My Gums Are Bleeding

What to Remember

2009-04-09T10:27:00.000-07:00

Never the times of day record
And never the moments recall
In years the mem'ries' edges blur
Yet passions stay on even's fall

As addled thoughts of youth forlorn
Raise wrongly bile 'gainst lavish joy
Anger, anger, sorrow, regret
Bear not such things--tis mis'ries' ploy

Laughter light is music pure
Not of the flesh, but spirit bold
With tempo strong, hearts beat, glowing
Rememb'ring love and friendship gold

We face the path of time

2009-03-17T12:38:00.000-07:00

Do you remember the days when the dust blew by as the wind held us in it's ungentle caress? When in that early spring we dared to dream and our passion's future saw the world at our feet and glory round our heads. Time has taught us a few lessons since then, but still we dream; our hopes not now for us, but for our children. We yearn for their happiness and prosperity.

Enough trying to be deep . . it's St. Patrick's Day and I hope it's a jolly good one for you all! I've just spent some time reading over my previous entries here and remembering the times in which they were written. A strange path of memories that. But, maybe not so strange, given that life itself can be rather strange. I'm given to reminiscing today thinking of times and friends past, longing for good times again. Not that these days are terrible, just a bit stale. Stale days largely of my own making. I need to get a job. I need to quit being a hermit and get out and live again. Sorry to all of you with whom I've been largely uncommunicative . . it's not you, it's me.

My thoughts also turn to memories of friends and family passed, memories of happiness and good times bringing melancholy for missing them. My life is better because of them. And to the friends and family of one recently passed, I'm very sorry for not sharing my condolences and grief personally. Know that you all have been in my heart and good wishes. I've shut myself away from the world for the past season or two, largely to my detriment. It's time to get off my arse and live again. I sad that before, did I not?

It's been a season since I last posted here. In fact, one could count seasons and posts from me equally, if one were so inclined. Not that I'd advise it . . just rambling a bit here, trying to clear the awkward air.

So, some good notes from the past little while in my life . . good times spent with the kids. If you haven't seen Coraline yet, I highly recommend it. Especially in the theater . . I never knew how cool 3D could be. Makes me look forward to Ice Age 3. Also looking forward to Harry Potter 6 and hoping that its a better adaptation than the last one was.

I'll sign off for now, thanking you for your time. You all have my permission to be as Irish as you wish today.

I see a red door and I want to paint it black

2008-12-10T11:24:00.000-08:00

Well, here I am again. Thought you'd finally gotten rid of me, didn't you? I'm sorry to say it, but I'm not so easily vanquished young warrior.

Actually, I'm not sorry! Haha!

It's nearly wintertime again and time is again something I have in abundance as I have once more joined the proud ranks of the unemployed. Woohoo! Actually, it would be woohoo if I had more money to enjoy this time. Oh, well, maybe I'll go back to school. Get a haircut and get a real job, as the song goes.

So how are all of you out there? Ready for the holidays? Ready for the apocalypse? Ready for Halo 3?

I'm not quite so depressed as I was towards the start of this year, for which I'm thankful. But I'm not quite perfectly happy. I don't think that's truly possible in this life, but I'd be a lot closer to it if I could win the lottery. Hehe, maybe.

I did have the opportunity last week to get together with most of siblings. It was a surprise party for my sister's fortieth birthday. A great time it was, lacking just one brother--he had to go to Prague. Like that's an excuse. The experience got me thinking of how nice it is to be accepted as who you are by those who really matter. For much of my life, I've hid things about myself from my family. I always thought it necessary--they are a religious lot and I'm not so much. So I've tried to hide my tobacco use and other things of that nature from them. Now, I don't care so much, and they still seem to like me. I guess I should have always know they would. I'm not gay, but I can imagine the sense of relief and release that a gay person feels on coming out of the closet. Which reminds me--I need to clean my closet, it's a mess.

Now, here we are again. Me trying to wrap this up cohesively and you probably not even reading anymore. Cool. I might just do a few more of these things.

Time Stand Still

2008-09-21T10:03:00.000-07:00

In the face of another change of seasons, I feel somewhat obliged to dust off my rusty typing skills and post anew. For those of you out there who've been salivating in anticipation of this moment, you can relax your anxiety over my health and safety; I'm still here.

The summer was a good one; short but relatively peaceful. Weeks of long work hours punctuated by weekends of fun and relaxation with the kids. Swimming in the river, free concerts, and celtic music on the radio while making a late morning sunday breakfast.

Now autumn is on the doorstep and the kids are back in school. The days are getting shorter, the nights cooler, the leaves begin to change . . . I just wish I could slow the flow of time for a while. My perception of time's passage is losing focus.

It's an odd thing that we experience as we age, the older we get, the faster time seems to go. As children seasons crawl, as adults they speed by at a dizzying pace. It is the relative connection between our experienced time and our perception of its passage that's to blame for this illusion. The more time we've lived, or experienced, the less value a given unit of time has to us. As a child, a year is a monumental chunk of your lifetime; when you get to be my age, it's a paltry fraction. And I'm not really that old. Sigh.

At any rate, I hope you are all ok and that your summer was good and your fall will be soft. (Pun intended). I hope that you take the time to appreciate the time you have with those you have to share it with.

Time stand still, I'm not looking back but I want to look around me.

When I get to the bottom, I go back to the top of the slide

2008-06-24T21:27:00.000-07:00

Hey there, and happy summer to you all! That's right, it's officially a new season as of last friday. Woohoo. So, some of you might remember a lil something I wrote at the last cusp o' the seasons, the vernal equinox. I think I may have made a few predictions then, and some of them even came true. The days did get longer! And it looks (hopefully) like the free world will soon be led by a black man.

Anyways, I'm not here to toot my soothsaying horn--however, said horn can blow for you for just $3.99 per minute! Dial 1-888-LIE-TOME* and I will tell your future!-- I'm just here to ramble a bit.

So, how's it been? How's your aunt? Is the gout getting any worse? I'm sorry to hear that. Oh, I'm fine . . . getting along quite swimmingly, really. Well, actually, I dunno how I'm doin . . haven't self-analyzed for a bit. But that might just be a good thing.

Wish I could make it to my family reunion next week, but, unfortunately I'm lacking the money and transportation. It would be nice.

Wish I could fix at least some of the problems that afflict those I care about.

Wish I could dance.

No, not really.

At any rate, I hope you are all as well as can be and that you will do what this summer wishes of you, even if you don't think it's what I would do.

*Author takes no responsibility for conversations or any embarrassment resulting from idiots actually dialing this number.

You can't rollerskate in a buffalo herd

2008-06-19T19:58:00.000-07:00

What is it in us that makes us do things? I know, quite the profound, original question there. But, really? Have you ever found yourself sitting and thinking "What happened to the last five years?" or "Where did I put that umbrella?" I know, sounds familiar, doesn't it?

Well, I'll keep this short as I'm lacking the motivation to write anything real or substantial. You may have noticed the diminished frequency of my posts and the decidedly diminshed integrity. My apologies, been in a bit of a rut I guess, or maybe just coasting for a time. Yeah, that's more like it.

Oh, well, I'll fuel up soon.

Before you point your finger you should know that I'm the man

2008-06-04T21:28:00.000-07:00

I'm considering voting for the first time this year.

All the world's indeed a stage

2008-05-16T12:24:00.000-07:00

Ahhh, blessed Friday! That Day of Days that we all praise! Lucky am I whose labors are abbreviated this day, that I may enjoy an earlier respite from the work week. Unfortunate are the drones still slaving as I sit here typing and sipping a deliciously cool, refreshingly carbonated barley-pop. Ehh, who'm I kidding. I'm not sipping, I'm chugging. It's the friggin weekend man, and I can get to celebrating in truth for the birthday I had yesterday. What's more cause for a party than being another year older? Aside from the fact that it's forecast to be a beeeaaauuutiful weekend. And work's over for a couple of days. And Bush is in his last few months in office. All good reasons to get drunk, right? Or, to not get drunk, for those of you (freaks!) who don't.

So, I've had opportunities this last month to witness some wonderful performances, and I feel enlivened by them. The first such spectacle was a children's theater production of A Midsummer's Night Dream, complete with Beatles' songs sung well and beautifully by the youthful cast. If you've seen the movie Across the Universe, you'll understand how great a story can be when told by Beatles' music. It was quite well done--I still get chills remembering a sweet six year-old girl belting out Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. *shivers* Thank you, Anna.

The second show was a concert by Swell Season at a small theater. Swell Season is composed of Musicians who acted in the movie Once. Another good music film (and soundtrack) alongside the aforementioned Beatles concept movie. It was an absolutely FAAAABulous concert! And forgive me for sounding gay with that. The show was just reeeeeeaaaallly good. And inspiring. Thank you Jacilin and Andre.

The last show was not really a show. It was a poetry slam, my first such to see. Not the finger-snapping beatnick thing you may be thinking of, or the mournful coffee-house whinings of turtleneck-clad angsty lesbians either. It was held in a local brewpub, and it was a powerful good time. My local community sports some very talented and interesting people. Thank you Jules.

I've forgotten how powerful live performance can be, how captivating. There is an energy and movement there in the communication between performer and audience. I've seen lots of big shows, concerts and plays, but I'm becoming more and more sold on the smaller, more intimate shows.

At any rate, I've rambled enough . . . just wanted to thank those who helped me experience these things; wonderful birthday presents all. And I want to encourage all of you to go catch a live performance somewhere. Even if its watching someone panhandle on the side of the street. Theater can happen anywhere.

And don't forget to party, it's the weekend!

It's not a habit, it's cool, I feel alive

2008-05-12T18:52:00.000-07:00

Addiction is a funny thing. Well, maybe not so funny, but you know what I mean. It's weird, interesting, scary and the like all mixed up like a combo plate from a taco truck. I'm no expert on the subject, so I won't get too deep here, but I am an addict. We all are. We have our addictions-- chemical, behavioral, and otherwise, and they rule our lives. Don't deny it. Some of us are even addicted to the internet when we could have a healthier habit like American Idol or Surviver.

Well, I've kicked one of my bad habits. Again. For the third time, actually. Please try not to snicker too loudly. After falling off the tobacco wagon nearly eight months ago, I can now proudly say I've been nicotine free for four days now. Woohoo! I know, you're thinking "big schmeal," but, I know that I've quit. It's like a switch in my head that I can turn off or on . . . easier, I'll admit to turn on, but not as hard as I thought to turn off.

Anyways, I'll keep this short, I know y'all don't really wanna read about this, I just felt good about it so I thought I'd share. Hey, at least I'm not sharing how good it feels to clip my toenails or dress up like a ballerina, or anything. Well, those are addictions to tackle another day.

Angry walls that steal the air

2008-05-01T18:17:00.000-07:00

There are few experiences in this world to rival the pleasantness unique to doing the necessary in a construction job site restroom. You know, those lovely, sweet-smelling portable plastic out-houses? Ahhh, I feel blessed in my profession several times a day that it affords me such pleasures in life that I get to frequent these sanitary trophies of modern man. It really is quite nice---ehh, I know I'm sarcastic, but this is pushing it. Sorry.

The truth is, those bathrooms are NASTY!!!! And not nasty in a good way. In a bad, skin-crawling, want-to-wash-like-Howard-Hughes way. It takes a strong will, constitution, and an intense need pee to use these "restrooms." Even though I do, of necessity, use them, I still shudder occasionally at the state of them. Especially now, as the weather is warming and soon the flies will be swarming . . . man, I'm gonna need a stiff drink.

It's times like these that I'm thankful that my plumbing doesn't require that I sit to void my bladder. And I hope that doesn't offend all you of the feminine persuasion out there . . . I hope that most of you will rarely or never need to use one of these facilities.

What's worse is when the "honey-wagon" comes to "clean" them out. That raises a stench that can bring big burly men to their knees in tears. Honest, I've seen it happen. I met a man once who owned and operated his own truck cleaning porta-potties. Now, that's a shitty job. Seriously, I'm hard pressed to think of an occupation that more directly deals with human waste, save it be that of a politician.

An interesting aside to all this is the obscene graffiti that invariably graces the walls of these restrooms. Where rednecks and latinos flaunt their ignorance and prejudice in pictures and words. I sometimes find myself coming out of one shaking my head not at the stench--well, not wholly at that-- but at the realization that I'm surrounded by some stupid people who feel the need to show the rest of us how stupid they are with what they write therein.

Ok, I know this wasn't the wholesome post you've all come to expect from me, and that it really kind of smells. And maybe it speaks to my mental capacity, or lack thereof, that this is all I can think of to write about.

Oh, well, such is life. Hope all is well with all of you, and if you find yourself in need to use one of the above mentioned out-houses, I hope everything comes out all right.

Trailer for sale or rent, rooms to let fifty cent

2008-04-25T10:22:00.000-07:00

No, actually, I'm not looking for a roommate. I know, sorry to get your hopes up. I'd let you all live with me as you undoubtedly all want to, but there'd be issues--jealousy over my attentions, fights over who gets to pay my bills and do the laundry, not to mention the living space is way too small for an entourage or harem. Alas, it's better this way.

Besides, there's the train. You may have lived by a train before, I have several times in my gypsy-like past lived in auditory proximity of the tracks. We'll just leave it unsaid whether or not I was on the right or wrong side. But, my current abode is a mere thirty feet from the railroad. Have you seen the movie Seven? Remember when Morgan Freeman laughs himself into teary splutters upon visiting Brad and Gwyneth's apartment after dubbing it "the happy little vibrating home?" That's where I live. No need to insert quarters in the beds here . . . just wait for that tell-tale whistle and low rumble and you can soon be on your way to bed shaking bliss. All by yourself even.

I've gotten quite used to the noise that would assuredly drive many people quite batty. It's actually kind of comfy, in a weird, loud way. And for you aspiring hobos out there, the train does stop right by my place, giving ample opportunity to start your adventuresome life of freedom riding the rails.

But you gotta pay me first.

I only dream in infrared

2008-04-18T16:27:00.000-07:00

We've all had this one, right? You're applying for the great job or getting a promotion or at the front of the class or buying suppositories at the drug store or something important. All is going well when you realize your in your underwear. Or, better yet, nekkid. Suddenly, you're horribly mortified and it's all you can do to wake up and shudder with peals of mocking laughter ringing in your ears. Ehh, it's a normal dream. But, have you ever just gone with it when you realize you're in the buff in a public place? Try it next time you have this one, just act normal and see if all the characters in your dream world don't also act as if nothing is out of sorts. It's worked for me, but, then again, I dunno if I'm an example worth following or not.

Dreams are weird though. Mine are, anyway. I know I'm weird, but I think that even normal people have weird dreams. Some claim that they're important visions and clues from some other plane of existence. Others say they're nothing more than the tired regurgitations of our brains. And still other people watch Fox News. I'm not here to tell you what to believe, I just think dreams are weird, and kind of cool, even when you don't know what they mean. Like this one where George W. Bush was wearing a pink tutu and skipping down the road towards his own execution and Dick Cheney was being forcibly sodomized by a giant ogre. Wait--that was a daydream. Sorry, my bad.

I have had a few strange dreams involving deceased friends or relatives. This is not so disconcerting as you might think, at least it wasn't for me. These were actually quite enjoyable, as I shared fairly normal, everyday experiences with these people. Nothing seemed amiss, other than the usual strangeness that exists in the subconscious. Even the few times that I remembered the person I was kicking it with had passed on weren't bad. Kind of cool really, with a feeling of peace. Death can change people, in dreams at least. I've gotten drunk and even smoked some reefer with my late father, who was a devout Mormon all his life. And it was all good.

I also find that I dream more vividly on weekends, or anytime I've slept beyond my normal waking time. Or, I remember my dreams better then. Does this happen to you? Do you have strange dreams? Do you dream at all? Do you even care? Are you paying attention? Am I asking too many questions? No one told me there'd be a quiz . . .

I am a big man, yes I am, and I've got a Big Gun

2008-04-15T14:02:00.000-07:00

I am currently working a temp job roofing a large building. The company I'm temped to is based in a city two-hours away, so the bulk of the crew, who aren't temps, commute over here for the week then go home on weekends. They are all pretty good fellows, for the most part, as are the other three temps working with me. The one thing that separates me from them--well the one of many that I will mention here--they are all avid hunters and gun freaks. Indeed, much of the "water cooler" talk is about different guns, scopes, animals to kill and the like. I've run into this sort of thing before having worked long in the testosterone-ridden construction industry. I grew up in southern Utah (lovingly remembered as planet Utahrd) surrounded by right wing gun freaks so I have shot my share of guns as a youth. But, I'm not so big on it now. Never really was, actually.

I am mildly surprised to find men like that here in the more liberal pacific northwest, but I guess I shouldn't be. There's rednecks and assholes everywhere. I go along with them quietly through these conversations, nodding at the right time and oohing appropriately when they tell me of a new expensive gun or how many birds they shot at coming over the pass on the way to work. I do this so they don't take it into their heads that I'm a pansy and throw me over the roof again. Then I try to turn the conversation, gently, to what I consider more manly pursuits, like beer or crude humor.

I don't consider myself less of a man because I don't feel the need to have huge firepower and kill animals. If I need to kill something, I have a short list of humans whom I feel deserve an end to making me miserable. Well, it's short relative to the population of the earth. And I usually find release in thinking happy thoughts of them humiliated in various ways rather than acting on a need to kill. Usually.

I read recently a post by some bastard about men and their need for big trucks, and this obsession with guns is closely linked to that, I believe. Not only do they need the big trucks to haul their huge manhood, they need weapons to defend themselves against jealous, lesser men. It's really kind of funny in a sad, pathetic way.

If I've offended your manhood with this post, it's ok to print it out and use it for target practice then beat your wife. That should make any manly man feel better. For the rest of you, keep the faith and hope that these men will soon discover the little girl inside them as the rest of us have done.

Follow men's eyes as they look to the skies, the shifting shafts of shining weave the fabric of their dreams . . .

2008-04-13T09:51:00.000-07:00

The weather's warming and I've got work again. Both good things. The money's still short, but it always has been. The boys are growing, becoming men more each day. I feel my inadequacies as a parent as I feel the age in my body. I don't bounce back from manual labor so readily as I once did. Still, it feels good to be tired from working hard, even as it hurts. Helps to keep the mind off the emptiness inside. Distractions are sometimes necessary and idleness can sink one in despair. Now if I could only summon the motivation to clean my house.
If you stop to think of all the people in the world it's easy to feel small. So many threads in the great pattern of existence, each with their own wants and desires of life--with all that, how can we possibly expect our own hopes to be fulfilled? Yet, it can happen, the cosmos has room for happiness for individuals, even as it allows suffering.
Damn, I always want to write something profound and moving, but I always fall short. Oh, well. Maybe I should put some more forethought into my posts rather than simply expecting the words to come.
At any rate, I hope all is as well as can be with all of you out there.

Is this not enough, this blessed sip of life?

2008-04-04T18:46:00.000-07:00

Strange, how we move our lives for another day. And strange how our lives are like waves, behaving as waves are want to: up and down. Cresting, falling, rising, breaking, crashing, receding to rise and crest again. Watching waves break on the beach minds me of how our own waves are influenced and affected by the waves of those we know and know of. It's a hard thing for me to encompass mentally, a hard thing to grasp and hold, catching only the briefest glimmers with that tickling sensation that it may be a profound metaphor for reality. Or it could easily just be drivel spewed by some internet junkie (me) for other junkies (you) to read as we all neglect the more important things we should be doing with our time. Like watching Simpsons reruns.

It's crazy how easy we get caught up in the normalcy and routine of our lives. How easy we waste eons just living and not really living. I am sometimes astounded at the strangeness that I and everything in the world actually exist. It's been like that for me since I was a young child, thinking about the weirdness that is our reality. We take so much for granted in our daily lives, we forget, overlook, and ignore so much. I'm not trying to get religious, philosophical, scientific or anything silly here. I'm just thinking and asking you to think on this, feel this. With all that's gone before, all history, and all that's yet to come, all future, right now you're alive. You're alive. Living. Experiencing. Isn't that crazy? It's a wonderful, beautiful thing. Simple. Complicated. Profound. Fabulous even.

I appreciate all of you who read these ramblings of mine, I know it may be painful and boring. You don't really have to, I do it more for self indulgence than anything. I'm just taken by a mood today to feel that I'm really alive and I wish everyone could feel that, or at least acknowledge it more than they regularly do. I feel Mr. Matthews captures it in his lyrics which I have borrowed to title this piece.
"Is this not enough, this blessed sip of life? Is it not enough staring down at the ground?"
That touches on it. But again, it's like the glimmer of the wave metaphor, hard to articulate in speech. Hard to comprehend verbally. Van Morrison gets a bit of the glimmer in one of his songs as well. If you'll indulge me further.
"Why can't it be that I who am
Wasn't before I was?
And that sometime I, the I, I am
No longer will be the I, I am?

I know this is all disjointed and may not make much sense to many people. It's just how I think. It doesn't always make much sense to me either, but then again it does. I know, I'm weird. So are you for reading this! Haha!

It was daylight when you woke up in your ditch

2008-03-28T20:29:00.000-07:00

The wind curls your pants around your legs as you stand in the gray evening. You stare up at the sky and your world is gray. Tiny spots of white come down at you from that depthless mist, some taken by the wind, others falling. Your world becomes white, free. You are floating now, taken by the wind as the will of the world flies you where it wants to.
Out across the sea you go, and over the mountains high. You’re falling and soaring at the same time; expanding. The lights of life below call to you, become one with you. As you stretch, you feel yourself connecting with it all, with everything.
The train whistle interrupts you as it thunders by, not caring who you are or where you were. Its black bulk rushes past and now your world is black. Darkness turns you in on yourself and you contract. Inward you go, towards your memories, your past. It squeezes in on you, crushing. Smaller and smaller you get as you feel the weight of all the sadness, all the heartbreak you’ve had push at you.
And when you’ve become the smallest you’ll ever be, smaller than you’ve ever been, the pain stops. The color changes. Your memories are still there, but seen through better glass, through windows unblackened. Not all happy, but more happy than not. Small amounts of joy outweigh great amounts of greif. Peace comes to you.
Night has fallen now, and the streetlight shines yellow through the gloom. The train is gone, the wind is dying. You are neither sad, nor completely happy. Nothing is perfect, peace is fleeting. But, in this moment it is on you. Neither black, nor completely white.
Your world is gray.

If I would, could you?

2008-03-25T11:11:00.000-07:00

Change, that is. It's a measure of our imperfection as people how much we want others be what we want them to be. As well is it a measure of our humanity when we learn to accept others as they are.
This is an apology to those of you I've wronged by expecting things from you that it wasn't in you to give. It's a humbling moment when you realize what a selfish ass you can be when things don't go as you want them to. Emotions can override logic quite easily, especially after a few (or not so few) drinks.
The dynamics of our relations with other people can be as complex or simple as we make them. The trick is finding the balance. The problem is finding the balance. It's easier to dispassionately sit back and analyze social patterns than to apply learned tactics in your own life. It's those pesky emotions again.
So do we change to fit others desires, to make them happy? Do this too much, and you are a doormat. I'm a good example. Or do we expect others to change to fit our desires, to make us happy? Do this and you're an ass. Again, I'm a good example.
It's both, really. We can't expect to live and interact with others and not need to bend to appease them, or need them to bend to appease us. It's never perfect, as we are never perfect. But it's necessary if you want to achieve some small modicum of happiness and peace in this chaotic world.
The only other option would be to excise yourself completely from others and live as a hermit and expect nothing from anyone else and need to change only to suit yourself. A very lonely way to be.
So, again I'm sorry to those of you from whom I've expected to much to serve my needs. And I'm sorry also for the self piteous whining I've made all of you suffer through lately, it's quite embarrassing really.
I'll try to change.
Will you?

Maybe I'm crazy, but laughing out loud makes the pain pass by

2008-03-23T18:36:00.000-07:00

So. The gray outside mirrors the gray inside. Asked if I'm mad, my conditioned kneejerk says no. But I am. Dwelling makes the anger rise, so I try not to.
The wind blows and the sip's savor is bitter--neither a good year nor vintage. But it's what I have so I use it. The clouds it creates in my head are not unlike the clouds blown by outside--confused in direction; stretched thin to different compass points not of their desired destination.
How did this hurt me so deep?
How come I let it?
I know how. My yearning made me.
Empty for so long, a soul can attach hope to that which is doomed, blinding itself to the inevitable. This is not the first time, nor am I innocent. Still, I feel played.
So. I'm trying to laugh. In hopes that the pain will pass by.
Funny how we can create conditions in ourselves to quell our own nature. Humor is hard to find in the dark. So much to make me happy just out of sight and my flashlight has dead batteries.
I have hope. Hope that after I let the fields of my heart go to fallow, I can return in some years and turn the soil. Maybe then I can find a seed to take root, to grow. Maybe then it will be a place of comfort, of peace.
This makes me smile. Laugh. I hope it makes you smile too. And maybe, you're a little crazy and laughing out loud makes it all alright.

And the worms ate into his brain

2008-03-22T11:26:00.000-07:00

The wall was too high, as you can see. And I keep building it higher. Of course mama's gonna help me, but she's no longer here to keep me cozy and warm. And hopefully I don't get sued for this paraphrazation.
Well, so much for keeping things in a happy vein. I used to be happy all of the time. In fact, that was one of my many nicknames when I was younger. I miss those times.
A good friend of mine advised me to blog about my life and what I've been going through, and I've been trying. I've also been trying to keep things lighter, more "happy," with mixed results. There have been times when I'm just down and need to let things out before the darkness consumes me. I'll refrain from apologizing for this as I've been told I do that too much.
You may have noticed that I've made a pattern lately of titling my posts with lyrics. As many of you know, music is hugely important to me and I find that as I analyze myself, I tend to relate my life and experiences to music that I love. And as they say, write what you know. Not that I know a whole lot, especially when it comes to the inner workings of my mind . . . not much to know there.
So, on to the title of this post. The worms are there, munching contentedly. I wonder if they're doing damage, or maybe repairing things. Maybe they are like silk worms and their excrement will be more valuable than their food. I dunno. It's possible. Why is this making me hungry? Why do I now want to play badmitten? Who is that person standing in the corner with the white coat on? How much is that doggy in the window?
Ok, enough confusion for those of you lucky enough not to be stuck inside my head. It's a very strange and weird prison here. I'm just waiting in this cell because I have to know. Have I been guilty all this time?

The seasons roll on by

2008-03-20T11:30:00.000-07:00

Just wanted to wish a happy first day of spring to all. Nothing like an equinox to even things out. Kinda like lithium for Mother Nature.
A new season is upon us, so bust out your crack pipes and rejoice! Uh, well . . . maybe not that . . . . just yet. But, have a nice spot of tea or something. Relax. Do something nice for someone. Do something nice for yourself. Just make sure you do it in private. Indecent exposure is a class C felony in some states.
Given the state of my recent posts, most of you are probably thinking that I should follow my own advice here. And to that I say: PLLLBBBBBBTTTT!!!! Piss on that! I created my own hell and I’ll wallow in my self-sustaining misery as long as I want to! Why the hell do you think I created it in the first place? Do you think I enjoy this? You always think you can do these things, but you just can’t Nemo! Wait, that was someone else. No matter.
Anyways, lets move on shall we? A nice little happy journey into the future where everything will be happy and peachy and cute little bunnies will bring you your pipe and slippers and catepillars will nuzzle your nose. The free world will be led by a black man or a white woman and wars will end and cars will get another mile per gallon! I predict that the days will even get longer for the next few months. Until the later part of june even.
I know, it’s hard to believe in a happy place like that, but you gotta try if there is to be any hope at all. Consider the alternative ---- we could have nothing but non-stop reality shows on tv and Paris Hilton on the radio! Ewwww!
Ok, what I mean is . . . have a nice spring.

Love is an act of blood and I'm bleeding

2008-03-16T19:43:00.000-07:00

As wind will blow cold through a rocky gorge, slowly carving deeper, so does the memory of what once was, the pain of loss widen the empty chambers of the soul. Regret and longing can stretch you while you shrink and shrivel against the onslaught of reality. Resolve is cracked by self pity as the daily flames of hope are sparked, fanned and quenched when what is wished for never comes.
Maybe tomorrow will be different. Maybe the strength to move on will finally come. Letting go is never easy, rather a long and painful process more readily dealt with by better men than me.
Yes, I’m feeling sorry for myself and I apologize for exposing my weakness in this forum for you few faithful readers to share. My state of mind is such that I could have easily been talking of myself in my previous post. Perhaps I was.
In writing this, I’m hoping for catharsis, or, better yet, absolution from my inner demons. What I really want is the void in my chest to be filled, the empty vacuum that I feel in my solar plexus to be still and quiet. I know, wah, freaking wah.
I’m sorry.
Love is an act of blood and I’m bleeding. A pool in the shape of a heart.

The lunatic is on the grass

2008-03-13T18:28:00.000-07:00

Those of you who have spent any time with me may have heard me refer to myself as crazy, insane, unstable or something along those lines. These remarks are usually an attempt at humor, though sometimes I fancy that I am a little off my rocker. I know I am a tad bit different than most people in my mannerisms and social inclinations and behaviors. I accept, even embrace that. I was sometimes labeled "weird" by the "normal" people in high school, to my great relief. The problem with normal people is that they’re normal.
Anyways, let me get to my point, and yes, I actually have one this time! Yippie! My point is, that you can go around joking about and even sometimes questioning your own sanity, and then you come across someone (sometimes forcefully) who makes you think "Holy Shit! This person has NO grasp on reality and I’m the sanest person ever!" This can be comforting and unsettling at the same time. While it is nice to be reminded that you’re not bonkers, sometimes it doesn’t feel good to think that you’re normal. If you’re anything like me, at least. Please see above italicised statement at end of paragraph one.
So now you’re probably all wondering who I’m talking about. What person(s) could have inspired me to write this? And could it possibly be you? Don’t worry, I’m not going to reveal my muse for this particular piece as that would be, as they say, crazy. But, in my book, anyone who would actually read this because they know me or know of me is most likely certifiable.
I’m just wondering about people and what goes on in their heads that makes them blind to the reality that most people live and breathe. Believe me, I like to get away from that reality as much as I can, but not to the point that I am blatantly oblivious to what others are trying to tell me. I get rather frustrated when trying to explain something to someone that they refuse to see because they have already made up their mind about what they want to believe as it suits their idea of how they want to feel about someone or something.
I dunno, maybe I’m losing my point again, suprise, suprise. I do that frequently, you’ll notice. What I’m really saying is that I’m tired of irrational people causing drama for no good reason other than that they themselves are unhappy and want to cause the same discontent for others. Can’t we all just get along?

So you thought you might like to go to the show

2008-03-10T13:44:00.000-07:00

Well, I've got some bad news for you, sunshine. This is nothing more than a meandering expulsion of my illogical thought process. Feel free to walk out now; your ticket fee will be refunded at the door. I was just thinking about how much we need to entertain ourselves with stories and movies and songs. Most of which are about people we'll never meet or act remotely like. Yet we strive to connect ourselves with them, to liken ourselves unto the heroes of our fictitious pass times. I do, at least, it's much like . . . (wait for it!) . . . daydreaming!
Well, I've beaten that dead horse already. I find it interesting, though, how we get caught up in the drama of stories well told. I'm sure there's a super good explanation for this, and if I were a professor of the humanities, I'd be able to rattle it right off. But, as it's been well over half a decade since I had that class, I'm in the dark. Somewhat.
I think it has something to do with wishing for truth and passion in our own lives to rival that which we find in story and song. Truth and passion to lend vibrance and meaning to our existence, to make our everyday struggles and suffering more worthwhile. Therefore, we distract ourselves with these things, living vicariously through our favorite characters. And I'm definately not speaking about those of you who waste your time supporting america's obsession with reality tv. You sick, perverted people make me weep for society!
So, go out and find a beautiful book, song, or movie. Enjoy it! Relate it to your life and live fuller. Get drunk!
I do not envy you the headache you will have when you wake, but in the meantime, sleep well and dream of large women.

What would you do if I sang out of tune? (daydreaming part 2)

2008-03-06T12:48:00.000-08:00

Well, I already know. Those of you who have heard me sing know that I do sing out of tune, at least some of the time. And you listen anyways. I appreciate that. I suppose it's flaws that make us human. Or maybe it's accepting those flaws, in one's self and in others, that makes us more human. This particular flaw of mine bothers me. As I have mentioned before, I'm a daydreamer of immense proportions. One of my favorite recurring daydreams is that of singing, and I get frustrated that I'm not naturally better than I am. Oh, well. I'm not whining to Oprah. Yet.
Some of you would undoubtedly tell me to practice and overcome my painfully off-key tendancies. I agree with that and I do try. Unfortunately, one of my other (many) flaws is a marked lack of disciplined self-motivation.
Let me pose another query. What would you do if I sang in tune? Or, rather: What would I do if I sang in tune? It's something I wonder about in my travels through my mind (that's a short journey). Would I be as happy as I dream about if all my pipe dreams were suddenly fulfilled? And the rational, logical answer is no, I really don't think I would. That's one of the defining charactaristics of our flawed mortal existance. We are never truly happy and content. We spend our time dreaming and wishing of what might be, thinking that if certain things were certain ways then we would be at peace with everything and life would be well. Cookies and kool-aid for everyone! But, things don't work that way for us. If we were ever to have all of our dreams come true, we'd get bored with them in a horribly short while and would rapidly be dreaming of new things.
This all is how it should be, as shitty as it seems, and rather than go on in another redundant diatribe, I'll let you figure that one out. My aformetioned lack of motivation is kicking in quite nicely now and I think I'll go do something less productive with my time. Like contemplating the current political mood of the country.
Cheers!

Does anybody here remember Vera Lynn?

2008-03-06T12:46:00.000-08:00

I often daydream. It's a problem I have, really. I do it too much. It's my safe, happy place. I suppose we all do it, but I've turned it into a defense mechanisim. And somewhat of a crutch. See, rather than actually working on the problems in my life, I daydream about how it would be if they all went away. This usually involves winning the lottery or something similar that would enable me to do what I want, when I want. I'm smart enough to know that gobs of money wont solve my problems or really bring me what I want.
I really don't know where I'm going with this, it just feels good to write. The last several months have been pretty hard for me and I've internalized a great deal. Well on my way to becoming an all inclusive society with the voices in my head, not needing external sources of company. That's really just another daydream.
I wish I could fix everything. Some things I know I can, and some I know I can't. I know, you're thinking I should quit whining, suck it up, and hit the bottle or something. Sounds good. 'Cept the sucking it up part.
Anyways, this all really had no point. Sorry to waste your time. I'm good at wasting my own, so I thought I'd branch out.

Can you smell me from there?

2008-02-05T14:06:00.000-08:00

How quickly we stop caring. Have you notice that? If you remove the base reason(s) for certain everyday behaviors, it's easy to stop caring about them. Maybe it's just me; I might be wired this way. But, I think there's a fair percentage of people like me who wouldn't care about the things we do to not offend others if those others were removed from the equation.

I haven't showered in days. There's good reasons for that. I'm living in a remodel in progress of a house that lacks running water. My means of cleaning myself are limited to showering at the local YMCA, driving twenty miles to a friend's house, or heating water for a sponge bath. As the snow here is up to my testicles, I haven't been able to move my car for several days now. And heating water takes time and effort. I don't really care, though. My only human contact is via phone or internet. Nobody around to smell me but the cat, and I've never seen her shower!

I would be more concerned if there were somebody around that I was trying to impress, or, at least, not offend. It leads me to think that there are a helluva lot of things we do just to make others like us, or not despise us. And when you take those "others" away, the need for these things is less needful.

Another example: I've never been one to do much housework. Unless somebody I lived with was on my ass about it, or, more rarely, I knew someone was coming over that I didn't want to think I was a pig. I never wanted to do it. I figured there were many more activities that I would find more fulfilling and entertaining. Maybe I am just a pig at heart. Maybe it's just the type B personality in me.

These are just some minor, petty examples, which probably have most of you reading this squeamish and hoping to never meet me in person. But, I do clean up well given the necessity of human contact. And I do crave human contact. However, I feel this alludes to some interesting ideas about our mindwork and motivations as a culture. What they are, I don't know and don't have the ambition to explore much further.

Sorry, I hope you weren't waiting for a profound point, a tidy little thesis.

The snow piles up

2008-01-31T12:34:00.000-08:00

"You should clean up around here."

"I know."

"You're living like a pig. You sit around all day and play that game, or your guitar, or get online and--"

"I know"

"You're trying to escape."

"Yes."

"Do you think you'll find answers here? Shut in like a hermit?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do. You're treading water, waiting for a lifesaver."

"And? What do you want me to do? What would you do? What can I do, really?"

"Do something productive. Get your mind off all the shit."

"That's what I've been doing."

"Your distractions are hardly productive."

"Not all of them, but I've been working on some of my songs."

"Most of that was done before you got here."

"Listen, will you just shut up?"

Silence. Hurt silence

"I don't care if you pout. I don't much give a fuck about what anyone thinks right now."

Silence. Ahh, blessed silence! Now, back to the game. Fuck, this is hard. I just need to figure out how to kill this bastard, and I can finish this quest. Fucking game!

"You need some better armor, with resistance to cold."

"Oh, now you're telling me how to play? Do you ever really do anything besides tell others what to do? You know that's part of why I'm here, to get away from that sort of thing."

"Yes, and the other part? So you don't have to see her, however much you want to? You obsessively check online for messages from her. You jump every time you get a text to see if it's from her. And when you do get a message? You tell her how fucking hard it is for you, how sad you are. Like that's going to make her feel sorry for you and she'll want to be with you again?"

"I know it's not going to do that. She's not that type of person. I just hurt whenever I think about her. I don't want to make her feel bad, and the situation is such that I know it wouldn't work until I wrap that other shit up. I don't really think it'll work then either, and that sucks. So I'm like a dog lying in the corner, licking my nuts and feeling sorry for myself. It's a shitty situation and I'm coping how I can. Now, will you leave me alone?"

"Sure. I'm just trying to help."

Fucking insane person I have to live with!

"I heard that."

I know, you're a voice in my goddamn head!

"No, I'm you."