If you weren't concerned about the Tsunami before...now, it's affecting...CELEBRITIES
Do you really have to qualify those caught in this disaster by signifying that celebrities were involved? I mean...COME ON!
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Monday, December 27, 2004
Home for the Holidays
We make Christmas so much harder than it needs to be, but then I think by nature we make everything more difficult. We're neurotic. Not just me, but you too. We dissect everything down, and play out scenarios, and project onto people, plants, and animals. Okay, so maybe it's just me...and maybe my family. But we really do make life treacherous...or at least can.
When D and I first got to my parents house in sadly dilapidated Fort Madison, my mother and step-father were in Burlington finishing up the Christmas shopping. Wal-Mart, the epicenter for last minute purchases...perhaps Target if you're high-end middle class. It was nice to sit in mom's cozy little paneled, snowman decked-out, living room despite the faint odor of cat pee. Yes despite the smell of animal urine there's something, well...cozy...about coming home, at least for the holidays. Even if the holidays themselves have a faint urine smell. Pissy.
My mom's house was only slightly crazy with ornamentals this year. Usually their house could be seen from space, and the inside was adorned with at least 3 Christmas trees of varying sizes and brightness, Greenery tries to impress a full-of-life quality, but is really dead and brittle, and shit-tons of Christmas object d-arts of various themes, but mostly snowmen. She even switches out the rugs in the kitchen with Christmas Bear themed rugs. Oh, AND a toilet seat of Santa. When the lids down his bright eyes look up at you while you unzip, and when the lid is up he is hiding his eyes...or at least pretends too. It reeks of holiday spirit, you can't help but want a cup of eggnog or feel the urge to hum a carol.
My step-dad made his entrance storming through the living room carrying about 5 wal-mart plastic bags.
"You're mom spent way to fuckin' much on Christmas. She knows we don't have any money...We're not doing this shit next year."
He said that last year. He is right, though, they don't have the money. My mom hasn't been able to work in about 2 years, because her body started to fall a part. Knee replacement, hip replacement, 2 vertebrae fused, carpal tunnel surgery 3 times, wrist re-built...hmmmm think that's it. She was just recently diagnosed with Rhumatoid arthritis. She's in constant pain and hopped up on Vicadin and Valium. The medication has taken something from her eyes, that's what I've noticed most.
And would you believe even after that long list of surgeries and history of pain my mother is still fighting for her social security. The 'government' doesn't believe she couldn't go back to work at the factory. The factory work which, if not caused, exasperated her condition. So, she has stacks of hospital bills and everyday bills with absolutely no income, except for the money she makes babysitting all of my sisters' kids.
My step-father hasn't been any luckier. He contracted Hepatitis-C while working in the ER during Vientnam. I guess they didn't follow universal precautions in the middle of a war in the jungles. His liver is pretty damaged, and last week he was diagnosed with Diabetes. One of the only things he said after the diagnosis was, "I can't get sick. I have to work to take care of your mom."
I went into the kitchen and mom was sitting on her stool, hunched over, smoking a cigarette. Generic Menthol 100s. She justifies her smoking by saying, "My doctor said my lungs look really good for someone who smokes." 'Someone who smokes' probably being the qualifier in that sentence.
She was crying.
"I just can't do anything for anyone. I don't have any reason to be on this earth, J. I can't do this anymore."
Merry Christmas, ma.
I should have said the typical response, "You do have a reason. I need you, mom." But I think she needed a reason besides us kids this time. She has been living her life for the kids her entire life. I wish I could say I came up with some wonderful reason to live, but I didn't. I just stood there, feeling my heart break. Knowing how much she was hurting. Knowing what's it's like to feel like you have no purpose. We need a purpose, however illusionary this notion may be.
Mom quickly recovered, wiped her face with the cuff of her jacket, and began putting things away in the kitchen. She hugged me and said she was glad I came.
I suppose this initial interaction with my mom was the tone of the entire trip home. There were some in my family in very precarious financial situations feeling the burden of the holiday season; filled with some self-perpetuated guilt from the inability of being able to purchase something for every member of our very large family. There were fights about money, and pacts made to spend a lot less next year.
This time home I saw how sad my mother has become. There were times when her eyes still light up, and mom's eyes really do. She can make anyone feel welcome, and has the most genuine laugh. But then too often she was inaccessible, staring off, eyes dark and vacant. She can't keep going to that place. I really wish I could make things easier for her...not just give them money, which of course isn't an option, anyway...but find a way to allow her to release all that pain, both physical and the kind housed heavily in the chest.
It would've been a good year for one of the mythical Christmas Miracles...wonder where I can order one for next year...lay away perhaps.?
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Happy Holidays...and other rare sightings.
D. and I are going to my mother's house today. We will be there until Sunday. Luckily mom has valium.
This is going to be the first year I won't be lugging bags of prezzies into the house for every member of the family. This year I'm the poor uncle. I keep flashing back to all of those holiday movies whose theme was it's the 'spirit' of Christmas that counts. Oh so vague. But, I'm going to give it a try. I haven't received a Xmas 'gasm since I was a child, so maybe this is the year...minus the presents...I'll find the true meaning of the Holiday season. And if all else fails...mom has Valium.
My father sent me a Christmas card. It sat on the coffee table for a couple of days, before I got up the inertia to open it. I haven't spoken to him in two years...and even when we did speak we never really said anything. As I mentioned in this entry my father has always been very good at buying presents, especially when we were children. When you don't grow up...it's quite easy to pick out something your kid will love, even if you don't really know them.
Inside the card was a check for $200. Instead of relief that now I will be able to cover this month's gas/electric bill, I was pissed that once again he feels he can just write a check and the last two years will be fine. It's hardest when you don't hate someone. When you hate them, at least you have fuel to feed the fire, but when it's indifference it's hard to get down to the meat of the issue.
Just one more adult kid bitchin' about a father figure.
Well, on that note I have to start making some little cards to go around what gifts I did make. We made a huge batch of Hot Chocolate mix and divided it up into canisters; one for each sister and their families.
Happy Holidays in a world that continues to amaze me for its ability to grow into an even bigger pile of crap...but hey we've got morals and good old fashioned family values. Thank ya baby Jesus!
I really do hope this next year will be a year of change. For the better.
This is going to be the first year I won't be lugging bags of prezzies into the house for every member of the family. This year I'm the poor uncle. I keep flashing back to all of those holiday movies whose theme was it's the 'spirit' of Christmas that counts. Oh so vague. But, I'm going to give it a try. I haven't received a Xmas 'gasm since I was a child, so maybe this is the year...minus the presents...I'll find the true meaning of the Holiday season. And if all else fails...mom has Valium.
My father sent me a Christmas card. It sat on the coffee table for a couple of days, before I got up the inertia to open it. I haven't spoken to him in two years...and even when we did speak we never really said anything. As I mentioned in this entry my father has always been very good at buying presents, especially when we were children. When you don't grow up...it's quite easy to pick out something your kid will love, even if you don't really know them.
Inside the card was a check for $200. Instead of relief that now I will be able to cover this month's gas/electric bill, I was pissed that once again he feels he can just write a check and the last two years will be fine. It's hardest when you don't hate someone. When you hate them, at least you have fuel to feed the fire, but when it's indifference it's hard to get down to the meat of the issue.
Just one more adult kid bitchin' about a father figure.
Well, on that note I have to start making some little cards to go around what gifts I did make. We made a huge batch of Hot Chocolate mix and divided it up into canisters; one for each sister and their families.
Happy Holidays in a world that continues to amaze me for its ability to grow into an even bigger pile of crap...but hey we've got morals and good old fashioned family values. Thank ya baby Jesus!
I really do hope this next year will be a year of change. For the better.
Friday, December 17, 2004
Presidential Mansion
Last night was my dinner at the University's Presidential Mansion.
A friend of D's, and member of his lab, finished defending his PhD and their boss, the Vivacious researcher and wife of the president of the university (who also is a pediatric cardiologist) decided to throw a little celebration dinner at the mansion. We were invited.
I had promised D. about a month ago that I would begin working on my social anxiety. It was effecting him, obviously, going to lab, school, and social functions alone; feeling as if he must always make excuses for me. Although I was fine with him just saying, "Look, people just really freak my boyfriend out." Okay, maybe it's best if just have a cold.
Just to dissect for a moment...
It's really not that people freak me out. For the most part they just annoy me a bit. I think I'm a bit hyper-sensitive and hyper-critical in social situations. I can't stand it when people are being fake, or pretending to be quite interested in what people are saying, when in fact they are just waiting for a quiet moments so they can reward the audience with their view on things.
And then there are the obvious issues I have with myself. As much as I don't want this to be true, I feel as if a job defines who I am. Now, I know it doesn't matter what I do to make money, and I know a good job doesn't validate me as a human being. But I truly feel people do judge you based on your job. And you could argue the people who would judge you for such trivial things aren't worthy of being your friends. But, then I'm not talking friendship...I'm just trying to get through an evening of conversation.
Moving on...
My approach yesterday was to not think about the dinner. If I didn't think about it at all, I wouldn't be able to create horrible social scenarios throughout the day in my head, thus elevating my growing anxiety. Yes, this is a day in my brain...fun, huh?
In the morning first thing D. says, "Honey, the big dinner is tonight. At the "Mansion.""
"I don't want to talk about it."
"But, it's gonna be at the "Mansion."" He's obviously excited about the affair. As he should be. I'm not so caught up in my cynicism that I don't want other people to enjoy life. I'm not that far gone.
"Sweety, just don't talk about it."
The dinner was at 7:00. I started drinking at 5:00. Drinking to "loosen" up isn't something I normally do, but I've been watching a little of "Soap Opera" network lately, and people always do that on those shows. I figured if it was good enough for Alexis Morrell Carrington Colby Dexter Rowan, it was good enough for me.
The dinner wasn't so bad. In the beginning there was some forced mingling where D. introduced me, and everyone was so glad to finally meet me, and they've heard a lot about me, and I was glad to meet finally meet them. We drank very good wine, and the hostess walked around chatting with everyone very very wide eyed in her Asian inspired silk floral blouse and fashionable sleek black slacks. She really is a vivacious woman. When she speaks to you it's almost as if she really does care about what you are saying, except for the fact her wide eyes slightly glaze over.
The President enters the room in a tuxedo. A tuxedo. I've met him on a few occasions, and he was my heart doctor for awhile. He still asks me to get my cholesterol checked. He's a very accomplished man. I think that's the best way to put it. He has a presence about him, which is a bit off-putting. He tends to be instantly commanding...and to me that's annoying. He was only passing through to meet the guests, as he was conducting the symphony that night, but he would be back in time for dessert. Was I really having this moment? Why did I feel so out of place...why should that not be my place? Why must there even be a place? Okay...I'm getting off point here.
After dinner, which was a wide array of vegetarian dishes and a couple meat options for the carnivores. It was very rich. Of course. We ate off of fine china and all of the silverware really was. The wine was delicious and the table talk was light-hearted and I was almost starting to get comfortable with the idea I was sitting in the grand dining room of the presidential mansion with a room full of Doctors, and Double Doctors. Okay, I said "double doctors," not quite there yet....
So I was saying...after dinner, we adjourned to the west glass porch not to be confused with the porches on each of the other compass points. There was cake, coffee, rice pudding, champagne, and a gifts given to the graduate. It was pleasant despite the close quarters. But then D. got caught up in conversation with some undergraduate anatomy groupies. They were in one of his Gross Anatomy classes and they just found him amazing. We had something in common.
I found myself in a conversation with one of the fiancee's of a lab associate of D'. I found her to be quite fake during dinner. Very wide eyed, and always smiling and seeming interested in everything people were saying. She acted as if it didn't bother her that her fiancee was bragging he could go out and drink till he passed out, and she would always come pick him up. She mentioned sometimes he didn't come home at all, "But that's fine...he's just being one of the boys. It doesn't bother me." I knew it did...and it were little moments like that which would lead to her breakdown one day.
So we were talking...at least she was. And then she asked me the question I had been dreading all night. "So, what is it you do, Jason?"
Instantly I felt my blood pressure go up and my face, no doubt, was turning red. My ears were hot. Why does this question effect me so much? Why do I let it?
"I was working at the plasma center for 6 years. I was the assistant manager (title dropping...ugh I do one of the things which annoys me when other people do it. why?) then I quit. Now, I'm trying to get on at Mercy Hospital in the lab, doing phlebotomy." Life story...come on.
"Ohhhhhh phlebetomy. That has to be so rewarding, you know. I bet you feel so good when you hit the vein."
She said that. Now, I know I tend to read into what people say...because I think a lot of times we speak in code, but that seemed condescending to me. I began to shrink and everyone around me began to grown. I felt less than...not good enough. I felt as if I was bringing D. down in some way by not having a title or great job. I hate that I feel this way.
I had to have a cigarette. It felt like a great way to escape. Actually, I thought we would be leaving soon, because I told D I would go to dinner, but that I didn't want to stay late. He said he understood, and we would leave shortly after dinner. At this point he had just asked for another martini, so I knew we wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.
I asked D for his car keys so I could go out and have a cigarette. It was nice to be outside. The cold air made me feel alive again, and I briefly put things into perspective.
A couple was coming out from the party and they saw me and said, "Better keep D. under control...ha ha ha."
"yeah...I'll do that."
Odd.
I had two cigarettes and then decided to go back inside. I tried to get in, but the door was now locked. I could see everyone in the back of the house. The president was back, in his tuxedo, and everyone had circled around him, laughing at something apparently witty he was saying. I knocked on the door, but no one came. I just stood there, in the cold, watching them laugh. Realizing no one really knew I wasn't there, and it just seemed fitting I was locked out. So, I put D.'s car keys on his front seat and I walked home.
More on this tomorrow...if I keep going this post will be huge.
A friend of D's, and member of his lab, finished defending his PhD and their boss, the Vivacious researcher and wife of the president of the university (who also is a pediatric cardiologist) decided to throw a little celebration dinner at the mansion. We were invited.
I had promised D. about a month ago that I would begin working on my social anxiety. It was effecting him, obviously, going to lab, school, and social functions alone; feeling as if he must always make excuses for me. Although I was fine with him just saying, "Look, people just really freak my boyfriend out." Okay, maybe it's best if just have a cold.
Just to dissect for a moment...
It's really not that people freak me out. For the most part they just annoy me a bit. I think I'm a bit hyper-sensitive and hyper-critical in social situations. I can't stand it when people are being fake, or pretending to be quite interested in what people are saying, when in fact they are just waiting for a quiet moments so they can reward the audience with their view on things.
And then there are the obvious issues I have with myself. As much as I don't want this to be true, I feel as if a job defines who I am. Now, I know it doesn't matter what I do to make money, and I know a good job doesn't validate me as a human being. But I truly feel people do judge you based on your job. And you could argue the people who would judge you for such trivial things aren't worthy of being your friends. But, then I'm not talking friendship...I'm just trying to get through an evening of conversation.
Moving on...
My approach yesterday was to not think about the dinner. If I didn't think about it at all, I wouldn't be able to create horrible social scenarios throughout the day in my head, thus elevating my growing anxiety. Yes, this is a day in my brain...fun, huh?
In the morning first thing D. says, "Honey, the big dinner is tonight. At the "Mansion.""
"I don't want to talk about it."
"But, it's gonna be at the "Mansion."" He's obviously excited about the affair. As he should be. I'm not so caught up in my cynicism that I don't want other people to enjoy life. I'm not that far gone.
"Sweety, just don't talk about it."
The dinner was at 7:00. I started drinking at 5:00. Drinking to "loosen" up isn't something I normally do, but I've been watching a little of "Soap Opera" network lately, and people always do that on those shows. I figured if it was good enough for Alexis Morrell Carrington Colby Dexter Rowan, it was good enough for me.
The dinner wasn't so bad. In the beginning there was some forced mingling where D. introduced me, and everyone was so glad to finally meet me, and they've heard a lot about me, and I was glad to meet finally meet them. We drank very good wine, and the hostess walked around chatting with everyone very very wide eyed in her Asian inspired silk floral blouse and fashionable sleek black slacks. She really is a vivacious woman. When she speaks to you it's almost as if she really does care about what you are saying, except for the fact her wide eyes slightly glaze over.
The President enters the room in a tuxedo. A tuxedo. I've met him on a few occasions, and he was my heart doctor for awhile. He still asks me to get my cholesterol checked. He's a very accomplished man. I think that's the best way to put it. He has a presence about him, which is a bit off-putting. He tends to be instantly commanding...and to me that's annoying. He was only passing through to meet the guests, as he was conducting the symphony that night, but he would be back in time for dessert. Was I really having this moment? Why did I feel so out of place...why should that not be my place? Why must there even be a place? Okay...I'm getting off point here.
After dinner, which was a wide array of vegetarian dishes and a couple meat options for the carnivores. It was very rich. Of course. We ate off of fine china and all of the silverware really was. The wine was delicious and the table talk was light-hearted and I was almost starting to get comfortable with the idea I was sitting in the grand dining room of the presidential mansion with a room full of Doctors, and Double Doctors. Okay, I said "double doctors," not quite there yet....
So I was saying...after dinner, we adjourned to the west glass porch not to be confused with the porches on each of the other compass points. There was cake, coffee, rice pudding, champagne, and a gifts given to the graduate. It was pleasant despite the close quarters. But then D. got caught up in conversation with some undergraduate anatomy groupies. They were in one of his Gross Anatomy classes and they just found him amazing. We had something in common.
I found myself in a conversation with one of the fiancee's of a lab associate of D'. I found her to be quite fake during dinner. Very wide eyed, and always smiling and seeming interested in everything people were saying. She acted as if it didn't bother her that her fiancee was bragging he could go out and drink till he passed out, and she would always come pick him up. She mentioned sometimes he didn't come home at all, "But that's fine...he's just being one of the boys. It doesn't bother me." I knew it did...and it were little moments like that which would lead to her breakdown one day.
So we were talking...at least she was. And then she asked me the question I had been dreading all night. "So, what is it you do, Jason?"
Instantly I felt my blood pressure go up and my face, no doubt, was turning red. My ears were hot. Why does this question effect me so much? Why do I let it?
"I was working at the plasma center for 6 years. I was the assistant manager (title dropping...ugh I do one of the things which annoys me when other people do it. why?) then I quit. Now, I'm trying to get on at Mercy Hospital in the lab, doing phlebotomy." Life story...come on.
"Ohhhhhh phlebetomy. That has to be so rewarding, you know. I bet you feel so good when you hit the vein."
She said that. Now, I know I tend to read into what people say...because I think a lot of times we speak in code, but that seemed condescending to me. I began to shrink and everyone around me began to grown. I felt less than...not good enough. I felt as if I was bringing D. down in some way by not having a title or great job. I hate that I feel this way.
I had to have a cigarette. It felt like a great way to escape. Actually, I thought we would be leaving soon, because I told D I would go to dinner, but that I didn't want to stay late. He said he understood, and we would leave shortly after dinner. At this point he had just asked for another martini, so I knew we wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.
I asked D for his car keys so I could go out and have a cigarette. It was nice to be outside. The cold air made me feel alive again, and I briefly put things into perspective.
A couple was coming out from the party and they saw me and said, "Better keep D. under control...ha ha ha."
"yeah...I'll do that."
Odd.
I had two cigarettes and then decided to go back inside. I tried to get in, but the door was now locked. I could see everyone in the back of the house. The president was back, in his tuxedo, and everyone had circled around him, laughing at something apparently witty he was saying. I knocked on the door, but no one came. I just stood there, in the cold, watching them laugh. Realizing no one really knew I wasn't there, and it just seemed fitting I was locked out. So, I put D.'s car keys on his front seat and I walked home.
More on this tomorrow...if I keep going this post will be huge.
Monday, December 13, 2004
Sunday, December 12, 2004
A Sunday Run Down...and Holiday Awareness
My backyard...last winter.
It's December 13th.
December 13th and Christmas is so close. I'm feeling unbelievably uncomfortable about the holidays this year. This is going to be the first year in many, many years, I'm not going to have any money to spend on gifts for the family. Now, I don't know what that means to everyone. Everyone's family celebrates the holidays in different ways. But to my family it seems very important to buy a gift for everyone...that includes grandparents, nieces (4), nephews (3), siblings (3) with step(5.) Then there's of course Mother, who deserves the best gift.. deserves much more than I could ever afford.
This year, as of right now, I have absolutely nothing to spend on my family. I have NO money. Last year at this time I was making about 50,000 dollars a year. Now, I don't know what that means to some people, but to me and my lifestyle it's a lot of money. I hate to say it, but it made the holidays so much better. I wish I could say money doesn't matter, and isn't about buying things for people, but spending time with them. But I can't, because it just doesn't seem to be that way.
My family has drifted a part the last few years. I feel, somewhat there has been some 'siding.' As in, either you accepted the baby sister back into the family with open arms, despite her drug use, despite her questionable relationship with the father of her kids who happens to be 10 years older than she. My two sisters sorta think my youngest sister is, well...trash. They've said it many times. I still think of her as my baby sister, not blindly...I'm aware of the life she has lead, but we all go through different shit, and make different desicions. I've seen that she has learned from her experience and now she's gettin' by. And for some people that's pretty damned good, considering. Of course the division in our family isn't so simple...what family dynamic ever is?
My mother is effected the most with the drifting. Her whole life is us kids, and our kids, though I don't have any...my sister's children are very important to my mother. Mother has always voiced her concern she was never a good enough mother. She feels horrible she stayed with our first stepfather for so long, despite the abuse. And then she found out this year her father had been molesting me for 12 years, well...that revelation didn't quite pull us all together. It's been a difficult year for our family.
Everything seems to have a shadow...a cloud, a depressive air.
I wish we could all be closer. I haven't spoken to my dad in over two Christmases (this is how we measure time...)and my Grandmother (his mom) in about the same amount of time. I think part of the reason is I am ashamed that I didn't become the person they wanted me to be...even who I wanted to be. Being with them, especially my Grandmother, I remember how good life seemed, and how intent I was at being someone...making a difference...learning...thinking of the world as something to explore. Now, I barely leave the house. Somehow, I became this person, afraid of so many things, although fear is probably not the proper word. It's just, for example, when I meet people...I have to represent myself...and I don't know what I am representing. Without a job description or educational drive, at least not one documented, I just don't know who to say I am. And without my family I really lost.
I'm so in debt...and I've put D in debt while I try to get a job. Sometimes, I wonder if it was really for the best I quite the job I had worked so hard to get...or at least I worked real hard...and then somehow got this job. It wasn't so much planned. Towards the end I was working for this woman who was very manic, and very good at manipulation to ensure her safety within the corporation. I just couldn't do it on a daily basis, and I figured it would be easy, with my experience to get a pretty decent job. It's not. Unemployment is horrible, and I honestly don't know what to do anymore.
I'm going to get some sleep. It's very windy outside...hope it's blowing some good this way.
Saturday, December 11, 2004
Catching up again...
Photo taken at House on the Rock.
Just transferring some of my entries from my 'ol Blog. It's nice to filter out all of the, "Didn't do much today...it has been burning when I pee..." You know, boring stuff.
The next few will be older entries...well, maybe more than 'few.'
That Bird is Crazy! 06.22.04
I can't believe I haven't written about my experience with the crazy Blue Jay parents the other day.
What was I thinking?!
Okay, so, I was walking to work the other morning...which incidentally has become quite the walk, spanning about six blocks, now. I know...how do I ever deal? The walk used to be much shorter until the street crews tore up this bridge and closed the sidewalk around the construction area...why am I getting into this?
So...I was walking to work, and I was on this rather long block...actually two blocks in length, when this baby bird flops down out of it's nest, squawking as it went. Well, it's timing couldn't' have been worse, 'cause just as it was going down a car was coming along and smacked it to the ground.
The image was gruesome, but I didn't have any time to mourn the loss of the babe, and I would've done it, too; I am just that kind of guy. "Overly-Sensitive" my Mom would say..."Gay" everyone else said.
As I was saying...I didn't have time to mourn because the mother Blue Jay decided I had something to do with the death of her baby. Always pointing fingers, those Blue Jays, never willing to take the blame themselves...most pretty birds are like that.
The Momma-Jay looked down at me from her limb and louldy screeched. I knew from past experiences with Blue-Jays that they weren't afraid to take on a man; one attacked a friend of mine when we were kids, climbing a tree. It left a little bloody hole where it tapped away at his little punkin' head.
The next thing I know the Momma-Jay had taken flight and begun a dive-bomb manuever towards my head. Luckily, I'm quite skilled in the art of bird-dodging, as my Parrot frequently attempts to fly onto my shoulder, usually when I'm just not in the mood to be shat on. So, I did one of my famous Matrix back bends as it swooped towards my face, missing me by mere centimeters.
This is when I decided I should move...quickly...but backwards so I could keep my eye on the enemy. Every few steps I made she would dive bomb me, and I would punch at the air towards her, doing my best to keep her from my face. She was quite the brave bitch! I probably looked like a total freak..walking backwards, punching at the air. Probably?
When I made it to the end of the block she was still chasing me, but now the Father had joined in on the hunt. Apparently, in her bird screeching she had conveyed to him that I had some how knocked their spawn into the street by means of telekinetic power. Those Jays are crazy.
The Father tried his best to make a dent in my head, too, but he was no match to my bird-defense. Eventually, they both gave up and flew away. I guess they decided to cut their losses.
So...yeah...that was a crazy walk to work. If ever you see a baby bird fall from the nest...be ready...be quick...cuz those Blue-Jays wanna kick your ass.
On Fathers 06.20.04
It's Father's Day, huh? Hmmmm. How do I feel about my Father. I really don't know.
My Dad is a nice guy. I can't say that he's not. He never hit me when I was a kid, but then he might not have been around me long enough to be driven to that point. He rarely, if ever, raised his voice to me...but that could be for the same aforementioned reason.
My Mom and Dad have been divorced for as long as I can remember. If my life were a movie then I would be the child that was to save the marriage, but then I don't think REAL people actually verbalize such things. At any rate, my miracle birth wasn't enough to keep them together. (I almost died...not at birth, but shortly after)
I have no idea if Mom and Dad were good together. They do seem like two very different people...maybe cuz they are. Mom could probably make it with anyone...she is a tad Co-D...well, a smidgen more than a tad. My Dad might be, too, he has been with a cold bitchy woman, also for as long as I can remember.
Growing up I would see my Dad sometimes on my Birthday, always at Christmas, and usually for two weeks in the Summer. He didn't stay in one place for too long, because he worked for the railroad, so he would get transferred a lot.
I think, as a child, my Dad represented a sort of safe haven; a place to go to escape my real life...which was pretty dark and disturbing.
My stepfather was a very violent chap, both physically and verbally. We lived in fear, I suppose. I remember I could hear his car pull-up in front of the house...which was quite a distance from the front window...it was my cue to quickly make it to my bedroom. It was imperative to get to the bedroom before he walked in the house, because once he got there if you left the room he would freak out on you, thinking the only reason why you left was because of him...which it was.
I am digressing...Horror Stories of Tom The Evil Step-Dad will be another entry.
So, I had that at my home and of course once or twice a month I was molested by my Grandfather on my Mother's side. So, two weeks at my dad's huge house in the country by the lake seemed like a little slice of heaven for me. Man, I loved going there.
Dad and Step-mom would do stuff with my Sister and I. (although my sis didn't like going there so much...she didn't like the 'country life') We would go into town and see a movie, and spend an hour or so in the arcade, or we would go to some amusement park for a couple of days. It was fun. At Dad's it was always fun.
As I grew older, I needed more that just fun. I needed a father who would offer guidance and a male perspective on the world. I needed a father who would do more than play me doubles on Mortal Kombat. I needed a father who would be interested in what I was doing in school, and maybe show up to one of my plays once, or offer me support when I came out to the family and said, "Guess what...you were right all along...I am gay!"
Over the past 10 years I have realized Dad was never truly there for us. He provided my mom with 120 dollars a month to help take care of both my sister and I and then bought us expensive gifts at Christmas and at Birthdays, which incidentally always set my mom into a 2 or 3 day depression. I never understood why, until I got older.
I began hearing from Dad less and less. It got to the point where I would see him every Christmas...but then last Christmas I decided, "What's the point?" I couldn't see any reason why we should exchange gifts when neither one of us knew who we are buying for, and probably never really did. Dad just got lucky when I was younger...I was a kid...I liked toys.
I once sent Dad an Email, telling him how I felt, and that I didn't think we knew each other at all, and should probably get started on that soon...we weren't getting any younger. I got an email back from my Step-mom; she had confiscated the email. She said my Dad would not be reading it, and that I was an ungrateful son who had no right to be saying those things to my father...Hadn't I remembered all of the nice things he had bought for me? Perfect. It all made sense.
So, I'm not getting him a Father's Day card this year, or a tie, or a golf club...because I feel weird calling him Dad. He was just a toy-provider when I was a kid...a place to visit. He never really was a "Father," real nice guy, though.
-------------------------
Epilogue of sorts,
I guess I don't really have a "father," in the way that the image has been constructed. I do wish I had it in my life, though. I have always felt slightly out of balance without a strong male influence in my life. I have wondered if this has also been a contributing factor to being gay, at least in my life...not that I am looking for a reason.
There are a lot of things that I think have been threads in our culture as people since the beginning, that are beginning to fray or disappear. Our quick progression (regression?) culturally is causing a re-evaluation of ourselves in how we fit in the grand scheme and also culture as a whole is set up. I wonder what the picture will be 50 years from now...100 years from now...
And that, too, is another entry.
Email From Mom....02.04.04
Prologue: I wrote my mom a letter last week, and told what needed to be told. I thought an email was, for some reason, too impersonal. The funny thing is she resonded in one. Odd. Even odder...here it posted in an online journal, as is my response...to her response.
Once I am through this I need to give something back. I just don't what that will be, yet.
Dear Dear Jason,
First I am sorry for all you have went through. You aren't the one to be sorry. Why didn't you tell me before now? I never thought dad would have done something like this. When did all this start? Was it before grandma got sick or during? Jason, i don't know how I am going to deal with this and I don't know how you have delt with this all this time. I hate my dad for what he has put you through, but then I love him because he is my dad.
Now I wonder if he has done this to myself or S. Her and I don't remember much in our younger years. I don't know what to do. He isn't alone with any of the grandchildren and B. said he doesn't think dad would do this at his age, but you never know. I can't believe how I have fucked your life up between dad and T. I can never say how sorry I am and or there isn't anything I can do to make up for the fucked up life you have had.
I don't know how I am going to tell S. or the girls. The family has been falling apart year by year. We don't have the closeness we use to have. How could you be in the same room with dad all these years? Are you going to talk to dad or write to him? I think you should. I don't know how he will handle it, but it has to be done. I think he has put it all behind him or maybe he has put it back in his mind and has closed it out. I don't know. This is really tearing me apart. I don't know what to do. I can never talk to him like I use to.
I wish you would come home for a visit. Things aren't going to be the same. I will always have this guilt for what he has done to you. Maybe you need to get some help with this also. You need to really talk to someone who can help you. When are you going to tell your sisters? Please let me know if you want me to or let me know when you are going to tell them.
Jason, please remember I love you and no matter what you do or say I do love you and always will. But now I feel like I haven't been the mother I should have to you kids. You all are a mess because of me. Please call, write, or come home so we can sort all through this. I LOVE YOU!!!!!!
Love and Miss You!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Mom
My Letter to Mom
Mom,
First off, you have nothing to be sorry about. You
can not take responsiblity for something that you knew
nothing about, or had no control over. I have never
blamed you for anything that happened to me as a kid.
This is one of the reasons why I could never tell you;
you've had a hard enough life, and I didn't want to
add any more of a burden to you. Please, don't blame
youself.
You've always been a great mom, and I 've always been
proud of you and all the great things you've taught
me. As a kid I always thought that I had the coolest
mom, and I still think this today. I've always felt
like I was loved, and that you would always accept me
for who I am, not all people are lucky enough to have
a mom as great as you. You always stand by your kids
and support them, no matter what desicions they make.
In my eyes you will always be the best mom that there
can be, don't ever think differently. I am so glad
you are my mom.
You wanted to know how I could be in the same room
with Grandpa all of these years? It's because years
ago I forgave him. It was a process, and it didn't
come easy, but I did a lot of soul searching and
realized that it was the only way I could move on.
Like I said in the letter, I'm not telling you this
because I want to hurt Grandpa. In fact, I truly wish
I could have kept this with me forever, and not had to
tell anyone, but I was just afraid that maybe Grandpa
might do it again, although for the most part I
believe he would never, but I just couldn't take that
chance.
I think Grandpa is a great person, a little
childish at times, but still a great person despite
the things that happened to me growing up. But, those
things are in the past, and the only way they can hurt
me now is if I let them, and I simply choose not to.
Life is to great to live in the past, then you miss
all the wonderful things that happen today.
I have already talked to L. about this, and she was
very supportive, as I knew she would be. You and her
are a lot alike in that respect. You rarely judge
people and have the biggest heart. You do tend to
neglect your own happiness in order to make sure those
around you are happy...that's another thing you have
in common.
Mom, I'm fine, really. Sure, sometimes I get
depressed when I think about it, but I rarely do,
anymore. I have made peace with myself and with
Grandpa, so I don't want you to think that I go
through life not able to be truly happy. Bad things
happen to people all of the time, but I believe you
really need to look deep and find the lesson. God
never gives us more than we can handle. This is one
of the few "Christian" concepts that I truly believe
in. I'm much stronger, caring person today because of
things of my past. We can't change them, so we better
learn ways to bring good from them.
I'm a little worried about telling K. and M., but
I think I really should. I made a promise to myself
that I would I get this out, so we can all heal and
move on with our lives. They will each deal with it
in their own ways, but I just hope they can find it in
their hearts to forgive, because life is too short to
carry hate around. It is in times like these that we
have the opportunity to truly exercise forgiveness.
Our family isn't 'falling' a part, Mom. It's just
changing, all things do with time, and that's okay. I
think so much has gotten better. Lacey is doing much
better than she used to be, the grandkids are all
growing up and turning out to be amazing little kids.
Time changes things, that's what life is all about.
If we fight it, and wish that things would stay the
same, then this is when we suffer the most. We need
to accept the changes and grow with them.
I love our
family, today and five years ago. We do have our hard
times, like all families, but we'll get through this,
Mom, because we're strong, and because we have a
strong supportive Mother who has always been there for
us, even if she never got the thanks she has deserved.
I love you Mom. I will come home as soon as I can,
and we'll get through this as a family.
I love you,
Jason
God, Sometimes you just don't come through...01.11.04
I'm going back to work, tomorrow. I took all of last week off, to burn up what vacation I had for 2003, so I wouldn't lose any of it. I suppose I look forward to going back. I really need the work to get my mind off of myself, but then again that is why I took the week off, so I could do some things that needed to get done.
I was supposed to write that letter to my family last week. Tell them about grandfather, and make sure my sisters don't let their children be alone with him. I just couldn't do it. I wasn't strong enough to put pen to paper. I'm so afraid to change the very fabric of my family (if families were made of fabric.)
I will do it. I have to do it. I suppose this is just one of those grand sacrifices that must happen. I think I'm developing a Christ complex. What's that Tori Amos line from Crucify, "...Got enough guilt to start my own religion."
When I'm not working, and I decide what I do with all of my time; it isn't such a pretty picture. I am such a narcissist, I just turn all the thoughts inward and I think about all of the stupid mistakes I have made, and all of the crappy things that have happened to me, and "oh, what a life...what a cruel fate." It really is quite humorous the lows I take myself to. I can't blame any abuse in the past for the downward spiral I take my little mind on a daily basis.
I had an argument with God in my shower the other day. Well, not an argument, really, because that would take two sides, and I'm not so far gone that I am actually hearing God's rebuttals.
I was doing the whole, "Why should I kneel and repent to you? When are you going to say 'sorry' to me for the fucked up things I went through as a kid?"
I was really angry, and felt as if it was quite the biblical moment, and I awaited a burning bush, or towel, or perhaps an Angel to burst in and demand to be wrestled, but with all arguments aimed at the Lord and savior it's usually just one voice, mine, and a lot of embarrassment at the end. Like, He is really going to listen while I am bitching with shampoo in my hair.
I suppose I was quite serious at the time. I mean, I am really angry with the whole cosmic system to allow such horrific things to happen to one person, and yet that Hillfeger chic has a show on MTV where she talks about how wonderful she must've been in a past life to deserve all the riches she has in this life. And, then she goes on to say in her next life she wants to be a tree because, "they're really cool."
I deal. God and I have made up since. I apologized today while brushing my teeth. I don't really blame Him for the disgusting things that happened when I was a kid, but I wouldn't mind if He would do a little something to make my adult life a little more bearable. But, then I guess that is the glory of free will...if I want it, I can have it. I just need to find my strength again. Maybe next time I'm washing my hair I'll ask him if he knows where I put it.
Mr. Tanny Wrinkleface 12.01.03
Just a little note to say that I was in much better spirits, today. I had a rather pleasantish day at work, and I think just doing work, in general, is good for me. I'm not the best man to be left alone with his thoughts...I tend to swim too deep.
His house is in the village though.
He will not see me stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow.<>My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near,
Between the woods and frozen lake,
The darkest evening of the year.
<>He gives his harness bells a shake,<>
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep,
Of easy wind and downy flake.
<>The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
<>But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I just sold all the stock that I own in the company I work for. (Yes, I ended a sentence with a preposition...take that Mr. Pickard...ooooo footnote on Mr. Pickard at bottom) I figured why have all of this cash in 'savings,' of sorts, when I could cash it out and pay off some bills, some not all..., and fix my car that has been sitting in my back drive for 3 months. If I keep it in my yard much longer, I will have completed yet another step in my journey towards inevitable red neckhood. I will then be able to afford Christmas. Isn't that what it is all about? (I, of course, don't believe that...of course...)
Okay, footnote on Mr Pickard. He was my sophomore English teacher and he was insane. He was a little skinny man, about 5'5", very fake bakey tanned with wrinkles so deep you could explore them spellunking style.
He was a total control freak. He had drawn little half circles around the feet of all the desks in the room, and no desk leg was to be outside of one of those semi-circles. If you did scoot outside the bounds then you would get detention, no shit.
We had to take spelling tests, like twice a week. There were three levels of spellers, Level 1, Level 2, and Level 3. Each Level had a different word, like Level 1 would have "onomatopoeic" and Level 3 would have "crayon." Anyway, so there would be 25 words times three, and Mr.. Pickard, years before, had made tapes of him reading the spelling words, using them in a sentence, and then repeating the word. He would then play them during the spelling tests. It was unbelievably annoying. He would just sit at his desk and stare out at us with his beady little eyes, while his voice, which also sounded wrinkled and tanned, would come from his old black tape recorder. (Remember those old tape recorders? They were always black and the record button had a red dot on it, and you had to push both that one AND the play button in order to record anything...)
He looked a lot like a tan, wrinkled, featherless bird.
He once told us the proper way to answer a phone was, "It is I to whom you are speaking." Hilarious.
I suppose the plus side is because of him I can recite the entire poem Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Eve by Robert Frost:
<>Whose woods these are I think I know,His house is in the village though.
He will not see me stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow.<>My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near,
Between the woods and frozen lake,
The darkest evening of the year.
<>He gives his harness bells a shake,<>
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep,
Of easy wind and downy flake.
<>The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
<>But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
That's all I got...g'night
Star People 11.29.03
When I was a kid I had an active imagination, it was fueled, in part, by reading a lot of speculative fiction and a lot of 'non-fiction' books on the paranormal. I totally believed in ghosts, ESP, UFOs, all that stuff, and I was convinced somewhere in one of these other-worldly subjects I would find my escape.
For a big chunk of my younger years I completely believed aliens were abducting humans for some unknown purpose. I had constructed a world where the 'greys,' you know the guys with the big heads, little bodies, and huge eyes, were abducting people for probably not-so-good reasons. I had sort of branded them the 'bad guys,' or at least the shady ones.
Also, there were the beautiful looking one's called the Pleidians. They looked like a very polished Nordic version of humans, Hitler's wet dream for a race, probably. Anyway, these guys were quite benevolent and only wanted to help mankind see their fullest potential. The good guys.
Then, there were some people on earth that I thought were "star children," a title thought up by a really kooky writer/psuedoscientist named Brad Steiger. They were humans that had some genetic make-up that was the same as the Pleidians, because a long, long time ago the Pleidians had come here to Earth to tweek the then prehistoric man, thus pushing forward the evolution of mankind.
The "star seed" genes were about to wake up and all of the Star People would realize they were special and had a grand purpose, here on Earth, that would help bring a peace on Earth none had ever seen.
And, there in lies the reason for my fantasizing..."the Star People would realize they were special." As a child, it was so important to believe I was special and somewhere there were some very benevolent beings waiting for me to realize this, so they could swoop me away to a place where everything would be alright.
I think I truly needed to believe this to have a reason to survive. I walked around carrying such dark secrets about my grandfather that at times I felt I couldn't keep living. As a kid, I was looking forward to death, so I would finally be rid of all of this feeling of guilt, a guilt that I could not trace back to a reason.
I have been thinking about my sexual abuse from my grandfather a lot lately, and I have come to realize I can only see my memories as if I am watching a movie and the story is unfolding with actors, I can not re-live the feelings that were involved, only see the images. Whenever I think I may have touched on the emotions, I feel as if there's this great dam inside and it's about to give, and if it does I'll drown under the flood it's holding back.
In a way, I'm a little bit sad that the tricks I used as a kid don't work as an adult, but then I guess that would make me crazy, huh? Constructing realities to help you escape this one, is something that would be get me right into a little jacket that buckles in the back. But, to be honest, I would just like to live a moment outside of this world, to feel completely free of my past.
I still find myself looking to the stars a lot at night. Little bright spots in a vast sea of dark, like beacons alluding to a grand release. They've become a symbol for me, a reminder that freedom is always there, shining in the dark.
Dreams of a Phoenix 11.23.03
One of the things about being a 'survivor' of many years of childhood sexual abuse is no matter how many times you shower, or wash your face at night before bed, you never feel clean.
I have thought about therapy, but all of the things a therapist would say, I have said to myself. "It's not your fault" I have said that so many times...It's not my fault, but this doesn't change anything. Something was still taken from me, something I never got a chance to know, something I will never get back. There's a part of me, inside, that is wrong, broken, and I don't think any amount of therapy or love will ever make it right. It's as much a part of me as the color of my eyes.
I am thirty years old, and yet the past is so tangible, effecting me as much today as it did when I was 9. Every day I live through I am going to carry such divine sadness. It's not right that anyone should go through life never able to truly love another person, to open up completely.
Sometimes I wish I could hate him, that maybe if I funneled my pain into another emotion I would be transformed in the fires of my own anger, like some kind of phoenix rising from the flames of childhood. It's not my way, though, never has been. Instead, I pity and realize he carries with him a sadness that is connected to mine, forever.
Life is so hard, sometime there has to be a break. Sometime, I will see past all of this, right, and see the great miracle? I tell myself this so many times, that my yesterday molds me today, and great strengths were born in the worst of times, but they are just words to get me through the day.
There is love, and good in the world...it is just a lot of the times I can't feel it...I see it, but I just can't feel it.
Maybe, some day.
Another entry along the same thread...
I, forever, and other Pointless Thoughts 11.18.03
At the rate I'm going now, I will have no kids, no genetic legacy. The random protein pairings on my genetic code will find their end when I die. No child will have my eyes or my hands. The stories told will be of the infamous (probably not) uncle, great uncle, and then nothing. I will be yet another life that lived and died on the earth with no story to be handed down, no mark, just a dead end branch on a family tree.
When I was younger, I was convinced I would leave my mark. I would be known. At once I thought I would be an artist, until I realized my vision outweighed my talent. Then, I believed I would be a singer, until it became apparent my love of music was much stronger than the sound of my voice. For awhile, I truly thought I would be an actor, but after several community theatre plays I came to the conclusion I just wasn't a good actor. At least, not in the community theatre forum...or maybe I just say that to ease the blow.
There's a part of me that wishes to carry on, to be immortal. I am still not sure if this springs from a need to make a difference, to change the world in some small way, that would lead to other small changes, that lead to a universal change of heart. Or, maybe this springs from the universal ego who fears non-existence, to fade like a star in the heavens who leaves first traces of gases and dust, but then over time these too, spread in the vacuum of space until no thing is left, only a void with the memory of light.
I lead a simple life, with few friends. The friends I tend to make are always in the developmental crossroads of life, and when they make their strides forward in their attempts to make their mark, I stay behind in the valley in which we met; staring at the roads ahead of me unsure of which path is mine. I make no forward advances, not on the paths already laid down, nor do I make new for others to follow.
I am the epitome of the dreamer, living in the realms of the mind, bringing forth no substance. I live high in my mind, questioning my purpose, and finding none. I work a job, pay some bills, have a hobby or two. I get by. I am a peaceful fool.
I just want to be remembered.
I fear the future where my body lies in the ground beneath a small stone marker, that hasn't seen flowers in decades. Just a name, a birthdate and a day of death. People will walk on the ground above to bring memorials to those they have loved.
These are the thoughts of the ego. The desire to know forever, and for forever to know "I."
Consuming America (very pre-election) 11.12.03
I have been thinking, the thing that really bugs me about America is the fact we are called "consumers." "consumer confidence," "consumer expectations," "consumer purchases." Does this not offend anyone else?
I was reading some editorial in one of our local newspapers and he was ranting on about how 'democrats' are always complaining about the fact manufacturing jobs are on the decline...something like 20%, but they fail to address the fact many business sector jobs are opening up, like bank jobs. Okay, now the problem with this is bank jobs and the like, generally do not pay very much, certainly not as much as a manufacturing job. So, why is this such a wonderful turn of events? Who feeds their family and truly meets all their needs on a wal-mart salary?
He went on to say that the reason manufacturing jobs have went down is because our factories are getting more high tech with their automation and need fewer workers...See, from the conversations I get from my family and their friends, regarding factory machinery, most of it is from the 50s and needs constant maintenance. From my perspective most of the jobs go to temp workers who don't require full-time benefits or pay. I also see factories closing up and moving to Mexico.
The problem here is I am not a statitician, nor am I an economist, but I do have family, and come from a small town very dependent on manufacturing jobs. Step-father numero uno was laid off from his job when his factory, where he worked for over 30 years, shut down and moved to Mexico two years before his retirement kicked in. He has since had a heart attack and been diagnosed with Diabetes. His unemployment runs out in December, and he has been turned down for disability. Now, what I want to know is what the fuck is he, and many people like him, supposed to do? Get a job at a bank?
I am actually pretty tired of both sides, 'leftist democrats,' and 'rightist republicans' bitching about numbers and blame, instead of seeing this as a social problem, hiring some anthropologists who 'get' people and figure out a way to save small town America...you know, where most of the population lives. It is no coincidence that in these small towns where factories close, downtowns choke, and river boat gambling sucks up what is left, meth addiction is a huge social problem, teen pregnancy is on the rise, and a general air of depression is felt on the streets.
Fuck the numbers...what is going to be done about this? And to make things even worse, Bush is really trying to get that policy of 'no more overtime' passed...which, of course, will help the lobbying corporations, but will have a devastating effect on working families, that luckily still have a job in manufacturing and rely on those overtime hours.
Finally, wasn't it nice when America was known as a 'producer,' and our farm lands in the Midwest fed the world, and industries throughout the country actually supplied, period. Now, we are a nation of consumers, and we are consuming.
Pesticidal Sister 11.06.03
My lil sister called me today after working her first day at her new job. She is working on one of the lines at a pesticide company. She'll be the person who puts the informational inserts into the pesticide boxes as they come down the line. Sometimes, she will get to put bottles of bug-b-gone on the floor and watch to see if any of them leak and then the ones that do, she will put in a different box to be recycled.
The funny thing is I am so proud of her. She was truly one of those kids who fell through the cracks in our very dysfunctional school system. She just wasn't suited for a class room, at least not in her teen years. They pushed her through 8th grade just to get her out of the Jr high, to 'pass the problem' on to the high school...
She didn't make it through her first semester of her freshman year.
Anyway, years passed after that, and she did a lot of fucked up shit, but in the end she is 21 with two kids and an education up to 7th grade. She is really smart, she just has not idea of what the Pythagorean theorem is, or who our last 15 presidents were. She also, after all is said and done, is an excellent mother.
This is really her first job. She did telemarketing off and on for a year total, but she has never had to deal with the social craziness that is the workplace, so I can understand the fear that she is going through. It is good to see her make positive steps to improve her life.
I remember about 2 years ago rushing to my home town because they thought my baby sister had over dosed. She was living in the upstairs bedroom of my mom's house, and mom, having a hard time seeing when one of her kids is slipping, didn't see her falling so far into her meth addiction.
When I got to the hospital she was sleeping in her bed, all plugged into IVs and heart monitors. Mom said earlier in the evening a nurse was wheeling L. down the hall and L. was clenched up, her hands folded in fists under her chin and she was drooling on herself. I believe that night is when L. finally realized she had to do something to start living again. You can only chase that high, and false peace, for so long before you drop of exhaustion...next time she might not get up, and she had a daughter to raise.
My lil sister called me today to tell me about her new job. I was so proud of her. She ended the conversation like she always does, "I love you bro."
note: I just re-read this to check for spelling and other mistakes...and well, I felt like I was reading some Reader's Digest story...I am sorry that wasn't my intent. I was just feeling a bit of family pride. Ok, nevermind.
'Fraidy Cat 09.15.03
I wonder what it is like for a rabbit. Their heart rate and breathing is so fast, and they're always on hyper alert. They seem to be driven by their fear that around every little burrow is a wolf, mouth watering, searching for its meat. A creature kept going by its fear.
Sometimes I don't think I'm that much different than the rabbits. Okay, sure, I don't feel as though there are people, things, out there lying in wait to kill me, but I am driven by fear. Fear keeps me from doing so many things.
Knowing fear is hard, because fear is such a small thorn that becomes embedded. I think I tend to recognize my body's defensive mechanism to cover and encase the fear. For example, I tend to totally pretend that certain bills don't exist. Sometimes, the dread of them creeps up on me, but then I eat, drink, or smoke something to make the feeling go away...so I don't have to think about it anymore. I never truly stand up to the fear and recognize its true nature, and this is why I rarely learn and grow from the things that cause me fear. I just find ways to not think about them.
The only big fear I ever confronted was when I wrote to my grandfather telling him how much my life was affected by him wanting to stick his dick in my ass. I don't think it solved anything. He half-ass acknowledged my feelings, and pulled the 'ol "look over there!" trick to get me to actually feel sorry for him.
I feel crippled, today. I am realizing how many things I don't confront, and how many of my friends are living the same life. So many little prisons, self-constructed.
I want a "Do-Over" token.
That's all I got.
Tom is Broke 09.08.03
The irony of life is what gets me. Outcomes of situations and the manipulation by the passage of time makes life so new. As if the reality itself is rolling over, remaking itself into a new image for us to learn from...or not.
Examples:
Growing up, my stepfather was a very powerful figure in my life. Not a positive figure, mind you, but full of influence.
I could feel him pull up in front of the house when he got home from work. The air just seemed to get less oxygenated and more dense. I would get to my room as quickly as I could, because I never knew what kind of mood he would bring home. Not that he really had a scale of moods...it was usually only pissy, angry, or mean.
So many times I was afraid of him. He would do this thing right before he flipped out into blind-rage-mode and beat us. He would look down at you over his glasses with over-easy egg eyes. As much as it annoyed me, it also put the fear in me, because I knew there was a pretty big chance I was about to get beat.
No one was safe, not even my younger sister, Mendy, and she was his obvious favorite. I remember it was her birthday and we had all went to Happy Joes to get pizza. It was a family event, because at some point a siren would go off and your "very special birthday" would be announced and everyone would sing Happy Birthday to you and in the end you would get a clown sculpture made from ice cream.
Mendy only ate a couple of pieces of pizza because earlier Tom, my step-dad...her real dad, had been making fun of her about her weight. Mendy had began to get sort of "overweight" at this point in her life.
The big birthday moment came and when the ice-cream Sunday was brought to Mendy, she wouldn't eat it. Tom started to bitch because he spent all of this money on her and now she won't even eat her goddamned birthday Sunday!
"Well, Tom," my mom added, "How can you expect her to eat when you called her fat all evening?"
So then, Tom started yelling, "Come on fatty, you little pig, eat your fucking birthday Sunday. You're always gonna be a fatty, anyway...Eat...The...Fucking...Sunday."
Of course, Mendy completely broke down and spent about 20 minutes in the bathroom with my mom and my sisters. When she came back, her eyes were red and puffy, but she ate her Sunday, and Tom pretended to be nice again.
"Happy Birthday, Mendy, thanks for eating that Sunday. I just didn't want your special Sunday to go to waste."
Fucked up, yes...the point was Tom was a strong, seemingly powerful man.
I was talking to my baby sister on the phone this morning and she was telling me that Tom was to have two pace-makers put in, but he refused because he claimed to not have the money. He was layed off about 2 years ago. He has now lost about 100 pounds due to his heart problems and diabetes, and because of these can't find a job. He has a new woman in his life, Janet (from another planet,) who tells him what to do and what to wear and how to spend his money.
Tom is broke. I would like to think that the anger he expelled upon us kids when we were growing up destroyed his heart and body. I would like to think that the human body cannot withstand being a harbringer of such horrible emotion, and it turns on itself after years of turning on others. I would like to think these things, because I want to believe there is a vast, complicated, form of cosmic justice ingrained in the universe; that people really do pay in some way if they don't learn from the hurt they cause others.
Tom is broke, and I feel nothing about it. Nothing.
Friday, December 10, 2004
Picture Pages
I just wrote a rather witty blog regarding boys and how annoying they are when they are sick. Being that I am a boy, and I have a cold, I can speak from experience. But, my internet explorer shut down and the entry was lost. Then I remembered why I use Netscape. Those last two sentences were extremely nerdy. Never talk about internet browsers and your preference if you don't want to seem remotely nerdy.
Reader's Digest version...I'm sick and whiny, so I'm not going to write an entry...even though my life is shit. Well not total shit...but I really need to get a job. Why won't anyone hire me?? That was rhetorical. This has been a trying year...I've tried and tried and tried. Oh my god, this cold medicine has made me lame and punny.
I really need to go. Enjoy the lovely photos I have uploaded. For a while I thought I would get into photography. That's my shtick..."getting into things..." heavily...and then finding a new obsession. I think it's an addictive personality, I think this while smoking a cigarette, drinking coffee, and feeling the shadow buzz from a little bit of pot I smoked with a friend. Quaint.
Reader's Digest version...I'm sick and whiny, so I'm not going to write an entry...even though my life is shit. Well not total shit...but I really need to get a job. Why won't anyone hire me?? That was rhetorical. This has been a trying year...I've tried and tried and tried. Oh my god, this cold medicine has made me lame and punny.
I really need to go. Enjoy the lovely photos I have uploaded. For a while I thought I would get into photography. That's my shtick..."getting into things..." heavily...and then finding a new obsession. I think it's an addictive personality, I think this while smoking a cigarette, drinking coffee, and feeling the shadow buzz from a little bit of pot I smoked with a friend. Quaint.
Photo Page 3
A different perspective of these stone TeePee things they have at all the rest stops in South Dakota.
Photo Page 4
View from down under. As in under the tree...not Australia. Haven't been there yet, mate. Man, I'm a dork.
Photo Page 5
Sunset, first night of camping in South Dakota. That was a great camping trip...despite the porta potty stench in the morning. I'll save you a view of that picture.
Photo Page 7
Scary old wheelchair. Also at the poor farm. They were poor, crippled, and insane. Lovely place, really.
Photo Page 8
Hill is wiping off the front door of a very old safe. This was found while rummaging about the "poor farm" a place we used to house the poor alongside the mentally ill. Oh man, that's scary!
Photo Page 12
My friend Hill' and I, taking a walk at the manufactured "Rez" We're shaky...distortion, baby.
Photo Page 14
More clouds...zoomed in. Damn, why is there an Enya song in my head. Burn My Brain...Burn it!
Photo Page 16
This is a picture I took inside "Crystal Cave" while on our trip to South Dakota. I think its a stalagmite or tite or soda straw or something or other...something cavey I know that much.
Photo Page 17
This is a path at "The Rez." It's a place I love to go and walk. It's very obviously manufactured, but it's still full of trees and squirrels and frogs...and things that remind I'm alive. Isn't that dramatic.. I really need to work on that.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
What's Happening?
Say Goodbye to Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
This is why I fear for America. What exactly is "Traditional Family Values." Should we not value our gay sons and daughters...should we not protect postive role models...who cares if they are gay? Apparently, those who have America's 'best interest' in mind do.
Exit polls showed, supposedly, that Americans feel their values are under attack, and this is one of their main concerns. Who told them they were under attack? What if I feel like my life is under attack? What if I feel like I'm to conform to this new idea of American life? What the hell is happening???
This is why I fear for America. What exactly is "Traditional Family Values." Should we not value our gay sons and daughters...should we not protect postive role models...who cares if they are gay? Apparently, those who have America's 'best interest' in mind do.
Exit polls showed, supposedly, that Americans feel their values are under attack, and this is one of their main concerns. Who told them they were under attack? What if I feel like my life is under attack? What if I feel like I'm to conform to this new idea of American life? What the hell is happening???
Catching Up
The Folowing Posts...after this one...Hence, "Following" are cut and pasted from my old diary atDiaryland.com. I want to get them all transferred over before they get deleted.
Today is our 4th Anniversary. 4 Years ago, today, D. and I went on our first date to see the movie Billy Elliot. It's been good. What's the line from that horrible movie, "The Butcher's Wife,"..."You're my split apart." And he is.
My D. Lookin' Good
Today is our 4th Anniversary. 4 Years ago, today, D. and I went on our first date to see the movie Billy Elliot. It's been good. What's the line from that horrible movie, "The Butcher's Wife,"..."You're my split apart." And he is.
My D. Lookin' Good
Six Flags Gonna Knock...You OUT! 07.12.03
and in the news....
NEW ORLEANS, Louisiana (AP) -- A woman standing near an amusement park ride was hit by at least one of the ride's cars and killed at Six Flags New Orleans.
The cars were about three feet off the ground at the time, park spokeswoman Ann Wills said. She said it wasn't clear how Rosa Donaldson got so close to the ride Wednesday night.
"There are gates that close off the area for safety reasons," Wills said.
Donaldson, 52, was taken to Lakeland Medical Center where she died of internal injuries from a crushed pelvis, the coroner's office said.
Donaldson's sister, Dianne Bowens, said she was told Donaldson was fastening her 4-year-old grandson into the ride, called Joker's Jukebox. The ride, with spinning cars set on arms that move, started, and Donaldson was hit in the head by one car and then struck again, she said.
New Orleans police, the state Fire Marshal's office and Six Flag officials are investigating her death.
------------------------
So, at the end of this story one of the links is: Top 30 Amusement Parks. Yeah, I can't wait to get knocked in the head by the Ferris Wheel or ran over by the Tea Cups.
Stars 07.10.03
"What we think we've found is an example of the first generation of planets formed in the universe," Sigurdsson said. "We think this planet formed with its star, 12.713 billion years ago when the (Milky Way) galaxy was very young, just in the process of forming."
By comparison, Earth and the rest of our solar system is a third-generation affair, made from gas that was polluted by the ashes of earlier generations of stars. And the sun is off by itself, not interacting directly with any other stars.
a snippet from an article by: Deborah Zabarenko
I like to think of the Universe being populated by planets, as the Earth is populated with people, plants, animals. I like to think of the evolution of planets as I think of life evolving here on the Terra Firma.
Dust and Gasses spinning in a void, being attracted to one another...pulled into and combining, retaining their identity, yet forming something new and vast and solid.
Stars, Suns burning in their elliptical centers, a source spreading its energy out in collosal waves...feeding and transforming gasses and dust into oceans, mountains, and you.
I remember reading in some Quantum Physics brain-bustin' book that there are so many atoms in one breath that the odds greatly favor that in my inhalation there contains an atom that was exhaled by Jesus.
We are stars.
Rednecks, Shit-kickers and Stomp Jumpers, Oh My! 07.08.03
I was out driving...going to different stores seeing if there is something I can buy that I didn't know I wanted. Hopelessly filling a void. Isn't that what shopping is all about?
Anyway, there was a car next to me at a stoplight that had this on their back window:
F ans
A gainst
G ordon
At what point did it become okay to drive around with "FAG" on your rear window? Seriously, yeah, I know NASCAR generally caters to rednecks, clay-eaters, corncrackers, grit-suckers, and PWT (poor white trash,) and I am sure once the rumors started about Jeff Gordon and his mechanic the hate was turned up a notch. I mean, hell, what kind of world is this where nancy boys can infiltrate the coveted world of race car driving?
I don't know why I care. I really don't. The world is going to keep on spinnin' on its bigotted, fearful little axis until the day I die, and then after that it really doesn't effect me much...unless reincarnation isn't just mumble jumble in some Depak Chopra rag, in which case maybe I will come back as a bible-beatin' barnyard savage and be able to make sense of all of this ignorant behaviour.
I wonder the percentage of people who gelled with what was on her rear window? I wonder what the interpretation is of other people who read it? I wonder how many laugh, how many shake their heads, and how many just don't give a damn. I want an ingnorance poll. I want to know how many closed-minded fear mongers I am sharing my oxygen with. I want to know if my perceived idea of a 'good' world is losing to the dumbshit logic that seems to prevail on this island Earth.
Rainbows 07.05.03
Last night we took Simon to see the fireworks. He was overly excited, which was cool, because Simon doesn't get excited very much.
He commented after one of the fireworks that was gold and lingered in the air resembling a firey weeping willow, "I wish I could touch one."
I said, "And what do you think it would feel like."
Simon said, "Rainbows."
Kids are great.
Henry the Hedehog and Sal the Scary Lone Sitter 06.30.03
I just can not think of a name for new baby hedgehog! Pickles? No, too condimentary...Carl...No, makes me think of Hot Carl and that is just wrong...Professor Prickley Pants? Hmmmph I just don't know.
Went to 28 days later, again, tonight.
Oh fuck! It was so fucked up...so, I had to pee, probably cuz I drank a beer before the movie, but more than likely mosty because my bladder was full. Anyway, so I walk up the aisle and I notice towards the back on the way out this guy sitting by himself. There weren't many people there, so it was pretty obvious. I got a weird feeling from him.
So, I walk out the door and get about 10 feet down the hallway and I hear the doors swooshing behind me. Someone is following me to the bathroom...I am thinking it's that weird guy. Don't ask me why.
I go into the bathroom and I decide to choose the stall, because I am being followed, you know. Right after I unzip, someone, the weird lone sitter, walks in and taps the stall door open on his way to a urinal.
Okay, now I am getting all pee shy, so I decide it best just to walk on out. I really can't pee, so there is no real reason to be in the bathroom anymore. As I turn around I see this chubby, bearded guy pissing in one of the urinals, but totally staring in my direction. I felt so dirty.
So, what is the deal? How many times has this guy sat in the back of the theatre and followed lads into the bathroom for some hot one on one urinal action? And, if this is something that works for him...how does he pick his movies? Granted, there is some male nuditiy in 28 days later...and yes, the guy is pretty hot, but is this a contributing factor for the movie pic...or just coincidence? Der's sum fugged up shit goin's on in dis fugged up world, I must say.
Just thought that was a bit odd. Trust me, the way he was lookin' at me...he was so hopin' for somethin'. I am not projecting here.
Well, I have to get to bed. Work tomorrow...yep.
So, what WOULD a good hedgehog name be?
Oh Canada! 06.29.03
It's is difficult to make an entry sometimes, if you're not a Gold Member. I really should just send some money and do it. Maybe I will...or maybe I will procrastinate. Nah, I will procrastinate later.
Very low-key weekend. I just sort of bummed around the house, or hung out with friends. It was pleasant. Pleasant.
I have been striving for 'pleasant.' That is fucking hilarious! What if that is the big joke? You do everything you can, you do all the right things, eventually, and then you are rewarded with pleasantries. Wouldn't that be the powdered sugar topping to this big spinning, expanding universe.
I drove by the Gay Pride shindig at the park, yesterday. I thought about stopping, but I just didn't feel like feeling like part of a group. I would just look around and realize I don't even mesh with those that I am supposed to be most alike. And, believe me, for the most part...I am not.
A lot of it is bullshit, really, because when gay folk get into that 'hive-mind' mentality it gets a bit frightening. I don't know if solidarity is a natural thing. It gets the job done, I suppose, but people melting together to make this uninteresting inclusive mob-beast has always been a bit off-putting for me. I guess I am just not a joiner.
It was colorful, though. So many rainbows and happy gay couples feeling confident enough to hold hands in public. I wonder how many of them continue this when not in Gay Pride Park? I guess, it's cool there are a couple of days where you can wear your love on your sleeve. Best put it under wraps by monday, though. It's time to put the flags back in the closet and get your don't-rock-the-boat pants back on in time for the office on Monday.
I really shouldn't be such a cynic. Things have gotten better. But, there really shouldn't be any big deal in the first place. This whole Homo-phobic thing just doesn't make any sense. People fear the darndest things.
What was it some random comedian said, "I don't get homophobia...People who have a phobia of rats, when they see one, don't have the sudden urge to punch them in the face."
Well, time to get my mind in work-mode. It is going to be another long week. Hell, my life is just going to be a succession of really long weeks. This, this moment, and tomorrow's are going to be the culmination of every moment thus far. That's a lot of responsibility to do something really cool.
Peace.
Well, isn't that...um, Pleasant 06.22.03
It's is difficult to make an entry sometimes, if you're not a Gold Member. I really should just send some money and do it. Maybe I will...or maybe I will procrastinate. Nah, I will procrastinate later.
Very low-key weekend. I just sort of bummed around the house, or hung out with friends. It was pleasant. Pleasant.
I have been striving for 'pleasant.' That is fucking hilarious! What if that is the big joke? You do everything you can, you do all the right things, eventually, and then you are rewarded with pleasantries. Wouldn't that be the powdered sugar topping to this big spinning, expanding universe.
I drove by the Gay Pride shindig at the park, yesterday. I thought about stopping, but I just didn't feel like feeling like part of a group. I would just look around and realize I don't even mesh with those that I am supposed to be most alike. And, believe me, for the most part...I am not.
A lot of it is bullshit, really, because when gay folk get into that 'hive-mind' mentality it gets a bit frightening. I don't know if solidarity is a natural thing. It gets the job done, I suppose, but people melting together to make this uninteresting inclusive mob-beast has always been a bit off-putting for me. I guess I am just not a joiner.
It was colorful, though. So many rainbows and happy gay couples feeling confident enough to hold hands in public. I wonder how many of them continue this when not in Gay Pride Park? I guess, it's cool there are a couple of days where you can wear your love on your sleeve. Best put it under wraps by monday, though. It's time to put the flags back in the closet and get your don't-rock-the-boat pants back on in time for the office on Monday.
I really shouldn't be such a cynic. Things have gotten better. But, there really shouldn't be any big deal in the first place. This whole Homo-phobic thing just doesn't make any sense. People fear the darndest things.
What was it some random comedian said, "I don't get homophobia...People who have a phobia of rats, when they see one, don't have the sudden urge to punch them in the face."
Well, time to get my mind in work-mode. It is going to be another long week. Hell, my life is just going to be a succession of really long weeks. This, this moment, and tomorrow's are going to be the culmination of every moment thus far. That's a lot of responsibility to do something really cool.
Peace.
Forgetting How to Walk 06.18.03
I drive too much, now. It wasn't until this last year that I even had a car to drive. Before that I had spent the previous 4 years walking everywhere, or taking public transport. (Public transport? I have nothing to wear for public trasport!)
I forgot how nice it is to walk in the open air. Driving just allows me to reinforce the non-social behaviours that I have. Walking forces me to 'walk amongst the people.' And this is something I need to do more...I am becoming so sucked into my own private life with my own little garden, and I am becoming better and better at denial.
I have so many issues to deal with and I just sort of float on by, never quite acknowledging them, or thinking of a solution. I have been so enraptured with the idea that good takes care of self. That right mind, and good intention will see you through till the end. And that, my friends, is fantasy land. But, I can't let it go.
So many people live in the denial state, really. Change seems so much scarier than our day to day droll. So, we deal, and move on (or in this case, not.) Picking up vices and secretly (or not so secretly if in a group) hate those who make it. Who are successful in life, i.e. truly happy.
We always try to figure out a way to perpetuate a cycle we are in. For example if a couple is in a bad relationship they try to put the focus back on the purpose. Even if the purpose is not enough, or truly mutual. They may have another child, so they can focus on the child together. "Oh look what our child did," or, "isn't our child wonderful." Sure, the child is, kind of, but the relationship sucks. And it will come back around to that eventually. Then the child suffers, too.
I am doing this with my trees. I focus all of this energy on them to care for them, and to nuture them. "Look at my lovely trees," I think. And I do, and they are, but taking care of little trees is not going to get my credit in good standing, bring my father back into my life (if that is even meant to be,) make me come to terms with the inner kid who is bruised and pissed, or pull my feet back down to the ground.
"You've got your head in the clouds, kid."
Flying is great, but what happens when you forget how to walk? What happens then?
Peace.
The Black Angel...No, not a movie from the 70s 06.09.03
Last night I went over to my friend Brandon's house to get his opinion on what I should do with this Dwarf Alberta Spruce that I have been working on for Bonsai. He tends to have better eyes when it comes to styling. A sort of natural ability to see things in the 1/3s, the holy trinity of design.
We worked on the tree for a bit, and drank a couple of PBRs. Our conversation turned to the odd, and we began talking about our own personal ghost stories, and stories of the strange and odd. The subject of the Black Angel came up.
The Black Angel is a statue that was made in Italy, or someplace beyond the ocean, and then shipped here to go on someone's grave. For some reason it changed color, from white to black. There are many tall tales outling the reasons for this manifestation, none of which we really cared about...we just wanted to see it.
So, we decided at 11:00 to drive out to the cemetary where it is located and take a look. The moon was casting some pretty wicked shadows throughout the cemetary that heightened the general spooky mood.
We had to walk pretty far back into the cemetary to get to the Black Angel. Oddly, there is a light shining down on the massive statue drawing shadows that further darkened her face. The statue stirred some emotions in me...mostly sad. I was thinking how tough being an Angel would be these days. Just no appreciation for angelic behaviour, not that there is much of it.
We saw a car coming down the path into the graveyard so he bolted off into the shadows. Neither one of use wanted to get busted for tresspassing. We had to run pretty far to get deep enough into the darkness to be hidden and my white and his bright yellow shirt weren't helping matters much.
We were able to run into a part of the cemetary that was far enough from the motor path, so we both took a moment to catch our breath. I only run when being chased...and that isn't very often, so it took me awhile to catch mine. Asthma doesn't help. Brandon was laughing hysterically, caught up in the adrenaline rush, that and he stepped in a big muddy hol that had ripped his shoe off. He had only stopped long enough to grab it, and now his sock was black with cemetary mud.
Just when we had caught our breaths there was this horrible sound of two dogs snarling and fighting. It sounded as if they were huge and coming our way. The running began again. I was trying to weave in and out of the headstones, but one of them missed my sight, and I ran full force into it. It was just high enough to strike my shin and send me flying down the wet grassy hill. Brandon's laughing erupted again...and mine followed despite the throbbing pain in my leg.
It was the curse of the black angel, I tell you.
I am taking the day off work today, because my leg is killing...I think I must have bruised the bone. I have a pretty big gash where the grave marker struck me, or rather where I stuck it.
It was worth it, though. Such a rush when you mix graveyards, mad dogs, and illegal tresspassing. Reminded me of my days of youth.
Well, I better take advantage of this free day...leg pain, or no.
Peace.
Knee Surgery and Mormons Wrestling 06.05.03
I talked to mom last night. She informed me she is having yet another surgery. More pills for mamma commin' her way. The crazy thing is she doesn't have the surgeries for the pills, I think she just needs a break. The pills just kind of sugar coat life.
It's not that I don't believe her body is falling apart. I just wonder what the catalyst for the crumble is.
It is her knee this time. She told me she "blew it out." I am not quite sure of the medical term for this. Essentially it causes her a lot of pain when she does anything.
She just had surgery on her knee a few months ago. They removed some of the cartilige. The doctor she went to this time when the pain became "unbearable," told her they had removed too much and now the knee is grinding against bone. Mom is too young for a knee replacement because she will live longer then the new knee. So, instead they are going to fuse the knee to the bone. Sounds fun.
She will get a home morphine machine after the surgery. Mamma's goin' drip.
seg way>
A guy at the center today was telling me he was told his knee was messed up pretty badly, as well, and that he needed a knee replacement, but was to young for one. He is going to be 40 soon.
He told the doctor that he could promise not to play basketball, but he couldn't promise to stop wrestling. See, he just loves "wrestling with the boys."
Creepy.
He is Mormon and he likes to hang out with the young Mormon boys who come to town to preach the Book of Mormon door to door. I have always thought there was a bit of sugar in his gas tank, but he would never come out of the closet because of his deep affiliation with the church.
Sexuality can't be contained, so I am sure it is coming out in some shape or form. I am picturing mormon wrestling...not too different from the Roman kind in days of old. I am sure that led to other things, too.
Repression generates a lot of slime.
Searching For America 06.05.03
It's been awhile since I have written anything in here. I have wanted to, sure, I do have things to purge on a daily basis, but I think it just started getting weird when people I knew were reading my diary. My manager for one. I know I told her it didn't bother me, and that is what happens when you put your life out in Cyber land...but it still sort of bugged me a bit. I'm working through it.
Things have been okay, lately. As if I am swimming in a bucket of Vanilla. I am looking forward to this Summer. I am taking my friend Jason and his Son Simon on a Summer vacation, since this will be the last Summer Simon lives so close. He is going to be moving to Texas with his mom in September.
I have decided on a grass-roots American tour. We are going to hit a lot of the roadside attractions between here and South Dakota, our final destination. I want to go camping in the Badlands.
I secretly want to re-discover America, and find her soul again. I think she is being sold as an Imperialistic Bitch and I have grown tired of this image. I know there has to be some good in her somewhere. She was conceived with Freedom in mind, right? Or was it really just rich guys trying to escape taxation?
It doesn't really matter what the white folks brought, she was here long before then, and I am pretty sure her spirit was pretty clean up until that point. This is the side I am looking for.
Well, it is getting about that time where I shower and get ready for work.
Peace.
Mayor of Simple Town 05.28.03
Haven't been logging much in here. Have sort of forgot the point. I think at first I thought this would be a nice creative outlet. I believed I had some good stories in me...thought I could share a bit of my experience of being. But, lately I have been thinking that my diary has been sort of ego driven.
I don't know what to think, anymore. I have been through some crazy shit in my life, and I am still here, somewhat enjoying everyday. I had thought maybe I did something right, and I should share my experiences. Sort it out, on an online forum.
Feeling mortality drives us to want to be known. Some have families...the ability to live on through children and grandchildren. The reality of this is becoming more and more unlikely as each year passes. So, I turn to art in hopes some scrap of my message will live on if my DNA won't. What is it that wants to live on?
I am the end of the years of evolution that led up to me. My DNA ends here. I am a dead end host.
Without my 15 minutes of fame I will be a shadow that passed over the earth. This is what America enculcated within me. Be somebody or be forgotten.
So, I now find life in the simple things. I live for the time I work in my yard, pulling weeds and planting perinnials that will pull themselves from their slumber in Summer to bloom again. Maybe, in this I will buy myself some time. Maybe someone one day will see the honeysuckle I planted and be thankful it is there.
Why do we fear non-existence? When I say we, I mean I.
I am tired.
I feel as if I missed the turn.
Peace.
The cynic finds me a simpleton.
Saturday Morning Coffee Talk 05.24.03
I will be heading home for the weekend, this afternoon. My intent was to hang around here, instead, and get some work done in the yard and maybe work on my trees. My mother called yesterday, and was able to guilt me into a slightly different plan. It's okay, I am sure it will be much more entertaining being at the family hub. It usually is.
I sat in bed last night and went through my photos. It was fun, but I sort of missed the times when I would travel a lot. In one year I went to Pittsburgh (I actually love Pittsburgh,) NYC, Washington DC, Paris, Amsterdam, Brugge, Rotterdam, and Florida, yes, the entire state. I think I just sounded like a travel snob, which was not my intention, because I used to date a travel snob, hence my trips, and it would get under my skin when he would "place-drop".
The funny thing about my photos of my travels is in most all of them I was taking a picture of Matt (travel-snob) taking a picture of something really cool. This was the theme of all of our trips.
Once, in Amsterdam I hung out on this corner for like an hour while he stood over this pile of metal rods and shot pictures. I am sure under the spell of the great Rokkuru marijuana those rods looked really cool, but I got pretty bored watching him. The good thing is, me being who I am now, I would never just "hang-about" I would have said, "Fuck this" and be on my merry way.
Well, I better shower and get this day started.
Oh and...mental note (or cyber-note) I think we need to get more involved in politics. Bush is fucking things up. We need to turn away from our reality T.V and get back into reality. Do we really want our country overturning the Nuclear testing/use law? Well, that is what is going to happen...just the low-grade stuff, so don't sweat. Only 1/3 the strength of Hiroshima. But, hell, it won't be on our soil, right?
Another thing...this means more defense spending...and since we just cut out of the education fund for this Rich Man's tax cut if we increase defense spending, education will be hit again. We have parents donating plasma to raise money for their school districts. What the fuck?
This is our fault. All of us.
When do we get angry enough?
Peace.
Treasures of Gold... 05.19.03
Just gathering in grains...
I once had a Spiderman bed spread. I remember it being really warm, but very scratchy. It was later replaced with a blanket that I can't remember and the Spiderman bedspread became the roof of one of my forts in the woods behind my house.
A couple of years after I had moved out, I decided to walk down the old alley that ran behind my house. It was winter and the woods were brown silouettes in white, but there in their silent midst was a very tattered shred of my past hanging from a broken wooden pile. It was good to see how long nylon really lasts.
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I broke my ankle when I was sevenish. My K.I.T (knight rider) big-wheel filled me with mad courage, and I decided to ride down this great hill at the end of our block. In the winter it made a superb sled-riding hill, but riding a big-wheel down it was a feat most kids would never have thought, let alone actually attempt.
Mayhaps they were brighter?
Anyway, I took off at the top and my little legs were going up and down as fast as they could on those little stubby pedals. Once I reached the bottom my intent was to "spin out" on the sidewalk and tumble into the grass. What I actually did was madly fly across the sidewalk, down a driveway and into a parked car.
I remember the sound of kids laughing and the spinning sound of my little overturned big-wheel's tire spinning.
Good times.
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There was this girl in Jr. High named Dorey Broemer who was kind of a bully. One day, at school, she was in the lunch line behind me, going on about punching her brother Eddie, and how much stronger she was than him.
I had just started doing sit-ups every night before I went to bed. I would have my little sister, Lacey, sit on my feet while I sat-up and she counted outloud to 25. This was the path I took to that all-american physique.
I was thinking this would be the opportune time to test my new abs of steel, so I asked Dorey to punch me in the stomach as hard as she could. Without much debate she agreed to my little test.
Dorey was to count to three and then punch me in the gut as hard as she could.
What I was supposed to do was inhale, hold my breath and tighten my stomach muscles. Unfortunately, for me, Dorey punched on two, instead of three, and she struck me just as I emptied my lungs of oxygen.
Well, actually it was her punch that emptied out my lungs. I remember waking up next to a row of red lockers with about 15 kids standing around me with blank stares on their faces. They were all, except for Dorey.
Dorey was smiling.
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on the playground.
I used to do "penny-drops" off of the monkey bars we had on our playground. And this was back when they had actual CEMENT on the ground. It wasn't any of this soft cushy cedar bark that is on the playgrounds these days.
In fact all of our playground equipment (such an odd term) had the potential to be deadly, or at least debilitary. Everything was metal with sharp angles and exposed screws. I can't believe I never got tetanus.
I was really good at jump rope (go figure.) I would jump rope with the girls and these other two not-too-long-before-gay kids, Robbie Herdrich and Ron Waites.
The girls said I did it best.
I loved doing double dutch. (this is beginning to sound sexual...so not the vibe I was going for.)
Anyway, my sixth grade teach, Mrs. Metzger, saw my desire to jump rope during recess some sort of warning sign. She actually called my Mom to report to her that I didn't take up enough interest in football, and maybe the man of the house should engage more with me.
The man of the house "engaged" me plenty.
The point is jumping rope was a good thing. Football kind of sucked.
<----->
Enough flashbackin' I have to clean the house a bit. D. is coming home tomorrow. He has been gone a week.
It will be nice to see him.
Although I am pretty good at holding my breath under the water, I have noticed he helps keep me afloat.
...today's favorite song : Treasures of Gold Damien Jurado. Thanks Becky. ;)
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