Johnny Lang

92. War Pigs, Black Sabbath

93. Welcome to my Nightmare, Alice Cooper

94. When the Tigers Broke Free, Pink Floyd

95. Whipping Post (Live recommended, not required), Allman Bros. Band

96. White Moon, White Stripes

97. White Room, Cream

98. Yesterday, The Beatles

99. You Got It, Roy Orbison

100. You Know I'm No Good, Amy Winehouse

Much thanks to the posters on YouTube, and apologies for possibly crappy versions of otherwise amazing songs. I found what I could, knowing these links may all be dead someday anyway.

The Score

2011-02-07T11:16:00.004-05:00

It's a few days late; so sue me.
FFF-55 Vol. III.

* * * * *

They met in secret to settle a score. The rules were simple: no weapons, no friends, first to submit is the loser. Neither wanted to do it this way, but there seemed no other choice.

The date arrived and the men met. Not a punch was thrown.

They left the bar hours later, as brothers.

On Manhood

2011-02-03T13:12:00.002-05:00

Here is what I am: a man.

These simple three letters define a conflicting myriad of roles and responsibilities, of strengths and weaknesses, of truths and lies, of affirmations and contradictions. I cannot hope to elaborate on enough of these in a single entry to describe the full extent of a man's burdens, but I hope to explore enough of the surface of this vast sea to better understand and explain myself, if only a little.

By nature, all humans are conflicted. C.S. Lewis wrote (from the perspective of an experienced demon tutoring a novice in the ways of harvesting souls),

"Humans are amphibians—half spirit and half animal....a revolting hybrid... As spirits they belong to the eternal world, but as animals they inhabit time. This means that while their spirit can be directed to an eternal object, their bodies, passions, and imaginations are in continual change, for to be in time means to change."

Though I haven't yet finished the book, what Screwtape undoubtedly omitted from his letters is the fact that, among humans, men in particular are affected by a potent mix of social and biological pressures and expectations. I am sure that, armed with this information, and pertinent details, any of our own Wormwoods have a solid chance at tempting us away from our intended paths. I know mine has on thousands of occasions. It's something I struggle with every day. I've written a little on this before.

(I know that women are perhaps torn by a different, maybe even more potent, mix of pressures and expectations, but being male, I must leave that for others to explore.)

Skirtchasers
To be sure, men have gained a certain reputation in most (all?) of the cultures that have populated the earth characterized by their especial weaknesses, in particular their vulnerability to Lust. It's no use denying it, even though most polite adults do every day. No matter how elevated a society, or a man's role in that society, as soon as he falls victim to this vulnerability, everyone acts like it was inevitable, or praises him on his former chastity, but alas, now he's just like all the rest. Such a pity. So long as he is born with the typical cocktail of biochemical influences, no level of social upbringing or education can save a man from this, and no level of respect or status or social rank will excuse him once he falters. This is in the news every single day, and no adult that I know, of any gender, can claim to have been unaffected by this (negatively in every case) at some point (or several points) in their lives.

Breadwinners
Another burden unique to men is their expectation to provide. Now, I am a firm believer that our bodies and brains were designed to make this easier for us than for women, at least when this involved defending a village from aggressors or killing next week's main course. To an extent, we are still at this stage. Most of the world's military forces are male, and while a person of any gender can become educated and employed sufficiently to support a family, in some cases abundantly so, men have been given a characteristic motivation to do so, and the complementary capacity to beat themselves up when they perceive that they're failing. Society is no less forgiving. It's no secret that a man who is not the breadwinner of his family must distinguish himself in extraordinary ways to be respected as much as men who are. Nor is it a secret that women who take this role in two-adult households are often be stereotyped as agressive. This is magnified when the household includes children.

Men are judged on their ability to meet the expectation to provide, in some cases harshly, by both women and other men, particularly those who are seen/see themselves as better providers than the subject of their disdain. Traditional views sometimes go so far as to bestow special distinction to those who can (or cannot) meet this expectation to a great degree, or despite uncommon challenges. Where I come from, for example, men who really screw this up even get titles such as "deadbeat" and "loser" which enhance the perception that, again, nobody was surprised at that man's failure. The worst judges against this imposed standard are the men themselves. Many men who cannot meet a certain, internally and externally defined, level of success as providers often fall victim to their vices, such as addiction and gluttony, which of course leads to other personal and social failures. No amount of effort to provide, even for himself alone, is worth anything to a man unless it meets or exceeds this minimum level. Unfortunately for many, the resources a man has to meet that level can sometimes be out of his reach; sometimes the very cause of denial of resources to a man is his inability to meet other social expectations.

Suffer in Silence
A man is expected to carry his own weight, and not only be able, but willing, to carry the weight of others. He is expected to do so without complaining, at least publicly. Hiding one's emotions, indeed, feigning indifference or agressive passion, is viewed as a strength. A man who does not meet this expectation is given many labels that are not suited for polite discussion, but everyone uses on occasion. We are given countless examples against which to measure the men around us--cowboys and athletes and magnates and soldiers (who says the modern hero is dead?)--and as men, are we constantly comparing ourselves to others. Though a mark of maturity is the tendency not to indulge in such self-defeating behavior (there is always another man nearby who trumps us in one way or another, so losing a one-on-one comparison is inevitable), we still do so quietly, privately, because we know the people around us are doing the same thing.

To meet these many challenges, to succeed in being 'manly,' a man is rewarded with society's admission into a fraternity of common nobles who are all allowed, for the moment, to make the statement: I am a Good Man. To fail to meet those challenges, even a little, relegates a man to a lower level of acceptance, depending on how grossly he falls short. It's usually acceptance of some kind, yes, but the kind that make everyone smile politely then turn away in disgust. Society wants us to make the grade, but looks at us when we fail like a coach looks at a player who's made a game-killing mistake. "No fraternity for you, but we really didn't expect anything different. Try again later...but for now get out of my face."

I am not above any of these influences myself. Indeed, most of my ability to explore and discuss them comes from suffering numerous failures, and my conclusions on how to either hide the things about me perceived as weaknesses or enhance (or feign) development of those things considered strengths. I have even discussed some of this with my own growing boys, not necessarily because I have these expectations of them (though some of them I do), but because I don't want them to be confused (or, God forbid, humiliated) when they realize the world around them does.

The deepest truth here is that all these criteria, all these definitions, of how a man is ultimately seen by society, and sees himself, come from my own personal expectations of myself. I am plagued by Lust. I pressure myself to provide materially and emotionally for my family. I ignore or deny most of the pains endured along the way. I fear judgement, especially by those I love, especially from other men, whether they are important in my life or strangers. Maybe I'm not as mature as I ought to be; I certainly have reason to fear. I fail in one aspect or another at being the Man I want to be nearly every day, and I don't want anyone to know it. I know the nature of love is acceptance, but because I am a man my programming overrides much of my willingness to show my True Self to those around me, despite their claims that it won't affect how they view me as a person, as a partner, as a father. And because I am human, I am imperfect: I make mistakes and don't want anyone to know about it.

But my humanity is no excuse, not when Society is the Judge.

My Village

2011-01-31T12:08:00.002-05:00

My village is beautiful. Small and fragile, it lies in a valley lush and fertile. It is filled with color and song and laughter. It has no great history or heraldry, but it is built on plain ideals and and modest hopes for prosperity, though the steeple in the village square can be seen for miles by anyone who knows where to look. All who see it know this village is a place of uncommon nobility.

My village is rich. The population is gentle and simple, and look past their lack of wealth in favor of treasures within. Those from other villages may often scoff at my own citizens, because of what they don't have, or how they spend their free time, or who they choose to invite within the gates, or how they act when they are unseen, among themselves, but this does not matter. The people in my village know and love and accept each other as-is.

My village is imperfect. Despite the altruism of the day, the night is occasionally characterized by crimes both petty and horrific. It causes pain, to be sure. Not every crime is immediately apparent. The village is not without its dark secrets. What makes the village unique is that every perpetrator regrets his crimes as soon as they are committed. It's true that the people you hurt the most are the people you love.

My village is imperiled. Whether from those who threaten subtly from within, or malicious warlords without, or natural disasters, at any time the peace and beauty enjoyed by the citizens can be violently snatched away. Though it has weathered destruction before, the barricades built to protect it from this thing or that erode too quickly. All that will hold it together if the unthinkable happens are the bonds between the people therein.

Pray for my village, and I will pray for yours, and we may yet survive this life. SCWA

The General's Campaign

2011-01-29T01:05:00.002-05:00

‘Twas another successful campaign. The General sat atop a hill and surveyed the landscape. Before him, countless white tents filled with men who knew not the worthlessness of their lives. Behind him, burning paths of destruction, each dotted with bloodied, uniformed corpses surrounding a single, beautiful victim. Holding back bitter tears, he turned away.

“Poo-tee-weet?”
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. II.

To Live Is to Die

2011-01-28T09:31:00.001-05:00

When a man lies he murders
Some part of the world
These are the pale deaths
Which men miscall their lives
All this I cannot bear
To witness any longer
Cannot the kingdom of salvation
Take me home

(Metallica/Paul Gerhardt)

Tragedy

2011-01-20T22:12:00.002-05:00

My attempt at a "flash fiction Friday" post: tell a story in exactly fifty-five words. More here. Enjoy, if you can.
FFF-55 Vol. I.

* * * * *
What happened was tragic, to be sure. And though she pretended outwardly to be unfazed, she wore her trauma like a spiny armor, preventing anyone from coming near her vulnerabilities ever again. Bitterness wound its way about her heart and head like a serpent. In the end, her distance from us was the real tragedy.

Square One

2011-01-18T09:55:00.001-05:00

13 August 2010 (Unfinished)

Well, here we are again. I'm making another run at finishing my education.

For the record, the primary reason I'm doing this isn't for the betterment of my self, my family, or my career. I'm doing this because, year after year, I stubbornly put something related to a degree in my annual objectives at work. And, year after year, I fail to meet that particular objective. I've now run out of viable excuses that will hold off the suspicions of not taking my job seriously enough for Salt Mine, Inc. to keep investing my annual salary. It's time to move.

Of course (for the record), I know the potential benefits of betterment for my self, family, career, etc. Sort of. I know them the way I know the contents of a book for which I've read summaries, or seen a movie version, or read the dust jacket over and over. I know what the book is about, who the main characters are, the plot, etc, but I still can't say I've read the book, and I'm missing all the intricacies and details which are truly essential to understanding it. It's the same with the benefits of finishing my degree. I don't really know them because, well, I haven't taken this step yet.

Not that I haven't tried. At the age when I was supposed to be finishing school, I was foolishly trying to work full time also, mostly because I had no idea how financial aid was supposed to work and neither did my parents. Bless them, they gave me the benefit of the doubt that I knew what I was supposed to be doing. And why shouldn't I? I'd just graduated from a prestigious college-prep boarding school. Also, I was tough, a real man finally stepping into the world. Unfinished, yes, but ready to grow and accept my role in life, whatever it may be, however unprepared I was for it.

The truth is that I had a wondrous ruse set up around myself. I was building/living the life I thought I was supposed to have at that point, not knowing the first step in how to get there for real. While most of my friends were off at some university (all but one person in my graduating class went to college right away, and that one guy had a law degree and had built and sold at least one financial firm in NYC by our ten year reunion), I believed I was experiencing 'real life' at 'ground level.' I considered most of my high school classmates pretentious, and wanted no part in how they saw the world. And though I fantasized about driving fancy cars and being able to buy expensive electronic things, those were really just fantasies, the way people imagine maybe they'll win the lottery one day. In truth, I didn't have any real interest in rising above the means and lifestyle to which I became accustomed in my parents' house. I was settled on a long, solid middle-class, blue collar life.

Maybe that's true. It's what I think being honest with myself means now. Another part of being honest with myself is saying that I was absolutely scared to death to step outside that box. Forget not knowing how to do it, I had no idea what was beyond those finite borders except a swirling vortex I wouldn't recognize and couldn't navigate. I knew other people had more things, went more places, spent more money, smiled and laughed more often... but I didn't know why, and I certainly didn't ascribe any of these things to their life experiences or education or income. The real truth is I was solidly, staunchly ignorant of what an adult life entailed. It's embarrassing to think it in such plain terms now.

And then, life happened to me. Between working 40 hours a week, and carrying 12 credit hours, I eventually was kicked out of the College of Engineering because I couldn't hold the minimum GPA and couldn't pass Calculus II. But I still had that 40 hour/week job, and I was in a relationship with an awesome girl who really had her life together, and I supposed that maybe I just needed to take a break. A tiny voice inside me told me then that if I stopped enrolling, semester after failing semester, I'd never go back. It was mostly right.

I know now that maybe the years following my academic charlie foxtrot were necessary to get myself together. At that point in my life, I'd spent all my 20 years building an impenetrable wall around myself. I grew up in an addictive home, watching my mother be emotionally and sometimes physically abused, and watching my father exist as a functional drunk. Our house was a terrible, dysfunctional drama made rich with beautiful hints of the real people my parents were under their codependent and addictive personalities. Needless to day, even in my twenties, I had a lot of emotional growing up to do. It didn't help that I tried doing it as a married man. But thanks to so many, many people and things, I started to uncover the festering state of my emotions, I started healing. I started to see that, not only could I really become the man I imagined I'd be, or that I could start to make real choices along the way, but that I could exceed my own expectations. That I should exceed them.

I gave myself permission to be happy and successful. It's a journey I'm still on, and a struggle I still put myself through, but I wonder what my life would be like if I'd been stubborn (or smart) enough to finish school way back then, get my Bachelor's degree and a good job, get married and have a family, and all the rest without actually discovering and starting to solve my emotional problems. Would I be having this same conversation with myself, but from the other side of the table? I will never know. Another very important lesson I have learned throughout this process is that I only get one chance at every day, and when it's gone, or when 100 or 1000 of them are gone, they're gone for good.

But now, here I am, back at square one, responsible for educating myself in order to fulfill a promise I should have made to myself twenty years ago. That promise wouldn't involve any wives or children or career plans, but if kept would more than satisfy any new responsibilities I may have to the aforementioned. This new attempt, forced upon me by my self-inflicted job objectives, will be my third and smallest attempt. I am not looking at degree programs or minimum requirements or planning graduation dates, I'm just looking for a math class.

That's right, a community college math class to not only get my feet wet but refresh so many of the skills I'll need to pass technical and science-y courses required for the eventually planned degree degree and graduation. It's appalling to me that I'm really no different than any of my graduate-degree holding coworkers in that I've forgotten how to take derivatives and integrate the area under a curve, but unlike them I'll be asked to re-learn these skills and re-prove proficiency. And that's just the math. Once this baby step is taken, I need to begin again at the point where my previous two attempts left off.

So I've started this process of learning how to get back into school. I'm looking at course catalogs and tuition and fee schedules. I'm reading up on financial aid. I have to contact my old institutions to get transcripts, work with my company on reimbursement, and make appointments with counselors. Most of this will have to be done on my own time. I don't even have time to cut the grass each week.

Not only is this process arduous and inconvenient, it's scary as hell. I'm finding the more I understand needs to be done, the more terrified I become. And it's humbling. The thought that I, at this age, not only have to go through this crap, but am having difficulty understanding it, is making me way less than happy. As I look at each website and print out papers and forms, I find myself hiding them from view because I don't really want people to know what I'm doing, let alone ask questions. I know this is for my betterment, etc., but so far this is proving to be one of the most difficult things I may have to do this year.

Beforethoughts: On the Road...Again

2011-01-17T08:51:00.002-05:00

10 January, 2011

Once more I'm picking up the baton and trying to finish this race. My head is a fog of mixed feelings.

You see, what I've done is get myself a math course at the community college. Math, specifically Calculus II, was my nemesis in my First Attempt at Big University. The math program at BU was notorious for "weeding out" the less successful engineering students (my major at the time). I came in with a strong high school math background and went right into Calculus I. I passed, but with a grade typical of that time in my life, characterized more by my family and personal dramas than the traditional college experience. I went into the next course, Calculus II, and failed miserably. Four times.

I took as many gen ed courses as I could in the meantime, and everything in my curriculum that didn't have Calc II as a prereq. After two years, I'd run out of money and, more importantly, gumption. I guess I was a pretty classic college dropout. I knew it wasn't uncommon, and I was still more accomplished than many of the people I was working with, so didn't feel too awful about it. I began to focus on building the life I had.

That part of my life is still progressing; it constitutes what has been and will be the core of my time on this Earth: personal discovery, healing, family, career. I am proud of what I have, both in the sense of who I've become (so far), and what I've managed to 'collect' along the way. My internal trophy case is admirably full for a man my age, especially in non-material accomplishments, but one shelf is almost completely empty. I've been keeping that space open for twenty years; it's time to earn something to put there.

I'm starting to get a little panicked and a lot philosophical about what it will mean to be back in school. On one hand, I'm going through the familiar embarrassment of needing to go back at all. I'm 20 years out of high school and I still haven't finished a degree. Also, the course is elementary level for the ultimate goal: a Bachelor of Science. I have five more math courses to take, and I'm not even sure taking them at community college will do any more than boost my confidence in the subject. And if Big University doesn't allow the transferred credits, I'll have to repeat the courses there before I move into core curriculum.

On the other hand, I'm excited to actually be on the path again. Some fortune cookie I had once said something like the worst false step you can take is no step at all. That the direction I've been moving for a really long time. The idleness started with discouragement, continued with a straw house of security on existing accomplishment and skill, and has since been perpetuated by fear of looking like a fool. To satisfy the people around me who try to get me moving, and also satisfy the parts of myself that know damn well they're right, I talk big, make token plans, and ultimately use whatever seems most valid at the time to excuse myself for not acting. Now, if I can get over that hump and get into a routine of progressive coursework, I may actually get myself a degree.

The prospect simultaneously excites and scares the hell out of me.

I have no idea how a degree will change things. (Well, I have some idea, professionally, but zilch in ever other aspect). I concluded a bunch of years ago that it wasn't fear of failure that held me back, but fear of success. Because success always comes at a price. I have a good (enough) thing going to live a decent, modest life as long as I don't plan too big and nothing terrible happens, like the economy crashing, and waves of nationwide unemployment for instance. The fact is, unless faced with a real threat of loss of security, making the extra effort and upsetting everyone's routines doesn't seem worth the short-term trouble, and the long-term is too far away to make sacrifices. What I concluded is that even if I woke up one morning with a (real) PhD on the wall, without having actually gone through the motions of earning it, I still would be afraid of change.

Why? I know much of it has to do with self-confidence. Much of me believes I already have more than I deserve [link], and labels my inaction as Humility. In other words, you keep to your place in life and be happy you have so much already. Other parts of me don't want to stick out, are afraid to ask for more, fear the inevitable questioning of even legitimately earned credentials. Most of the reasons are rediculous. I usually play the role of smart underachiever, a big fish in a little pond. I fear that when I move to the big pond, I'll be a pretty small fish--really nothing special at all.

I know better than to seriously believe any of these things are truth. I've been a professional for years, and done work impressive, and in some cases superior, to people around me with advanced education and experience in my field. There's nothing stopping me from making the connections necessary to move up in my career, and the older I get the more I realize I have not only the technical expertise, but also the common sense and the people skills. There's nothing stopping me except one thing.

My boss calls a degree a ticket to the dance. I've seen over and over again that this is true. Although sometimes I get a temporary guest pass, and sometimes people will step out to interact with me, it doesn't matter that I can waltz my ass off in the lobby, I'm simply not allowed in the ballroom.

I do know of one change that will happen when I finish a degree: a huge weight will be lifted off me. What kind of man will I be when I no longer live with the fear of being judged an imposter, a charlatan who pretends to have legitimate and valuable skills? What will it feel like, for a moment in my life, to feel like a success in the one way I have always felt like a failure?

I am determined to find out. On your mark...

For Posterity: Liberty Fleet Charter

2011-01-14T08:55:00.003-05:00

I found this rummaging through old things that used to be important to me. For anyone who wasn't directly involved in this particular phase of my life, it will be a terribly boring read. Best to use that "Next Blog" button up there.

*****

Mission Statement

Liberty Fleet is a free Star Trek play-by-email role playing game (PbEM RPG) that exists to provide a fun gaming atmosphere free from favoritism, prejudice, or bias for any reason. Participation is open to all able writers regardless of experience or talent, except those who demonstrate some malicious intent toward the Game or one of its writers.

Articles of the Fleet

I. The Liberty Fleet Council

A. Definition: Liberty Fleet shall be administered by the Libert Fleet Council, a small body of writers composed of the Game's creators and designated leaders. Ideally, the Council will be made up of an odd-number of individuals.

B. Responsibilities

1. The Liberty Fleet Council makes all decisions that affect the Game as a whole. The Council will also be the final authority on issues that affect more than one platform, but not the whole Game. Decisions are made on a majority vote, unless all Council members decide a unanimous vote is appropriate.

2. The Council will appoint the Commanding Officer (CO) of all platforms.

3. The Council has final authority over selection of Executive Officer (XO) candidates for all platforms.

a. When the XO candidate will serve under a CO that is a member of the Council, that member must abstain from the vote for XO selection for his/her platform.

b. If the XO candidate is a member of the Council, he/she must abstain from the vote, and may not participate in any debate or discussion during the selection process.

C. Membership

1. Council membership is voluntary. Any member may terminate his/her membership at any time, but is expected to give reasonable notice to the rest of the Council.

2. A Council member cannot be removed under reasonable circumstances without first being given ample opportunity to explain questionable or objectionable actions. Removal is by majority vote of remaining Council members.

3. A Council member who takes any hostile actions against the Game or one of its writers, or blatantly acts against the Mission Statement, may be removed from authority by remaining Council members immediately by unanimous vote.

4. If an opening occurs in the Council membership, remaining Council members will make invitations to fill it at their own discretion.

II. Platforms

A. Definition: A platform (sometimes called a "sim") is a fictional vessel, station, or other unit to which a unique group of characters is assigned. Each platform operates as an independent unit of Liberty Fleet within established regulations set by the Liberty Fleet Council.

B. Crew: Each platform will be made up of a group of writers collectively called a crew. The crew can be broken down into three types of characters:

1. Command Staff: Each platform will have command staff made up of a Commanding Officer (CO) character and an Executive or First Officer (XO) character.

a. Commanding Officer (CO): The CO is the responsible for the platform as a whole, and is the platform crew's representative to the Council.

b. Executive Officer (XO): The XO is responsible for the platform's crew as a single unit, and is the crew's laison to the CO.

c. The CO and XO may not be written by the same writer.

2. Department Heads

a. Depending on the platform, the crew will be divided into one or more job-based departments, each having a leader called a Department Head.

b. Department heads report to the XO, are responsible for the crew in their departments, and act as a laison between the XO and their crew.

c. If a department has no real Department Head, its crew report directly to the XO.

3. Crew/Staff Writers: These constitute the main body of writers in the Game.

4. Although the positions described are held by characters, writers of the command staff and department head characters hold real and enforcible responsibilities and authority, within established regulations set by the Liberty Fleet Council.

III. Writers and Characters

A. Writers

1. The Game's collection of writers are understood to be the backbone of the Game, and are therefore treated with the utmost respect, keeping in mind that no person is to be treated any differently than any other person.

2. Special arrangements to develop and/or mentor certain writers may be made from time to time, at the discretion of that writer's command staff or department head.

3. Occasionally writers will be recognized for unique achievements and/or contributions to the Game.

B. Characters

1. Writers participate in the Game by means of their characters, fictional people invented by the writers and assigned to a platform that are involved in the various storylines.

2. It is understood that characters are not real people and will not be treated as such. A definite separation between writers and their characters should be recognized.

C. In the case of platform CO and XO, the writers of the characters in these positions hold legitimate authority over the writers on their platforms, and have a final say over the rank, position, and transfer of the associated characters. Only the Liberty Fleet Council can override this authority.

IV. Conflict Impartiality: While the Liberty Fleet Council and its appointed moderators strive for total fairness, in the event of a conflict involving one of the Game's creators, Council members, or command staff, it should be understood that, due to personal relationships between the aforementioned parties, both preexisting and formed in the course of gameplay, no purely impartial conclusion can be reached.
V. Amendments: The Liberty Fleet Charter may be changed in whole or part by amendments to provide for varying circumstances as they arise, and to enable Liberty Fleet to adapt as necessary.

Adopted this 2^nd day February, 2006, by the current members of the Liberty Fleet Council:

N.S.

L.S.

B.D.

Self Preservation

2011-01-06T12:50:00.004-05:00

A person I love is going through an identity crisis. My texted response was as thoughtful as anyone can get in two 180-character blocks, but I still don't think that's near enough to either encourage her or express thoughts on my own identity crises.

Evidence of such a crisis usually presents itself in ways that are several degrees of cause-effect away from any actual deviation from True Self. Life happens, you make changes. Assuming you know yourself at time zero (who you are, what you enjoy, how to get where you want to be in life, and making progress toward that goal), everything that happens along the course of said progress requires a re-evaluation, and subsequent re-definition. Any list of major life events that apply to most adults old enough to know what I'm talking about will include things like leaving the parental home, educating oneself (or failure to do so), learning how to gain and lose friends, learning how to gain and lose partners, choosing a career, buying a home, getting married, and having a family. That awesome twenty year old you used to be, who had the whole world in his/her hands and could go anywhere and be anything, isn't around anymore. Now you've got responsibilities to provide for and expectations to meet, maybe to more than just yourself, and if any of the decisions that led to those responsibilities and expectations were anything but 100% satisfying, you've made a course correction away from the Goal, and you usually don't even realize it until you see how far away you've moved.

A ship navigating even one degree off course will not only completely miss its intended destination, but find itself in completely unfamiliar territory, if it travels that way long enough or fast enough. And by the time the captain realizes the mistake, the further he's travelled along the wrong course, the larger the correction necessary. Life is the same way, except you can't turn around and go back to where you made the wrong turn.

There's no way to get back to time zero, no way to put a hand on the wheel before you made that first bad choice, or the choice that was good for the time but ultimately didn't pan out the way you thought (or hoped) it would. (Besides, do you really think you'd still like the same things and people now that you did when you were twenty?) Now, you have to deal with the "who" and "what" that you currently are, whether you like that person or not. True, journals, photographs, yearbooks, and old friends are invaluable resources in researching that lost Self, but lamentation is futile, and usually discouraging enough to shame away all the newly realized thoughts of self-realized disappointment. Get back to your life, you'll say to yourself, you're doing fine with what you have, you can't afford to make changes now. And so you do. Until the next time you're slapped in the face with a reminder that life is not the way you want it to be. It's hard to remember that, even if you think your current self isn't worth the trouble it would take to change, the destination self IS.

So, can you afford not to make changes?

It's a question I've faced multiple times since my mid-twenties. I am still asking myself, in varying aspects, if something is the way I want it, and if the answer is "no," the next question is what am I going to do about it. This happens more often than not, and I usually don't have an answer to the second question right away. I have routinely asked this about my friendships, marriage, finances, job, mental and emotional health, and how I see my body. I tell the people around me who are old enough to question these things and understand them that I don't have to go to work every morning, I don't have to come home every night. Nothing is stopping me from getting in my car right now, withdrawing every dime I can get at an ATM, and driving until my car dies. Of course, that's not the plan (today). I know I have this choice, though, and infinitely more like it, and that alone is free-ing in itself. But despite all the things I don't like about myself and my life, I know that without all the things I'd sacrifice to make some of the drastic changes I've considered, I'd be even further behind than I am now.

I'm taking baby steps, and I know I'll really never stop, never reach an end point in this journey. Until my body gives up on me, that is. Maybe that's just the rationalization for my lack of progress thus far, but if it's what gets me started I really don't care. There will always be books to read and apologies to make, arguments to start because they were never finished, and people to whom I've never expressed the real love I have for them. The plan is that I'll get to a little of that stuff today, and if all goes well, I'll get another day to get a little further. And so on. And though there will be a hundred things that get in the way every one of those days, I know this is the only practical course I have, unless I want to get in the car and head to an ATM...

So to my dear loved one, I wish you all the best. You are not alone, nor shall you be at any part of the journey you want me around for. SCWA

On Fairness and Deserving

2011-01-03T16:08:00.002-05:00

Disclaimers:
1. I am not a pundit, an economist, a sociologist, an anthropologist, or a professional or student in the fields of history or ethics, nor do I have an in-depth understanding of how most non-American, non-Western societies of the world work. Don't read my words as if I'm pretending to be or have any such things.
2. You probably aren't (and don't) either, so if you think I'm off the mark, you probably should keep it to yourself, lest you either (a) make yourself look like a self-righteous tool, and/or (b) expose yourself to the criticism of the thousands of readers my blog has daily.
2b. Really, the blog has exactly 5 readers that I know of, but they'll still chew you up one side and down the other if you flame me, because they're my friends.
3. This entry is heavily fragmented and parenthesized, and was edited with minimal correction of the flow of thought with which it was written. Deal with it.
4. [standard blog disclaimer]

I had a little discussion with my kids in the car over the past weekend, in which I tried to explain a tenet of the world every parent is forced to eventually admit or vainly try to hide: life isn't fair. I elaborated by saying that most people (globally, anyway) have far less than they deserve, while a few people have a great deal more (in some cases, vastly so).

Which begs the question: is the concept of deserving anything even valid?

My desktop dictionary defines the word DESERVE to mean "to be worth of; merit." Dictionary.com goes a little further:

de·serve [dih-zurv] verb, -served, -serv·ing. –verb (used with object) 1. to merit, be qualified for, or have a claim to (reward, assistance, punishment, etc.) because of actions, qualities, or situation: to deserve exile; to deserve charity; a theory that deserves consideration. –verb (used without object) 2. to be worthy of, qualified for, or have a claim to reward, punishment, recompense, etc.: to reward him as he deserves; an idea deserving of study.For the purposes of this discussion, we'll be going with the first definition, "used with object."

We've already started the discussion at a basic level: a definition. For the moment, we'll keep it just that simple. My daughter, who is seven years old, understands what it means to deserve something as well as she'll ever need to. Indeed, what child does not occasionally exclaim to his/her parent "IT'S NOT FAIR!"? Kids do this because they've been taught by their environments that each person in a more or less equivalent position (siblings, in my example) has a right to expect more or less equivalent goods and services. This idea doesn't get any more complicated above the minor sibling level: it is universal in not only minivans and households, but workplaces, neighborhoods, governments, etc.

Of course, these environments in which kids learn that this is a reasonable expectation has, in almost every case, been falsely created and maintained by parents (you, me, them, and even our own). If my brother Johnny gets a piece of chocolate, I ought to get one too. If his is bigger than mine, I have a right to question it, and get justifiably upset if the heinous injustice isn't corrected. These are fundamental truths in society and are well understood by all humans under the age of, well, two hundred. Of course some societies, families, etc., have evolved to suppress this behaviour (bless them!), but those are definitely the exception as opposed to the rule, and so are not being considered for this discussion.

Even above the parent/child/family level, anyone who's grown up with this innate sense of justice intact thinks this is as natural as turning around to see someone who is behind you. As adults, the expectation is perpetuated by human management of almost every kind.

So how is it, then, that the world has turned into a place where a tiny fraction of the world's population controls such a huge portion of its resources?

(This is a rhetorical question for which I have no explanation. I'm sure, somewhere out there, there are political scientists and economists who could explain it to me, but that isn't the point. I suppose the statement of the question to begin with is merely my own voicing of "IT'S NOT FAIR!")

We regularly live and work in an adult world where the exploitation of inequities between this one and that one are accepted, perpetuated, and forgotten about. So why do we tell our children that, and even act ourselves as if, this isn't true? Because deep down, we know the kids are right. Aren't they?

Even the founders of the government of the greatest modern Democracy on the planet penned it into their charter document: "...all men are created equal..." Well, see there? All *men* are created equal. All white men that is. All white men above a certain age, who own a certain amount of property. Now we're getting into the answer to that rhetorical question... but again it's beside the point. The point is, somebody tried to make the statement generically true to a generically large extent.

But it can't be true.

This excerpt from the Declaration of Independence only speaks to the ideal we'd all like to believe: that when a person exits the womb (or before, based on other beliefs you may or may not have... I'm tangent-crazy here!), he or she is (more excerpts here) "endowed...with inalienable rights..." This is based on the assumption that every person has equal faculties and resources. That notion, of course, is absurd (but you can't tell a budding nation of colonists pissed off at King George III that, can you?)

Let me set you straight, now, on my own beliefs. What I've said so far is that no two people, as much as we'd like to believe otherwise, are alike in what they want, what they can do, or what they have available to do it with. If they were, we'd be like one of those utopian planets from a Star Trek episode. And that's just silly. When people make broad comments about being created equal and such, they are drawing a line of expectation to which everyone will be considered, even if a person's natural position in faculties and resources places them below that line. In such a case (theoretically), allowances are made to compensate for the difference. Even when theory doesn't provide (and when does it ever, when acting alone?), everyone acts as if everyone protected under Jefferson's masterpiece is the same. I understand and appreciate the intent here, as ignorant as the assumption is.

Let me also set you straight on this. Though I'm quoting the Declaration of Independence as evidence that the concept of "deserving" is universal, I'm not just talking about America or Americans, even though we/they do seem to embody the concept of entitlement quite well. Just as all children laugh when feeling joy no matter where or how they're raised, all people feel this inside them. Look at any revolution or civil war that's ever occured in any nation at any period in human history, and try to tell me otherwise.

It is my own personal belief that every person ought to be able to explore, and consequently pursue, whatever it is that makes him/her happy, so long as it doesn't hinder anyone else from doing the exact same thing. To an extent, this is largely the case, thousands of laws notwithstanding, both in the home of the brave and abroad. Who among us doesn't know people who see themselves as living below (or above) their standards, even if those standards seem an extreme of largess or poverty to others? I know men who makes ten times my salary and never seem to be satisfied with their lifestyle, and some who make less than a third who are happier than I think I've ever been. I'm willing to bet that whether or not a person thinks he/she is getting what he/she "deserves" corresponds more to how satisfied said person is with what he/she already has than how much money he/she makes, how much stuff he/she has, or his/her social position.

My crudely drawn conclusions here are that
(1) nobody really deserves anything,
(2) everybody has to make their own way in whatever life they've been given,
(3) real happiness is attainable almost irregardless of the life anyone's been given,
(4) a person's happiness depends more on that person's perspective than his/her abundance or lack thereof, and
(5) with the right attitude and resources, any person can change his/her surroundings sufficiently to gain the privelege of re-evaluating his/her own happiness.

As to the question of how one acquires the resources mentioned in conclusion 5, see the above rhetorical question earlier in the post. Live long and prosper.

Teacher Trouble

2010-12-09T11:52:00.006-05:00

I have once again the need to address my kid's teacher in a manner that resembles confrontation as little as possible. So far, it has been easy to be objective about the situation, considering that the Kid, the Wife, and the Teacher have thus far been the only people both involved in and knowledgeable of the situation. The last time I had to do this, I was not so objective.

A couple years ago, I wrote an email to a teacher which, while it accurately represented my feelings, I regretted sending as soon as I clicked the button. I knew that I should have said something, but I was sure I'd overdone it. I was right in so many ways. I found out that the email was received right before a pre-marital counseling session with the teacher, his fiancée, and his minister, and I put things in quite a negative spin for the poor man emotionally. Later during the week, both he and I were at a school function. I took the opportunity to speak to him about the thing, and we made nice.

What I realize in my perfect 20/20 hindsight is that both the nasty email and the making nice conversation were essential elements in the teacher/student and teacher/parent relationships. Also, I seemed to have made a solid impression on him that will never be forgotten, which, considering he is currently a teacher at the Kid's new school, may prove helpful. Hopefully, with this new situation, I can learn from my previous experience and repeat the lasting positive effects.

Now that the thing is long over and done with, I'm posting the email for posterity. Enjoy.

4 June 2008

Mr. H,

I am writing you out of concern for some of the things A has told me about his school year, in particular the emptying of his desk and backpack onto the classroom floor while he was out of the room, and his return to find his belongings in a pile which he was then required to sort through and clean up. Given the limited details I can glean from A's account, I will refrain from speculating on how many people were in the classroom when you did this and while he cleaned up, what condition his desk was in and whether or not he was warned it would be dumped, whether or not this is a common practice for your class and/or the school, and what conversations may have taken place between you and A regarding his organization before and after you did this. These things I will leave for you to explain. You should note that some of his music papers went missing after this, about a week before his orchestra concert. Also, his backpack is personal property, and should not have been subject to either your judgment of cleanliness or decision to empty onto the floor.

It's no secret A is not always an easy child to teach. He becomes easily complacent and can be lazy. He is forgetful, disorganized, and easily distracted. He is emotionally unpredictable. As his father, no one knows this better than I, and trust me when I say that no one has worked harder to curb these tendencies than I have. I was raised and attempt to raise my children on the simple approach that good work and diligence are worth more than shortcuts and excuses, and that once responsibility is accepted it is to be taken seriously.

A's struggle this year has been apparent to us all. In particular for us as parents, this has been a major concern for not only the emotional welfare of our son, but also of our finances as we seek professional help. There are many possible reasons for his behavior, as I have mentioned above, some that may be remedied professionally while others simply grown out of, but it is my very genuine feeling that incidents like this forced reorganization do not help. A's confidence and ability to work independently have regressed this school year. He is emotionally withdrawn, and is reluctant to discuss his school day and assignments.

We are now very concerned that he will find himself emotionally unprepared for fifth grade, which of course will only further the issues he has developed. Considering the conversations we have had with you and J.M regarding his inattention, late and missing assignments, and occasional disruptive behavior, I'm surprised you didn't feel the need to contact us if there were problems with his organization. Also please remember that you agreed at one point to provide me with a weekly summary of his assignments so that, together, we might be able to keep him better on task.

As his teacher, you must understand by now that A is far more than his faults, and his weekly PAW, and his crazy hair. He is a bright and sensitive boy who loves art and music, has a sharp wit and sense of humor, and has been given a great gift of empathy. For anyone to treat him in any way that might embarrass or belittle him is nothing short of bullying, which as I recall is strictly against District policy. While I understand you were probably doing what you thought best in your efforts to teach and guide our son, I can tell you assuredly that it had no constructive effect on A.

This has been a trying year for our family, especially the kids. We as parents have found ourselves in the unique and terrifying position of having to explain death and ethical/religious issues to our kids, the youngest of whom is only five. And as the school year is coming to a close, it seems there will be more work to do besides allowing A to take a breather before his final year at L--- P--- School. I realize it's too late to change the course of A's fourth grade year, but before it ends, I am asking that you make every effort to recognize more than his shortcomings, and that you think about the effect your actions might have on the developing mind of a nine year old boy before you decide what's best for him.

Regards,

etc.

Striving

2010-11-03T21:23:00.003-04:00

I once heard a woman describe her husband as the hardest working man she knows. I can't remember if it was in passing, over the radio, in person, or what, but I do remember, very vividly, that in that moment I thought it was the greatest possible compliment anyone (especially a woman) can bestow on a man. I decided right then that, if ever I was able, this is something I wanted people to say about me.

This was fairly long ago, and many things have happened since those days of being a new husband and green young man. I have not always been the man I envisioned that I'd become. In fact, there are very memorable occasions when I've been more like the men I loathed growing up. I suppose these realizations and self-disappointments are part of every man's maturation, and maybe every man takes them as hard as I have, but some days I feel like I'm at the bottom of the barrel as good men go.

I'm still disappointing myself, cheating myself out of what was in my school days an overly-celebrated potential. Maybe I still have that much potential; I'm inclined to think I may even have more (though with considerably less time to realize it.) Certainly I'm still bright, though over the years I've felt the keen edge of my mind dull, and watched my energy and awareness of the world around me shrink to the size of a two-story colonial. I know I have so much--I know so many men, much more successful than me by standard measures, would gladly trade places with me for one reason or another. But this only serves to remind me that, by not making myself the best man I'm capable of being, I'm failing not only myself, but now my beautiful, healthy family. And that makes me the worst kind of man there is.

I'm by far not the hardest working man I (and certainly not my wife) know, but maybe I can still strive for something just as good. To the people I love, I still want to be at the top of some list. Any list so long as I'm at the top. The lists I'm going for now are related more to caring, showing and teaching love, searching for inner peace, and providing a healthy and happy life for my family. But the more I think about it, the more I tend to believe that, the higher I get on all those lists, and all the other smaller ones I try to be on, the closer I will get to becoming that one thing I've always dreamed of being.

SCWA

Shards

2010-10-31T14:08:00.004-04:00

Prelude
I often view my life as many broken pieces of a whole and beautiful existence waiting to be found and put back together. Here are a few of them for consideration. For any of the three or so readers that may pass by, I will kindly reiterate my disclaimer here.

I. When I turned 18 or so, my mom gave me a mix tape for my birthday. My mom, you see, isn't a great communicator, but passed on her love of music to me, and so as a result, it is a medium we both use extensively to address and express our deepest feelings. All the songs on the tape had meaning, but among the most memorable was that tune by Lynyrd Skynrd called "Simple Man."

You don't need to be a hardcore fan of the band to get this song:

Mama told me when I was young

Come sit beside me, my only son

And listen closely to what I say

And if you do this it'll help you some sunny day

Oh, take your time don't live too fast

Troubles will come and they will pass

Go find a woman you'll find love

And don't forget son there is someone up above

And be a simple kind of man

Be something you love and understand

Baby be a simple kind of man

Oh, won't you do this for me son if you can?

Forget your lust for the rich man's gold

All that you need is in your soul

And you can do this, oh baby, if you try

All that I want for you my son is to be satisfied

And be a simple kind of man

Be something you love and understand

Baby be a simple kind of man

Oh, won't you do this for me son if you can? Oh yes, I will

Boy, don't you worry you'll find yourself

Follow your heart and nothing else

And you can do this, oh baby, if you try

All that I want for you my son is to be satisfied

And be a simple kind of man

Be something you love and understand

Baby be a simple kind of man

Oh, won't you do this for me son if you can?

Baby be a simple, be a simple man

Be something you love and understand

Baby be a simple kind of man

here

Obviously, a lot has happened in nearly 20 years since, but the message here is timeless. I'm still working nearly every day to follow this advice.

II. This morning, I had the fortunate experience of mixing up my weeks. It was not the fourth Sunday, and I was not on duty in the preschool Sunday school room, as I'd thought. So I sat in the actual church service. Imagine that.

Now, I've discussed in varying degrees my faith and spirituality. According to Doctrine, I'm a clumsy and crude believer at best, but it is not uncommon for the spiritual energy handed out word after word from the pastor, or note after note from the choir or organist, to overwhelm me. It is always difficult for me to comprehend this experience, and it is never easy to have in front of anyone who knows me better than in passing. This isn't the way one should feel attending the church they were married in, their children were baptised in, et cetera, but it's true.

Today's sermon was entitled, "The Melting of the Wicked Witch;" the scripture was the story of Zacchaeus. In short, Rev. K (an avid fan of much of the same fiction so beloved to me) told us how in a particular presence--a Great Presence--all the wickedness upon a person can be stripped away, revealing only that which we were intended to be. (The example in title is after the Wicked Witch is melted by Dorothy's accidental splash, all the soldiers suddenly were glad of her demise. The example in scripture is after Zacchaeus was in the presence of Jesus, offered half his fortune to charity and to recompense those he'd cheated fourfold.)

III. There as been a great underground upheaval in my daily existence. Not a great tragedy, not a grand betrayal, not a life-changing family event... but something massively significant just the same. A part of me was called into question, and because that part sees so little daylight to begin with, its presentation in the glare of interrogation made everyone uncomfortable, and therefore suspicious. As a result, whispers turned to grumbles, and trepidation turned to tears. I learned a long time ago that the best way to save face is the keep the lower half of it shut. So I stopped expressing the questioned part, and, consequently, squelched an important piece of who I am. I am forced into this position until I can express this piece in a manner that is easily understood and survives the scrutiny of public examination. I am very afraid that if it takes too long to figure this out, this piece will again be driven underground, and the parts of my soul that depend on that spiritual and emotional nutrition it provides will fade and darken. And then nothing will have been solved.

IV. Inside me is a Core Being. While it has many complexities, it is essentially a simple Being, created with a Divine Purpose, grown and nurtured with all the Good I've encountered, tempered and taught patience with all the Bad. Everything I do and feel originates from this.

The problem is that in the course of my days, I've built complex filters and structures along and on top of this Core Being. Some have been meant to tweak or modify the experience others have of who and what this Being is, while others are meant to protect the Being from adverse emotional and spiritual surroundings.

The problem this creates is that I've compromised myself. In shielding others from those things I am afraid to show and share (or don't show/share well), I deprive those people of my True Self. In shielding myself from the negativity handed freely from many of the people I surround myself with, I dilute my awareness of my True Self and deprive myself of the ability to share it with people who are willing to accept it as-is.

Obviously, living in a society requires some such filters and protocols. Keeping a job, living in a neighborhood, raising children, and working a marriage all have different requirements of this sort. However, what I've missed, and what I think most people have missed, is that a person's job, friends, neighborhood, and family should all reflect who and what a person really is on the inside, as opposed to a person becoming defined by all those things. In truth, I don't think anyone can be truly defined by the life he lives publicly, though he can delude himself and others into thinking that is the case, and therefore seem happy and content.

What I am in need of (indeed, maybe what we all are in need of) is a Great Presence in which to immerse ourselves, and thereby remove all those filters and structures we put in place to make ourselves and everyone around us happy. What is the Real Happiness that is waiting for us when we strip away all the falseness, and share our True Selves with each other? How much are we losing? How tragic is it that we teach our children not to be True, but to live in this society/world and follow all its rules so we don't stand out (unless by virtue of having mastered those rules)?

Let us all stop a moment and wonder: What if we all just stopped pretending, and allowed ourselves to be the Beings were were made and intended to be?

Postlude
Let this serve as a warning: I might be trying this soon.

I Am

2010-08-12T13:59:00.003-04:00

Here's what I am: I am thankful for what I have, even though it may not fit your description of satisfactory. I am working to become a better person, in one way or another, every day, though I am also occasionally complacent. I am sometimes morally weak, but I am also quick to recognize it. I am simple and humble, and as a result, stronger. I am eager to reciprocate and be your true friend, if you're willing to share your true self. I am sexual and raw, and I am almost sorry if that offends you. I am as good as anyone else in this world. I am process-oriented and analytical. I am always trying to be as honest with myself and with you as I can.

Here's what I am not: I am not satisfied with being sedentary. I am not interested in your negative assessment of how I live my life, treat my family, or keep my home. I am not going to spend any time or energy playing social games just to make you feel better about yourself or help you support some emotional facade. I am not lecherous. I am not willing to change who I am because you disapprove. I am not better than anyone else in this world, and neither are you. I am not cold or calculating. I am not always pleasant to be around.

(unfinished)

This Shell

2010-07-08T10:53:00.003-04:00

In this shell made of flesh and bone, my self-awareness is convoluted, every sensation and perception made through the veil of the flesh is suspect and subjective. "Real" feelings and expressions require exclusive in and out filtration via nerve endings and vocal chords and synaptic patterns. The Body is the Doorman of the Soul.

But I must remember that this is by design, this was done on purpose. We are wrapped in this shroud, which clouds a senseful experience, for what is likely a very good reason. I can only guess, but I'm sure it has something to do with protection of that Divine Gift which makes us unique beings. It certainly is meant as an interface, both through which to interact in this physical, material world and with each other. How else would we find any means of expression, either in or out, without these senses? To make a crude comparison, even the most powerful computer is useless without a monitor and keyboard.

I must also remember that this body and its limited duration is a gift: a gift which goes wasted and unappreciated by lamenting its limitations. We are simple and fragile creatures, yes, but capable of great civilization, art, language, culture, philosophy, and wonder, and we are learning through science that, simple and fragile though we may be, we are also fascinating and complex, so much so that we are beyond our own understanding--not just us as a species, but the whole world and universe that surrounds us.

We are given only a little while to discover ourselves, our world, and each other. Here's to hoping that I, and those around me, in my physical and spiritual worlds, are able to discover and share our gifts before our time is over, together.

(A bit esoteric, I know, but it was in there, and it had to come out. Do with it what you will.)

Falling

2010-06-11T14:27:00.002-04:00

(Fragment, possibly a repeat post. Dated /19/2009)

Falling apart, but not for the first time. Pieces go in different directions, according to their inclinations. I hold onto as much as I'm able, but not much is retained. Orientation has gone awry.

I Am Dante's Grand Deception

2010-06-11T14:24:00.001-04:00

(Unfinished, dated 3/20/2008)

I am Dante's grand deception.

How am I doing? Well...

Do you want the truth or the cover story? Are you sure? Here goes; it's not pretty.

I'm a mess. I've got a car I left months ago at a dealership, which they consider abandoned, that I just can't pay for. Funny thing, I work at a building whose property is adjacent to this dealership's back lot, and every day when I pull in and every day when I go home, I see my green derelict right against that fence.

Late last summer I got a ticket which I never paid. Several weeks ago my license was suspended. I recently had a birthday, which means the tags on both our vehicles are now expired. If I get pulled over, chances are I won't be driving away in my own car with a ticket my only souvenir.

I Am Jack's Utter Self-Loathing

2010-06-11T14:05:00.002-04:00

(Unfinished, dated 12/12/2007)

Alright you, it's time we had a talk.

We both know there are things going on that are completely out of control, and it's time to grab that rope, burn or no burn.

I won't get into specifics here; it's neither the time nor the place, but this crap you pull on yourself is costing money, causing stress, and creating an environment that isn't good for anyone in the family. How can you concentrate on what's real and true? Truth is you can't, and I can't either. The only "real" and "true" is the facade you wear every day as you dress for work, give a progress report, talk about school and

Deal?

Unhinged

2010-05-12T09:02:00.001-04:00

There was a conflict, which was caused by me answering a non-inflammatory question, and then answering another. There was a warning before the second answer, and a prediction of the outcome, but it was pushed for, and so given.

My prediction was spot on.

Despite my apparent handle on myself and the situation, I found myself feeling confused and emotionally disoriented. I became angry that my warning had not been listened to.

I unhinged.

I shouted, but only briefly. No dishes were broken, no doors kicked in. But I unplugged. Completely. And sat in my own personal abyss for a good few hours. I couldn't muster any memory of the original conflict. I was alone in my mind and in my heart, and couldn't remember how I got there, and was certainly without a clue as to how to get out.

This kind of thing worries me greatly. My apparent ability to ostrich and emotionally ditch myself in the real world could prove dangerous in the wrong situation. Parts of me are dividing, which contributes to a better of understanding of Inside, but also makes it easier for the Team to separate if one or another part gets caught up on a detail, or can't navigate a change in the emotional landscape. It could be disastrous.

It's All in Your Head

2010-05-09T11:36:00.002-04:00

Well, yes. Yes it is.

But if by "in your head" you mean a perception manufactured by interactions of brain chemicals and synaptic patterns, then I ask you: what isn't? Isn't what we as biological beings perceive through our traditional five senses truly nothing more than our brain's interpretation of electrical impulses sent via our optic nerves, eardrums, taste buds, receptors in the nasal passage, and nerve endings in our epidermis?

Ever seen The Matrix? There's an elaborate, entertaining, and brilliantly told story based solely on the idea that the whole world we live in is a lie, fed to us via biochemical cocktails administered in the right order to produce a tailored perception. Ever taken a philosophy course? For thousands of years, men and women from every culture on our world have asked fundamental questions about what we are, what our purpose is, whether any of the things we think we are surrounded by our whole lives are even real...and what "real" would even mean if the answer was yes. Even heard of psychology? There's a science based 100% on learning how our minds interpret input and feed us a reality that may or may not be the same as that experienced by those around us, and then figuring out ways to manipulate the reality of those whose are different and make theirs more like ours.

So when you give me that look to test whether I'm joking, or ask me if I'm serious, or comment about metaphysical bunk, I will indulge you, and smile. And then you will return the favor by seriously considering that while you think you have your two feet firmly on the ground, and tell me about the things that are truly important and real, you are merely experiencing a similar illusion, custom made for you by your brain and fed to you through a filter of social expectations, cultural influences, and interactions with the people you've surrounded yourself with.

And then we can begin to truly communicate.

Believe

2010-04-29T13:34:00.001-04:00

There is more here than we can perceive. As humans, our tissue-synapse based senses are woefully limited in their abilities to detect the world around us. As members of a society ignorant of this fact, we are taught to ignore our other perceptive abilities, and therefore lose them.

If you've never considered this, don't dismiss it simply because it doesn't appear in scientific or medical journals. This isn't just mysterious metaphysical pseudoscience. Take magnetism, for instance: it cannot be seen, felt, heard, tasted, or smelled, yet as a scientific society we know full well that it not only exists, but is a defining force in world we live in. The structure of the atom and the interaction of of molecules to form everything from the basic compounds that sustain the chemical systems in our bodies to the weather resistant properties of that stain you just put on your deck would all be considered fiction to a society less scientifically advanced than ours, all because of the attitude that something needs to be seen (heard, felt, tasted, smelled, etc.) to be believed.

Well, don't believe it. We were all given the ability to detect the world around us in more terms than the five senses afford. True, there are forces which are beyond both our perception and our understanding, but this isn't what I'm talking about. Every one of us has an internal antenna that picks up signals the people and things around us are broadcasting, absorbing, or reflecting. The mood in a room, the serenity of a hidden waterfall, the calm of a place deep in the earth, and the joy of a child are all examples of these signals. Can you think of any that you've experienced? Focus on them a moment, and you'll start reaching for the tuner knob on that antenna.

It is one of my greatest goals to broaden my ability to perceive the world around me, and therefore more fully appreciate the gifts I've been given in this lifetime, in this place, with these people around me. Please, join me.

The Rules

2010-04-23T12:12:00.003-04:00

This is something I've worked on intellectually for many years. When I was younger, I could tell you lots of these from memory. I think there were more. Obviously, they didn't all stick by the time I decided to write them down. Dated 28 October 2008.

The Rules

1. The Golden Rule: Treat others the way you want to be treated.

2. The Ketchup Rule: Even if a little is good, more may not necessarily be better, no matter how tempting it may seem. (May also be called the Peanut Butter Rule.)

3. The Iceberg Rule: If you see a bit of something, chances are good there may be a lot more to it than you can tell. Akin to the phrase 'where there's smoke there's fire.'

4. The No-Fault Rule: Don't use other people's mistakes to excuse or justify your own.

5. The Control Rule: You're the only (adult) person you can control. Period. End of story. Any efforts or expectations otherwise will only lead to disappointment. The basic premise behind this rule is RESPECT. The corollary of this is don't expect or allow anyone else to control you. Respect yourself and others enough to take care of your own business and keep it at home, without interfering with others' lives and/or their (in)ability to do the same.

6. The Reciprocation Rule: Don't expect someone else to do a thing for you just because you'd do it for them. This does not override the Golden Rule (#1) because of the Control Rule (#5).

What If

2010-04-22T16:34:00.006-04:00

Something I dug up, written for fun and originally submitted to (and rejected by) McSweeney's, dated 28 March 2006:

Imagine how the great moments of history would be different if...

- the library at Alexandria hadn't burned
- the Seahawks had actually made an effort in the second half of Superbowl XL
- L. Ron Hubbard had lost the bet
- Cornwallis hadn't surrendered, but made a final charge and defeated Washington's forces
- zombies really were imaginary
- Adolf Hitler's career as a street artist had paid off
- Lucious Malfoy hadn't handed Dobby that book
- Julius Caesar hadn't crossed the Rubicon
- Firefly hadn't been cancelled
- Deagol hadn't found the One Ring at the bottom of the Anduin

Crush

2010-04-22T14:25:00.000-04:00

(16 November 2009)

It is beginning: my tween son has declared a crush.

He did so nonchalantly, and, to his credit, to his mother. This is a great indicator of self-confidence, which is actually the best part of this whole business. I don't have to explain to anyone of the male persuasion how ominous a prospect it is to let your MOM know you like girls, let alone any adult, or any of your friends, or anyone outside the family- or friends circles...because this opens you up to judgment. And becoming vulnerable to anyone at age eleven simply is not a choice made without a great deal of self-reliance.

(unfinished)

No Can Do

2010-04-22T14:20:00.001-04:00

(19 February 2010)

As a depressed person, I know there is only so far I can go in life. I say this in the face of the "can-doers" who would tell me that, no matter what, I can do anything I set my mind to, those who would say, "If it is to be, it is up to me!"

Sigh. Of course, they're right. But that take-life-by-the horns mindset comes with a necessary set of personality traits and social skills, many of which are, by definition, not part of a depressive's emotional repertoire.

(unfinished)

Overplay

2010-04-22T13:39:00.000-04:00

(15 May 2009)

I tend to overplay my hand.

I'm used to losing, you see, or at least being the underdog in any given situation. Of course, that's more related to my personality than any actual game being played, but that's really beside the point when perception is your reality. So when I am inadvertently dealt a decent card or two, I blow it.

It's not that I lack a poker face. I'm no pro, to be sure, but I know enough about body language and panic reactions to keep a cool head when I need to. My downfall is my confidence: I just don't know how to play my bets.

When I think I can win, I start strong. Compared to my normal demeanor, this creates suspicion. I rush the game, and by the time the river comes around my effort to draw a high pot has only resulted in everyone but the real players folding. Then underdog kicks in again: I doubt my abilities face with the prospect of 'true' talent, and either fold myself or brace for the inevitable double slap of luck and odds.

So it is in personal situations, too. I learned early that humility is a virtue, and though I had my days of experimenting with that notion (turns out Dad was right) I mostly keep my ideas and words to myself. Though not technically related, this personality trait is tied to my confidence.

The whole sour stew puts me at an automatic disadvantage when compared to others with more confidence, and less humility. Even when I have an answer or solution, the loudest person in the room is usually heard first, and when their idea inevitably fails, and my time has come around, I am criticized for holding my tongue too long. So it goes, but I've learned to live with it.

So when I find myself holding an ace, I'm set at unease. Unused to having any advantage, an awkward confidence sets in. The thing teeters like an amateur tightrope walker, and by the time I've figured out how to play my advantage, it's fallen and my opportunity to win is gone. I step before I know where I'm headed, and rush right into a hole.

But not this time.

Ignorance

2010-04-22T13:11:00.002-04:00

Left in a Facebook discussion for the US Army fan group, 15 March 2010:

When those ignorant of what it means to be an American express their disdain for our country's government, people, or armed forces, it's an insult to anyone who's ever known or loved one of those True Heroes who ensure our freedom, and a vilification of those who have died for it. The right to exercise freedom of speech comes with the responsibility of knowing how to do so responsibly and respectably. If you're lucky enough to have this right, and fortunate enough to be completely unaware of what it takes to provide it, count yourself in a privileged minority, and consider just saying "thank you" to a veteran, or attending a Memorial Day service. America has never been perfect, but we've more than earned our place at the global table, and helped preseve that of many other nations. Repeated for posterity: If you can't stand behind our soldiers, feel free to stand in front of them.

SMRT

2010-04-22T12:45:00.002-04:00

(16 April 2007)

All in all, I like to consider my brain as very functional in all the traditional ways, and then some. I can critically read Dante is its historical context as well as appreciate the humor of the Knights of the Pactoganal table in Dragon Fable. I occasionally win chess games without the forethought of a Master, and understand the complexities of sequentially casting Divine Plea, Avenging Wrath, and Sacred Shield *before* engaging a high-level monster in melee combat. I equally appreciate my progressive metal Dream Theater epics, the Moonlight Sonata, and an hour of either Ira Glass or Garrison Keiler (even if I don't know how to spell his name). I see harmony in a combination lush gardens and natural overgrowth, the beauty of a 100-year old fountain nestled in the middle of nowhere. I can explain how benzoic acid fragments under electron ionization in LEGO terms without being condescending.

In the everyday game of life, I consider myself a low level Renaissance man. I have many strikes against me which I will not recount here, but most can be undone with (unfinished)

Struggle

2010-04-22T12:41:00.001-04:00

(10 February 2010)

There are days when you tell yourself what kind of man you're going to be. Some of these days are major milestones in a man's life: high school graduation, first day of college or boot camp, college graduation...or the day you decide not to re-enroll, the discovery that you'll be a father for the first time, the day that child is born, the day you irreparably disappoint a mentor, the day a loved one dies. And many more.

For me, it's not uncommon to set very similar expectations on every such day, though as I get older they just become more mature versions of themselves. Sometimes, you decide to drop a bullet point or two, whether because they may no longer apply to the man you'd like to be, or maybe because you've come to believe such an expectation is no longer realistic. Those days, depending on the abandoned expectation and the reason, can be little life-changing tragedies.

In my experience, what matters most are not the conclusions you come to on those days, but the actions you take after the decisions are made. A man struggles his whole life to define himself, and any day he commits to becoming one kind of man or another is a pretty major event. Though some may be hasty or spontaneous, no decision is made lightly.

But more than drawing an idealized future version of yourself, it's an even bigger personal struggle to make that man a reality.

Excerpt

2010-04-20T12:43:00.001-04:00

Excerpt from 26 April 2006 piece:

I think it's fate that we all find ourselves alone at this time of our lives. It's a lesson that tries to teach that we, ourselves, are really the only people we have on this earth, in this life, and that to rely on another human for anything is a gamble at best. Then we're confused by what a healthy partnership really is. One thing it is NOT, I know, is to meet the others every need. Some needs, probably most, can only be met from within. It's a tragic thing that with all the people on this earth, and all the reaching out, and after thousands of years of timeless philosophy and poetry and religion, that it comes to this: we are still ultimately alone, too confused about our own nature, too afraid to ask for help. And if we're lucky, it takes one whole lifetime to understand and find the key to our happiness. Most people reach the end without even knowing there's a difference. I am luckier than them, but maybe not as lucky as the ones who find the answer. I can only hope.

The Diminishing Returns of Self-Discovery

2010-04-15T15:36:00.006-04:00

Personal enlightenment is a fabulous thing, at least in theory. It's something I think all intelligent people strive for at some time in their lives, to one extent or another, and through a combination of that effort and various occurrences beyond their control, I think most people achieve some degree of it, or at least enough that they reach a kind of equilibrium between the things they wish for and the things they have.

In my own journey, I have a long list of both intentional efforts and accidental consequences (cataclysmic and otherwise) that brought me to my own state of self-awareness. It hasn't always been pretty, but I think I can safely say that it has been effective. I know myself pretty well; I think better than the average person of my age and background. I can't always tell the difference, but I know people around me notice from time to time, and that's a more accurate measure of growth anyhow.

However, not all progress is permanent. I have the unfortunate flaw that I am human, and so frequently relapse into previously unenlightened States of Self. I am prone to the effects of brain and body chemicals, as well as core input, that alter my states of well-being. Many a potentially life-changing resolve made during the morning shower or commute is lost to fatigue or minutia by the end of a day. This is why I haven't yet painted the hall, finished my degree, made a stock portfolio to speak of, built a 50" chest with 17" biceps, bicycled across the state, or written my many novels.

Of course, this is one major reason I maintain this blog: to stick pins into those ideas and experiences I think are worth saving in the hopes that they won't fall off the map, and maybe (just maybe) they'll help me figure out what I'm doing on this rock. In a discussion with a friend about her own very similar journey, it occurred to me that despite my best efforts, I may never quite reach my Optimum Self, if only because my brain/core capacity isn't high enough to hold onto everything I learn along the way. I suspect that once I reach a certain level of self-discovery, diminishing returns start to kick in.

As an analytical person, I naturally think of this in context of the phenomenon's origin: mathematics. Diminishing returns is the idea that a thing's effectiveness will decrease after a certain amount of it has been gathered.

See Figure 1. Point α along the x-axis theoretically represents the optimum point of self-awareness, after which the relationship between the self-awareness and the benefits thereof is no longer linear (assuming it begins that way at all), and learning more about oneself has less and less positive effect.

Figure 2 shows the many possible shapes of the graph after point α.

"A" shows true diminishing returns, where the y-axis continues to increase, but at a decreasing rate. It continually takes more and more self-awareness to have the same effect as a lesser amount previously.
"B" is what I imagine happens in an environment without diminishing returns, such as a monastery. Obviously, these are ideal conditions, and not a realistic scenario with a modern Western lifestyle.
"C" is what I typically do: get to a certain point of understanding, then become distracted, or disenchanted. Whatever the cause, I fall off the wagon.
"D" is what I'm going for: even if my quality of life isn't continually improved, I want to keep learning who and what I am. I think if this path is followed, the graph will eventually turn north again and I will reach another period of growth.

Well, now that I've beaten this horse to death with imaginary mathematics that probably don't apply anyway, suffice it to say that I'm still learning not only what's happening inside, but why I even make the effort. It's a noble one, to be sure, but I still have a lot to learn about how to apply the lessons I gain along the way. Wish me luck.

Another disclaimer: It may have become glaringly obvious during the reading, but I don't have an education in philosophy, psychology, theology, medicine, counseling, or energy healing. I write what my gut tells me. While I welcome your input, any disrespectful attempt to call me out on a point of my own ignorance may result in undesired consequences. You have been warned.

A Vision

2010-04-14T17:02:00.000-04:00

(25 July 2006)

A three year old girl plays in the fountain. A light rain begins to fall, but she pays no mind. She marvels at the falling water and laughs when her cheeks get hit with raindrops. Her tiny feet splash, wetting the cuffs of her rolled up peach capris, while a man sitting on one of the low steps with her sandles smiles. She calls him Daddy. A warm breeze carries lavender and marigold over the water, and the cardinals call in the courtyard trees.

Untitled

2010-04-14T17:01:00.001-04:00

(15 August 2006)

I'm falling down again. In the last 3 days I've seen increasing changes in my mood and energy, and today the light came on. I'm scared as hell.

I'm on the verge of a major commitment and I'm unsure whether I should make it. I'm on my own at work and I'm not sure I can handle it. I'm missing a dear friend. I'm unsafe at home, or at least I perceive that I am.

I don't want to go back on medication. Self-administered has been restricted, which is in itself a good thing, but symptoms reappear like so many gophers popping their heads up to ensure the coast is clear. And once those suckers start chirping, the whole colony heads out unhindered.

There is a relationship I've abused, and at least two jobs I've fallen down on. The relationship needs immediate remedy; the jobs are urgent but just jobs. Energy-tapping devices (biking, music, hard labor) should be in full force this week. But I'm not sure I'll pull myself out that quickly. The yard sure could use it, though.

My Drug

2010-04-14T16:58:00.000-04:00

(18 October 2006)

My drug is free. I can catch it in small doses on TV commercials or magazine ads, internet news sites and billboards on the side of the road. My drug is handed to every mainstream adult in America every day, and they don't even know they possess it.

My drug is legal. It's used to sell everything from cars to clothes to sports drinks and beach toys. It's plastered on labels and posters. Anyone can have my drug without fear of incarceration, even minors.

My drug is invisible. When you have it with you, nobody can see it, and if you told them, they wouldn't care. They might even show you their own stash. You could look at my drug a hundred times a day and never see it.

My drug is clean. It doesn't smoke when it burns or make your clothes smell bad. It won't stain your fingers or give you cancer. After using, I look and act just the same as before. Even when I'm high on my drug, I integrate socially with the best of them.

My drug is silent. Using is a quiet affair and easy to conceal. It's not time consuming and can be done alone or with a partner. And the destruction it renders is something you can never detect.