New Years Revolutions

Well it is New Year’s Eve again and I suppose I should chirp up with a few words about the day and our upcoming year. I don’t actually see New Years as a cause to celebrate, I do enjoy a good party, but the day in itself is nothing special to those of the warrior clan.

What does it celebrate? New beginnings, hell I find a new beginning every day. When I close my eyes at night the day is done, when the light creeps in my window each morning I have a fresh new start. We don’t need to wait 364 days to dispose of crappy days and bad memories. 

Is it for resolutions to make changes? Why, wait today is the day, if you really need a change just go out and make it happen. We only get one life so learn how to make changes on the fly or you will never, ever, be on target. 

Do you harken back to the pagan days of winter solstices and praying for the sun to return? Here is an idea, be your own light, even better be a light for others. Energy (the laws of thermodynamics say) is neither lost nor gained, it merely changes state, and most energy is released in the form of heat and light. Therefore if you expend some energy doing something good for someone else, you will be releasing your own energy as light for all to see. Why not start today and make every day as bright as the summer solstice?

Of course I know that not everyone is just able to break out of there ruts and fly, so for you folks I have a few suggestions for change in no particular order. 

·         Read Getting Right with Tao by Ron Hogan

·         Practice winking in the mirror this morning, then wink lasciviously at one attractive stranger today.

·         Drink a beer with a friend at least once a week

·         Prepare a list of smart ass remarks for every occasion

·         Go to a religious service of a different denomination (no those aren’t foot rests in the Catholic churches)

·         Don’t sweat the petty

·         Always pet the sweaty

·         Stop reading this and follow your heart

Good luck kiddies it’s a jungle out there!

Atrofey

Atrofey

31 December 2011: Designer Ralph Laurence announced the release of his new fragrance line today. The first fragrance line ever designed for post-menopausal women, Atrofey promises to revolutionize the fragrance industry. Evoking a complex, but subtle blend of lavender and moth balls with just a hint of Ben-Gay Atrofey promises to be the hot new line for 2012. Marketed under the slogan Atrofey, because you’re not using it any way. Atrofey will be available at all major department stores on Tuesday January 3^rd.

my art rant

  Emily told me she wanted a trip to the Salvador Dali museum for her Christmas present, and I just about burst from pride. Who know that all those years of throwing random cultural events at her would take hold? Not me, but you better believe I am taking credit for it. The new museum is somehow not as much fun as the old building though, too cramped, the architecture is kind of pretentious and it clashes with the beautiful Tampa bay vista, but still, the art remains as beautiful and stirring as ever. Just one thing reared it's ugly head to scuff my normally calm demeanor, but it was a big thing, so buckle in kiddies.

  The Salvador Dali  museum offers free of charge these little MP3 headset deals, so you can take a self guided tour. I thought this might be a great idea for the uninitiated until I saw them ( the slack jawed yokels I mean). Artwork's greatest value is in how it touches you. Being touched depends on you, seeing, interpreting, and feeling. It is nice of course to have a commentator to offer opinions or even the artist's own interpretation, but for God's sake learn to enjoy the work for yourself first.

  They stirred around like a giant herd of cattle, empty eyes boring straight into the picture, as they looked for whatever the voice on the tape told them to see. Oh yes they stepped in front of you or on you without looking, but that was not their greatest offense. Those bored vacant eyes, that was their shame. That dirty little secret of modern education, I NEVER LEARNED TO THINK FOR MYSELF!
 
  What ails you people, are you really so ignorant, so callous to beauty and art and ideas that you treat a trip to the museum like a  game of Halo? I wanted to scream and yell and rip the headsets off people and fling them down the massive helical staircase.I wanted to raise the alarm, I wanted to call the humanities professors of the world to begin administering spankings.

  Listen to me my friends, I am begging you please, sometime this month, go to a fine arts museum and just enjoy the art, don't follow the docent, don't read the plaques, just enjoy and then report back to me and let me know if it made a difference in that day of your life.

  If you live here in the Tampa area may I humbly suggest; the Ringling Museum in Sarasota (home to one of the nations largest collections of baroque art), the St Pete museum of fine art (they are having an Egyptian exhibit until mid April) or the Salvador Dali museum. No matter where you live I know you will find something worth seeing.

Still (a poem about smoking)

Still 

after all this time

the days like drips of water

forming the rushing river of years

still I see you and I want you,

My heart cries out when I see you with him

adjusting his fedora, turning up his collar

he takes you in his hand sets you aflame 

draws you into his body.

With every fiber of my being I want you

I want you

still

Pardon the stupid question

  Last night I happened to see a segment on the ESPN program, Pardon the interruption and I thought I had lost control of my senses. There above the bar was a caption that said Best halftime show ever? and a clip of a dog riding a monkey. I found myself flabbergasted. I was truly offended by that question mark. Who would ever turn such a statement into a question?

  Of course a dog riding a monkey is the greatest halftime show ever! Janet Jackson could shimmy butt naked across Reliant Field singing Land of a thousand dances and still not be as entertaining as a monkey riding a dog.

  Perhaps it’s just me.  I suppose that my lifetime love of classical music and great art has created in me a more keen sense of beauty, then will ever be possessed by some junior producer at ESPN, Perhaps I have become a culture snob,some sort of an elitist, but I say to you, my friends, loved ones, fellow travelers and insomniacs,

monkey riding a dog; GREATEST HALFTIME SHOW EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ideas and actions

Ideas can be scary. Karl Marx had an idea, and millions suffer still as a result of giving charlatans an excuse to take control of power. Fortunately most people rarely bother stretch their minds outside the comfort zone of prime time television. Most people are afraid to take any actions that will actually expose themselves to danger.
This is why the occupy Wall Street protesters have failed. They did manage to get a lot of people to come together and stand around grumbling. There were even some acts of civil disobedience, but on the whole none of those people chose to risk anything of value and not one idea came forth from their milling about that could actually change the American situation.
I have an idea, but it does scare me, as a result I haven’t done the research to make it possible, but preliminary studies show it is entirely doable. The long term consequences however are so sweeping as to be unimaginable to my untrained mind.
Much of control is about the psychology of the group, and I think there is a group ready to exploit, which could shake the world to its foundations. Bank of America common stock is selling fairly low, after a downturn this summer caused by the markets belief that BOA was overvaluing itself. Now if all of those people whining and moaning in their occupy movement were to pool their money and purchase stock in BOA and move as a bloc under the administration of one capable leader, the game would be on. Enough voting and preferred stock would allow occupy to begin to sway other large holders who may be a little nervous to begin with. If the power of those votes were used to throw out the board and replace them with their own selections.
This idea frightens me because of the huge overall implications. If one bank fell then the rest would follow in short order and chaos would ensue. The finger of blame for that would surely point back to the government banking bailout. Had the government let some of these large corporations fail a new establishment would have risen, green and fresh and vibrant. Instead we are resting on the back of a rotten infrastructure which sits vulnerable to the masses waiting for one idea like mine to ferment and explode under pressure.

Christmas for the troops

Authors note: names in this story have been changed to protect people I love from the consequences of words spoken during a bitterly stressful time that few people would understand

"Those little bitches!" Generally swearing after mail call in Fallujaha is uncalled for, let's face it we lived for a new picture from our kid or a word of love, so we all gathered around Grif to see what was wrong.

Things were hot this trip, it was the winter prior to the surge in Iraq and we were on the staff of the Seabee Regiment tasked with preparing facilities for the upcoming operations. The base itself was mortared or rocketed daily, and we had lost a few troops everyone was on edge.

Grif had received a case of cookies from a Girl-scout troop in his hometown. "Everyone of those damn girls wrote me a letter, now I am going to have to write 30 thank you notes back. Well I am not doing it anymore, I am tired of this shit!"

Now of course we couldn't let it stand at that, so we all took a handful of letters and zipped off a few lines for Grif to sign. There was no way we would disappoint a bunch of teenage girls who were doing a good thing. After all we wouldn't have been there (most of us already on our second voluntary tour) if we ad been the kind of creeps who ignored little girls with cookies.

I am thinking about that now because it is almost Christmas and I am seeing appeals all over the place to do this and that for the troops and I am not at all sure that is what the troops want. We were always grateful for the expressions of support from home, but by the end it was luxury items. The military gave us the basic necessities and that's all a warrior really wants. During my tours in the zone I bet I have given away dozens of pounds of candy to LNs and TCNs who wanted it more then me. Not to mention all the stuff that was left behind or thrown away because we travel light. The best present I ever received from America was when someone sent us a bunch of copies of Playboy for Christmas in 2006, now that was a useful tool!

So what I am saying if you are still bothering to read this is support your troops by giving to a cause in their honor. Drop something in the Toys for Tots bin or write Metropolitan Ministries a check in honor of the U.S. military, but do something to make a solider proud of you this Christmas.

is it as good for you as it was for me

The cat was speeding us into oblivion, downshifting into the corners, giving me that aint we having fun now look, as the tires staggered across the pavement, screaming in protest until the road straightens, then, catching traction, hurtling us towards our doom.

How I came to be in a runaway sports car driven by an adrenal addicted tabby is quite a tale. This however is not that story.

I staggered into the bar about ten thirty slumping onto a stool, wiping the memories of last night from my eyes. Mike had already done the prep work and opened the shutters and doors overlooking the beach. We don’t normally do much business this early, but, occasionally a thirsty tourist comes in looking for one of our signature dishes. As young warriors on liberty in the French Quarter we had learned the secret to tropical drinks is pineapple juice, umbrellas, and lots of grain alcohol.

In reality business hasn’t been good since Club Misogyny opened up down the beach. Recently Mike has been working on new recipes to try and bust back into the lead and today, he greets me by sliding a martini glass filled with a frozen purple drink down the bar, “drink this bro”. I sniff tentatively and Mike explains, “it’s blueberry schnapps and rum I call it a bluna colada.

“You know brother sometimes I think, it would be easier for me to have stayed with one of my wives, then it is for me to keep you as my best friend.”

a walk in the sunshine

Ms Jayne Goody knew exactly what to do about the strawberries. She stood at the garden gate fussily adjusting her hat in the midday sun and admiring the garden, product of so many hours of work. Then spurred by the promise of great return for a small amount of work she opened the gate and stepped through. Ms. Goody strode briskly through the garden ignoring the radishes, cucumbers, and tomatoes to stop at the first mound of delicious ripe red berries. Taking her pruning shears from her apron she gently grabbed the first plant at the base and cut it off even to the ground. She repeated this action 20 more times until the garden was a killing field of once proud fruit. Then she stood returning her pruners to her pocket and brushing the dirt from her knees.
“Lavina Adams should learn not to gossip, after all whose business is it if a woman of a certain age wishes to entertain a few gentlemen callers”, she mumbled to herself straightening her hat once more. Then with a certainty that time is fleeting she turned and hurried towards downtown so as not to miss the opening of Wednesday ladies meeting at the civic club.
Lavina Adams brushed a stray crumb off her pleated skirt as she reached for another cucumber sandwich, they could have been better, the cucumber was overripe and missing that crisp snap she enjoyed in her mouth. She grew much better in her own garden and indeed had won many blue ribbons at the county fair, but things were just too tight this year to waste food on this lot of prissy old biddies. Even now here came that awful Jayne Goody.
“That woman is the scandal of Greentown, lights on at her house at all hours, playing that jazz music so loud you can hear it the minute you set foot on her porch to set her straight about a few things.” She smiled; a thin tight line, showing no teeth, and removing the color from her already pale lips, a smile she reserved for harlots like Jayne.
The meeting dragged on interminably, prolonged by an extended argument over the theme for decorating the square, in honor of Independence Day. In the end Hester Marshal won out with her plan for an homage to John Paul Jones and Battle of Flamborough Head. Really it was going to take a lot of red carnations to recreate that many dead British, but there was no way that Hallsville could be allowed to outdo them this year.
Jayne Goody and Levina Adams headed for their respective homes wrapped in their private thoughts. Jayne was concerned with what might be needed to prepare for tonight’s gentlemen callers and Levina wondered if she had set the timer for the hydroponic pump in the basement correctly. After all times are hard and a woman has to make a living doesn’t she?

reasons for suicide

Top 10 reasons for committing suicidee
1. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
2. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
3. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
4. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
5. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
6. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
7. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
8. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
9. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
10. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
What it all comes down to is pride, pride in yourself, and pride in the organization surrounding you. I could not imagine a child wanting to grow up and be the Vice President, or the backup quarterback. Yet those people are important and there is no shame in their life, because in order to make it to second best they had to strive and sweat. Aim for perfect my friend Joe Gonzales always says and where you land will be good enough. I am wondering now whether I am different, did I accidentally get the success gene, is it my upbringing? I know for a fact that I have a brother who is the best damn janitor in Citrus County and who really cares about doing a good job for the health and safety of the children at the school he works at. He is a success, not rich or powerful, but good at what he does and striving to move up. It seems all my brothers have that a little, maybe it is nurture instead of nature. At any rate not wanting to try harder to me seems to be the saddest thing on Earth and I am hoping that those of you who read this and agree will make an attempt to pass the message along.

rage against the machine

I was thinking about how pervasive computers have become in our modern world. In some ways I know that this is a good thing. In the past, for example, if you got a DUI you could move to another state get a new driver’s license and start over, continuing your life of bad ideas. On the other side of the coin in the past you could also use that set of circumstances to change your life, and start over without being pursued by the indiscretions of youth.

These days however, the state governments track your every move there is no escape. It seems a little bit insane to me. Worse however is the way we allow ourselves to be tracked by the public in general via social media. I know that as a frontierville addict that seems a little hypocritical however I am just saying let’s look at ourselves. Lately I have been noticing that a few people on my friends list need to do some growing up and that makes me feel a little sad. In the past those are the friends you would bump into once in a while, have an outrageous time, name the hangover in their honor and see again in six months. These days however with their constant Facebook posts they just become tiresome. What do I do? I don’t want to lose the occasional bacchanal, but I also don’t want to hear the same stories repeated endlessly with a new cast of characters.

I have decided that it is time for a personal deescalation from the internet culture. I can’t abandon it completely, I go to school on the computer, I write and post these blogs on the net, but it is time for me to slow down and begin detaching myself from the wired in culture. Therefore I resolve to stop watching porn on my computer. From this day on if I want to see a naked sleazy woman I will get up and drive to the strip club like our forefathers. Viva la revolucion!

do you cry

Do you cry at the beginning of a new adventure?
Or at the end?

side effects

Every day I take a medication, that as a result, affects my dreams. Only rarely do I wake with my teeth in pain from the grinding, and my body aching from being tensed, glad that I sleep alone. Most of the time, my dreams are like watching a sitcom. They often have my friends show up in strange situations, or places, doing things that don’t fit their characters. Sometimes I even have these really great erotic dreams that leave me feeling like I am fourteen again. The fact that my dream state is altered doesn’t bother me much; it is a side effect of the medication. Taber’s medical dictionary says a side effect is “An action or effect of a drug other than that desired.” The drug does its job and the side effects are mild so I keep taking it even though I don’t desire the dreams, because it works for me.

I have some close friends. Sometimes my friends are a giant pain in the posterior area. Sometimes I have erotic dreams about certain of them too. I also spend a good deal of time laughing and shaking my head in befuddlement and amazement. For the most part though my friends are giant rock walls who stand with me to the end, no matter what gale blows against me. The side effects, well, they are negligible, and sometimes you just take the good with the bad.

well here it is again

Well it's Wednesday and we appear to have reached the half way point in the week. Personally I am having one of those weeks that remind me of being in my true home. I am still walking erect, meeting everyone's eye and smiling, because the world needs me to be strong, and the whole time I am worrying about incoming. This too shall pass, so the do-gooders claim, (I hate those mother fuckers frankly).

So it's Wednesday and I just want to ask a couple of questions. First off, who the hell is Chas Bono? What has he/she ever done to be given the honor of competing in the same venue that Ty Murry and Emmit Smith have? It really pisses me off that the middle age housewives of this country have decided that being the transvestite child of a celebrity makes you eligible for adulation. Please you have got to be fucking kidding me, in the first place Chaz will never be a man, because he/she has skipped all the really hard parts of being a man, like the high school locker room. You can spend all the money you want changing your body, but if you have never been in a wet towel snapping fight, you haven't even reached male puberty! In the second place he/she makes Steve Wozniak look butch. At least Woz there to have fun, Chaz is a political statement, well an attempted one since it is actually incoherent. Finally my Dad was a block mason, so I guess I am qualified to build you a house. Please send a check made out to my middle name, CASH, and I will be right over to start your room addition.

Next question, I learned yesterday that Maurice Sendak is gay why? Not why is he gay, I don't care, but why do you feel the need to tell me? It is now 2011, and we are still so repressed that the sexuality of my favorite children's author needs to be noted in an article about his latest book. I swear to you right now, if you ever write an article about me you had better not even think about noting in it that I am straight! In the first place I am an author, I write things that I hope will make you laugh, cry, or swear at me, that's all, just because I share the product of my mind with you doesn't mean you get to share my life. Secondly what if some poor lonely gay man is reading this and fantasizing about how great it would be to fall in love with a slightly above average blog writer, why would you be so cruel as to disillusion him. My God have some respect for other peoples feelings. I know that's no longer a great American trait, but we could try to be nice to other people and respect their privacy once in a while couldn't we? Please!

Nilesian Economics

I have to start this off with a disclaimer. I am not an economist. However given the accuracy of most economic predictions and the growing evidence that not one computer model has accurately predicted economic moves for the last ten years maybe it doesn’t matter. I also don’t have things like evidence or well thought out philosophies. What I am about to lay out is purely intuitive, and I have to admit I have been known to blunder blindly down the path of destruction, believing I am the only sane person left. Then again my guess is as good as anyone else.

My economic model starts like this, the economy is cyclic but; it never grows or falls, if you were to use a median for say the last 100 years of the global economy, it would be a straight flat line, stretching into infinity. It is my contention that we live in a global economy, and in this economy there is a finite amount of money. Much like energy the money is neither gained nor lost it merely changes hands. The American government has printed a lot of money to try and resurrect the struggling economy in the last few years, but that money is so much paper without real assets to back it, assets in this case borrowed mostly from China.

It is really a simple idea to me; we (America) are part of the global economy. Our local economy is in depression, but because the amount of money is finite, someone else must have that money right? How do we get that money back? The first step is to stop worrying about the global economy and think only of ours. We need to start thinking of a big chunk of that money out there as ours and go get it! How are we going to get the money? As my mother might say well how did China get the money they loaned us? They got it by selling things people needed or wanted, they have manufacturing capabilities much of the rest of the world has abandoned.

Now ask yourself do we have, or can we produce anything that other countries desire enough to start handing over part of their money? I am also being intuitive here, but I am guessing we do. America has a lot more natural resources readily available then most other countries. We also have millions of acres of arable farm land, much of it sitting fallow. Could we not grow things, and build things again. I realize that many other countries produce consumer goods cheaper then we can, but if we stop using their goods and start making our own TV’s, prices will stabilize within a decade.

There is a lot of talk about President Obama’s job plan, I have to wonder why people aren’t up in arms demanding an economic plan instead. Taking away benefits, and entitlements is only going to work to a limited extent, we need to produce money. A jobs plan sounds kind of wishy washy, please business’s, we will give you tax breaks if you hire people.

How about a plan that says hey business start making things again, prove you can do it and then we help by blocking international tariffs and opening up markets. There should be no financial aid to any company that doesn’t have a solid plan to extend into overseas markets and bring the money back to America. Multinational corporations shouldn’t stand a chance here. America should be physically aggressive in acquiring our share of the money. I don’t mean violence, but we should care less about how other countries feel. What good is being the biggest kid on the block if we have nothing to show for it.

Let’s go for it America. Let’s take back that part of the global economy that should be here and let’s do it now. If children in other countries starve because we suddenly stop coddling them, that will be our fault. We will take it as a lesson to never again make other countries weak, but we will roll on, we will prosper, because we are still unabashedly the best!

old friends are the best friends

Today in the shower I was thinking about my manhood. I wasn’t thinking about how great it is to be a guy, although I will take that extra .23 cents per dollar earned, without complaining. I was thinking specifically about my penis, and how great it is having one.

To begin with the penis is the ultimate toy for a boy. Have you ever seen a small male child who has his diaper removed? He goes straight for the goods. Freud and females think it is because he derives sexual pleasure from it, that’s not so. In fact Freud is so wrong, so often, about the male relationship with the penis, I suspect he, may actually have been a she, in a clever disguise. Small boys grab their penis because flopping it side to side between your fingers is funny. When we get older we like to move our hips and spin it in a circle, try that with your labia. One of my favorite games to play with my penis is to get it erect, flex my abdominals, and make him jump and bounce back and forth like he is dancing. Oh yeah I’m the man! I don’t do this for sexual pleasure, I do it because I’m bored, and it is fun, and maybe sometimes to amuse/arouse a woman. Guys also have a propensity for putting their penis where it does not belong, again, it isn’t sexual, it usually involves idle curiosity or, some sort of a beer bet. The simple fact of the matter is a man left alone is never bored, he brought his toy with him.

I also love my penis because it is so functional. Have you ever peed off a boat? Sure women can do that, but it requires a lot more effort. Have you ever had a urine sword fight? Not without a penis you haven’t. Write my name in the snow, no problem, get me a beer and I will make it happen. Men have 90% less urinary tract infections then women because our bladder is so far from the end of our urethra (medical terminology for pee hole) and because of the force of our stream. If I were trapped on a desert island with no pen with which to write a rescue note for the bottle, I could theoretically dip my penis in ink and use it like a quill pen. The penis was the very first Swiss army knife.

Men get to name their penis which is extremely cool. Women wonder why we do that, but really it should be obvious. Your penis looks just like a little man with one eye, he deserves a name. Besides not naming your penis would be like insulting your best friend, because that’s what a penis is, a best friend who lives in your pants.

Almost every war in recorded history (with the exception of any involving France) has been caused by a dispute over penis size. It’s a fact look it up! Hans Christen Anderson once saved all of Holland by sticking his penis in a dyke (or maybe it was a dike) either way, would I make this up. Thomas Edison suffered from frequent UTI’s and wasn’t able to idly play with his penis, which is pretty much how he was able to invent so much stuff. If your tee shot doesn’t make it past the ladies tee box, you have tee off the next hole with your penis hanging from your fly (my apologies to Mike for getting him caught by a course ranger).

I am currently waiting for approval from National Geographic to film a documentary called The Penis; Toy of the Future! If it never happens, if no one ever sees my ode to the penis, I will still be glad, cause I will still have my penis and what more does any man need.

the warriors walk

I am now a new anime character Erikyu Warcat, the product of two deranged minds. It does make me think though, it makes me think about the life of a warrior. The new character wears the robes of a Samurai and carries weapons both ancient and modern. It can also be assumed that the character is some sort of a Buddhist. This is a contrast that in the minds of westerners, should never work, after all when we think of peace and harmony, when we think of Buddhists.

I can’t speak for all forms of Buddhists, but I know that a Taoist finds peace in embracing both halves of our nature. I see many people wearing the sign of the yin and yang without an understanding. Living, really living is about the male and female, the hawk and the dove, the lion and the lamb and the eternal struggle to reconcile and balance the two halves while embracing the fact that we never will.

We are always going to be unbalanced, I don’t know why. The philosophers call it nature vs nurture I say it just is. We need people who can fulfill all types of missions; half of the world needs to be in touch with their warrior, and half needs to be in touch with their peace. The world needs a balance and right now it is the imbalance in humans’ nature that keeps us . That knowledge is how I find peace in my struggle.

The warrior must do battle to find his peace, but if he struggles against his aggressive nature he fails. The warrior must accept to find his balance, but if he accepts all; then he isn’t in balance either. To truly be a balanced person we must carry our sword with hearts of understanding and love. That is the balance of Tao. The way of the peaceful warrior.

I want to be in balance, in fact if anything I want to be more peaceful and loving then in balance but so far, ehh, mixed results. I find myself still being unkind, when what I really want to be is nice. They say that men in general insult each other as a form of showing our affection. I find that to be true and it works, but my problem is that after so many years of having women reject my complements, because of their self-esteem issues I have internalized it. I find myself coming across as too abrasive to everyone and my yin is overcoming my yang.

I won’t let it get me down, I will only continue in my Tao my walk my life. I will accept that I am unbalanced because that too is Tao. The way of the true warrior.

Friday bonus

Ralph is usually a sweet cat, but once in a while he likes to rub it in his brothers face because he's a real boy and Snickers isn't. Don't worry Snickers, perhaps one day the velveteen bunny will come and take you away with him.

protest

Protest
Gut roiling in turmoil
Life torn from its moorings
My heart beats out its protest
Far from home, far from home
Words left unspoken
Life unfulfilled
My heart beats out its protest
Alone, alone
Crashing, howling, world moves on
Carrying me in its wake
Tearing the flesh from my bones
My heart beats out its protest
Can’t go on, can’t go on
Reduced to numbers and logic
Standing in the cold
My heart beats out its protest,
I’m zero sum, zero sum
Dreams stolen, love deflated
Never tasting life again
My heart beats out its protest,
Just a friend, just a friend
Smile, laugh, sing you jester
The world must never know
My heart beats out its protest,
Carry on, carry on.

DONE

Well I did it. It took two days but, I finally finished giving a personal response to each of the almost 100 friends, who wrote on my wall for my birthday. I was really surprised that so many people would take the time to drop me a line and I knew something was in order. Recently I read an opinion piece about how terrible it is that people think writing on Facebook is a substitute for the real intimacy of friendship and I had been wondering if I agreed with it.

There are many times of late when I get irritated with the amount of communication people feel is necessary. I don't understand people who give daily updates of their lives and their every movement. I really don't want people knowing where I am all the time. Do any of my non-readers want to know that I am going to Walmart for Hamburger Helper?

I also am not big on people who are constantly telling people about their great relationships. Once in a while is great, it really makes me happy yo know that my friends are cuddled up watching football on Saturdays. People who have to tell me all the time however make me think something is fishy. There is a saying in AA "Fake it til you make it." It works great for recovering alcoholics because they just do it and they don't share their journey with the general public. If you are telling me every detail online maybe your trying to make something that isn't real work for you. Perhaps you need a change in life. Last week I was teasing my friend Amber about one of those wall posts from her cousin about how much she loves her husband. I contended that her cousin was a horrible person for rubbing her happiness in everyone's face, she countered by saying that her cousin was just in that honeymoon period you experience after your husband is released from jail for domestic abuse. I kind of think that says it all right there.

On the other hand, I was happy that so many people would do that for me. Sure a card or a handwritten letter is much more personal, but so few people do that anymore, and even if they did would 100 people do that for me? Probably not, but because a reminder appeared on their homepage they sent me a note. As a result I had online conversations with some old friends I don't see much anymore. Jim McKinney's kids are both in college and he is so proud, Vonda Dixon is doing well and as frisky as ever. It seems sometimes, the communication is a good thing.

Since so many people could take the time to write me I decided that they deserved a return on their investment. I have seen people who just post a note saying thank you to everyone for their wishes, but to me that seemed a little impersonal. I believe we get to be the person we choose to be and I choose to be warm and loving and appreciative of the good things that the world gives me. I did it and this year I resolve to work harder on returning the touches of the people who touch me.

A scream of protest

I never felt like a bad person before today. It all started innocently enough. After class Emily and I needed to poke around town for an hour or so before we headed back to the river, so we decided to get Chinese food.

Sounds like a good plan right? Well actually that part was pretty good. It was much better than the last time we went to the Chinese buffet and saw a woman eating a fried chicken leg with the ferocity and table manners of a pitbull ripping a toddler’s face off. We had a good time chatting about things and eating wonton soup, but it was all about to come crashing down around me.

We still had a few minutes so we decided to do a little shopping. I needed a new shirt so we headed over to the outlet store and actually found just what I was looking for without a hassle. I was really happy, a great afternoon with my daughter, a four day weekend in the offing, life is good right? Life was good until we reached the register, then the cashier said those 4 little words. “Do you have our card?”

Do I have a card? I didn’t know I was supposed to have a card. I mean who has a discount card, for an outlet store? After all it is supposed to be a discount store, how much more can I save? I bought a shirt that cost $3.90, if I had a discount card they would have had to pay me! So I didn’t have a card, Emily didn’t have one either and the cashier lady gave me such a disapproving look that I knew immediately what had happened.

I have ruined lives; both Emily’s and mine, because I am unprepared to survive in this modern world. Emily will never get to transfer to a great four year college, or find a good husband, I will die alone and friendless, buried in an unmarked potters grave. Without a card I am a nonbeing, with a card I can save up points for ten percent off a factory second shirt. I know for a fact that this is my punishment for enjoying the life of a bachelor.

Had I a ball and chain dragging me to the ocean floor, I would have had a card. If I owned a minivan, I would have known right where my card was. If my house smelled of Crayola and mac and cheese I would have a card remembrance app on my smart phone, but because I still have a will to live, the married corporate executives have decided to punish me. They hate me because I am free and they are tied to their trophy lives. They resent my toilet seat up lifestyle because they are not strong enough to grab the gusto for themselves. They are ganging up on me and all my single friends, because they know, we can’t even remember to buy toilet paper until it’s too late and we have to sacrifice a washcloth, how are we going to keep track of a card when we only buy clothes once a year?

I am standing up to them; I will never have their card. If I find one of their cards on the street I will pick it up and use it to line the bottom of a beer coozy. I am a man damnit. I am proud and strong and single, I WILL NOT HAVE YOUR CARD!

Happy birthday

“We need to talk about mornings” said Emily . Apparently my current attitude towards the dawning of a new day is unacceptable to her. I really don’t understand this and I think perhaps her pessimism is inherited from her mother. I love watching the sunrise, each new day full of promise and renewed vigor.

Mornings are my favorite time to make love. Long slow sexy love, with a woman who is illuminated by the orange glow of the morning sun, its beams making a halo around her sweaty face as we hold each other in the aftermath.

I am trying desperately to capture the shades of gray that night on the river produce on paper with my charcoal and pastels. I think they are beautiful, but nowhere near as special to my heart, as that time of day when the world eases from monochromatic to real life Technicolor. I don’t think that broad daylight is very interesting, but the new shades and shadows created by the rising and setting sun blow me away.

There is a mystery to the sunrise like talking to an interesting person for the first time, or reading a new novel from that author you can’t put down. You want to get to know this day, soak it in, and love it, with all the passion that you thought you lost somewhere between childhood and middle age. I feel it most strongly on Mondays, because that is like the beginning of a whole new set of sunrises and not one thing exists that needs to be forgiven.

As I write the sky to the west is gunmetal gray, with the last of the morning stars twinkling idly as if waving goodbye. Ralph is purring and drooling in my lap, his soft fur the color of the sunrise he shares with me. I have a nice mug of English breakfast and a full day of adventures ahead. Yeah me, happy birthday, I hope that it is special for you.

if your shocked it's because you don't pay attention

It’s my birthday, great, my birthdays usually suck, and I try to ignore them. This year due to Facebook everyone seems to know so, I have decided to do something for myself. I think this year for my birthday I want to tell the truth about some things and let the chips fall where they may so strap in tight.
I have deleted the rest of this blog because you know what the truth is. The truth is there are about 3 people in this world who know me and always get the truth from me. They enjoy this privilege, because they are self sacrificing caring individuals, who took the time to really get to know me. If you aren't one of them and you want to be I suggest you try a different approach, of course you won't listen, but hey I tried.

This morning there was a front page article in the St. Pete Times about a guy who wanted to construct a 9/11 memorial, down around Venice. http://www.tampabay.com/news/humaninterest/911-memorials-put-meaning-to-metal/1190699 He wasn't a survivor, he wasn't an emergency worker, he just wanted to get a piece of steel from the twin towers and build a memorial. Why? In fact he initially wanted to place it on top of an existing 9/11 memorial in a local park. You got to be fucking kidding me, in other words he wanted to build a memorial for the sake of building one, or to ease whatever feelings he may have been dealing with, by pushing them off on the general public. Now normally I would have just muttered something unkind under my breath and gone back to my breakfast, but later on something came up that really highlighted the situation.
One of my friends emailed because he was just feeling down, he was confused by the fact that he wasn’t feeling any empathy for the victims and survivors of 9/11. I had some pretty ready answers because I have been examining this myself recently. The fact of the matter is he doesn’t lack empathy. He is a veteran of the Iraq war, he volunteers for his church and several other charitable organizations, he does things that touch lives and affects peoples futures. What he doesn’t do is engage in a lot of self-aggrandizing behavior. That is the way we are trained in the military. It is considered unseemly to talk about yourself in anything but a self-deprecating manner. After all everyone around you has volunteered to make to make the same sacrifices you have, so what is there to talk about. As a result we get a dangerous job done very efficiently. In the movie We Were Soldiers Lt. Col Moore (played by Mel Gibson) is shown reporting over the radio as bullets zipped around him he tells base “it’s getting pretty sporty down here”. That seems kind of accurate to me because no matter how scared you might be, you never mention it, it just isn’t done. It is just a job whether you’re loading trucks or getting in a firefight you’re just doing your job. That is why; you won’t see very man veterans shedding tears on 9/11. It’s not that we don’t care. It is because we know that we did something about it. We don’t need to stand around and belabor the issue. Do you? And if so why?

Visualize Whirlled Peas

You know what really chafes my left testicle? Bumper stickers that say coexist written in symbology from a variety of world religions! It isn't the sentiment, what kind of sociopath doesn't want peaceful coexistence? Bumper stickers like that bother me for two reasons.

First off I hate slogans and big talk, if your going to do it, do it. People who talk about getting a job usually accomplish very little. In fact I kind of wonder if people buy those bumper stickers as their sole contribution to world peace. Does a piece of paper on your Volvo ease the guilt over never having done a damn thing for anyone outside your immediate family soccer mom? Does it?

Secondly and most important to me is, it's just a fantasy. I could put out a bowl of cream every night and the brownies wouldn't come and do my household chores. If I put out a bowl of cream every night, the cats would eat it, grow fat and bloated, throw up on the carpet, and the house would still be dirty. Same thing with your naive hope for peaceful coexistence. Sit back and blindly accept everyone as being of the same basic good hearted nature as you (at least you think you are, I have already prejudged you as a self righteous pinhead)and see what happens. I bet they shoot Bambi's dad and use his antlers to slash your tires.If you want people to coexist you may need more then words. Want an example do some research and find out what happened to the money raised by We Are the World. If you want to coexist, you have to be ready to be strong. Whispering things on bumper stickers isn't strong, it tells people you are ready to be taken advantage of.

Sure I have a bumper sticker on my jeep, it says GOLF NAKED. If you really feel the need for a social slogan on your car, why not use a quote from my momma who always said "Hope for the best, but, stockpile ammunition.

more of Dad's theories on dating

Ok listen kid, so you like someone but... they are chasing someone else, stop a minute don't freak. First of all your a kid, you don't really know what you want. Second your a kid, if you got what you wanted you wouldn't know what to do with it. Most importantly of all it's time to learn about planting the seed.

Things in this world don't have to happen at the speed we want them to, in fact they probably won't. You can't just walk up to someone and say I want you, let's get together and think it will work. Plant the seed. When you meet someone cool you plant the seed by being yourself, smart, funny, nice, artistic, complex, whatever it is you are. Then walk away, just walk awayyyyy. Leave it be, swing by occasionally and water the seed and maybe it will germinate. If it doesn't leave it alone you can't force it, like a hot house tomato (which are pretty unflavorful anyway). If it does start to break through the soil then you may give it a little attention, fertilize it, water it, and let it grow.

The do section is the easy part, the don't section is a lot harder although much more straight forward. Do not under any circumstances discuss the seed in public, don't stalk the intended on Facebook, If your seed isn't growing don't leave snide little notes, just let it go or if you must, complain to someone you can trust to keep their trap shut. Do not try to get invited to places you think they will be, with some sort of plan to make them jealous or help them see the "real" you. Leave them alone if they want to be with you, it will work itself out.

This information is important to you because, no one, and I mean no one wants to be smothered, and when your a kid, well, it's just the way you behave. You have to learn to remind yourself that both parties are their own people and will have to independently find their way to the same idea in order for the relationship to flourish. The seed may never grow and that's ok,it just wasn't meant to be. Most importantly of all remember, no matter what, I will always love you more then anyone else can!

This bad poem is all Carla's fault

Bonquesha girl your hair is art
Bonquesha girl you stole my heart
You’re so G
And I’m so whiz
We’ll need a punnett square
To ID our kids
Carla says you’re not for me
But I completely disagree
We will find a way to fan our spark
Between ghetto and trailer park
Cause she’s the one who rocked my world
My pretty little Bonquesha girl

I can't help it I am completely fascinated by the crazy things some of the ghetto girls do with their hair. My new friend Carla filled me in on the fact that these women are known as Bonquesha girls, and has promised to track one down, trap her and force her to marry me. So Carla,this, incredibly bad poem, is for you

a very lame poem

Normal is for suckers,
addicted to the everyday,
like an infinite opium cloud,
That’s not for me.

I was born under Mars rising!
My soul was forged in battle.
I lived most on foreign ground,
hearing the snap of the bullet,
and the whoosh of the rocket.
always striking just a bit away.
A bit away.

I want to drive fast,
racing my headlights,
through the darkest of midnights,
arriving early just to prove.

I want to marry a stripper,
who steals all my clothes:
when she leaves me alone,
with another box of stories.

I want to drink deep of life,
letting the excess drops,
roll off my chin to nourish,
the average man.
.
Foremost, I want to be good:
to set my hand and heart
never turn from my goal
Until I own it with my every breath.



Though I really mean every word of this poem in spirit, I don't think it is very good mostly. I just wanted to start playing with that line about the stripper to see where it would carry me. So far nowhere, still I think it has a lot of potential for laughs if I can just tetrus it into the right space. I even think it's funnier then the image of masturbating angrily then crying myself to sleep. I know not every one thinks that's funny, but then again why are you reading this crap, it says right there in big letters not to read this. What the hell is wrong with you people?

The dirt track theory of dating

My daughter has a friend who is dating her first boy at the tender age of eighteen, and, Emily is concerned because her friend is dating such a nerdy young man. This left me no choice but to explain the dirt track theory of dating to her. You see no one in his right mind would put a rookie in a million dollar stock car or an open wheel racer. Everyone in the big league of racing starts on the dirt track.
The dirt track is great, you wear a used fire suit and, your friend’s paint your car with a spray can. Sure you can’t go as fast as the big cars, but you can slide sideways through the corners, and wipe the mud off your face at the end of the day. Dating should be the same way. You start out maybe the persons a little bit of a hooptie, but if you treat them well and learn all the tricks and you might be able to move up to the next level. Every time you move up you get a faster car, better sponsors, and maybe someday you reach that one person you want to drive around with for the rest of your life.
The thing that most people overlook though is forgetting to enjoy driving the mud track, working on a shoestring budget, tinkering on your car after work and hoping for the best. I have to admit that I have spent more than one session on the dirt tracks myself. Yeah the cars weren't pretty but man the wrecks were spectacular. I am talking no restricter plate, preroof flap, end over end, with a broken fuel line spewing burning gasoline through the air behind me, and the crowd waiting breathlessly until I lowered the window net and signaled that my heart was still beating,(I do love red headed southern women)amen.
I am old enough to know now that some of us never race at the Brickyard. There are those among us who are best suited to the world of outlaws where you drive as fast as you can slide into the corners and have giant airborne end over end wrecks, where tires injure poorly protected spectators, yeah that’s my kind of romance right there. Down in the deep south and the midwest we choose to believe we can do anything with just what God gave us there will never be a beer sponsoring us but by golly we will run what we brung until we go home to meet Number 3 amongst a chorus of angles singing Merle Haggard cheating songs.
Whatever track my daughter and her friends wind up on I hope they are happy and having fun.

the days fade into fall

And the happy days fade into fall
Summer memories packed away like bathing suits
Waiting to be recalled
When the season needs
Nude trees rub their bones together
Reminders that change is inevitable
The townsfolk huddle in caves
Surrounded by bright light and vivid colors
Shouting down fear
A lone soul ventures out into the pitch
Searching with reckless hope
For a sign of spring days to come

what you should be reading

This blog is a lot of self-serving drivel and hooey, composed to make me feel better about myself, in my opinion you would be far better off reading a book of fart jokes then you would be reading about me! If however, you are in need of some guidance I have compiled some advice for you. In no particular order except for #1 here are some of my favorite authors.
1. Lewis Grizzard: Now here is the writer who has influenced me most as a person. When I was a boy I would read his column in the Spartanburg SC Herald Journal and I learned from Lewis to look past the facade and into the heart of the Deep South. To truly appreciate the characters around me I had to learn to step back out and look in on a situation. Lewis Grizzard was a master of this perspective. He also taught me the beauty of everyday tragedy. If you believe that you have a relationship with someone that is completely flawed because of that person’s addictions or emotional instability you should read My Daddy was a Pistol and I’m a Son of a Gun. A story about what it was like to grow up and come to terms with his absentee father.
2. James Michener: Reading Michener’s prose is like a spring day lying in deep thick grass with someone you love holding hands and watching the cumulus clouds make pictures in the atmosphere.
3. Ring Lardner: I discovered his short stories about sports and a child and have loved them ever since. I think there is a distinct possibility that my love for all American vernaculars may have come from You Know me Al.
4. Ray Bradbury: Perhaps the first writer to scare the hell out of me, he also taught me about nostalgia, and Fahrenheit 451 lead me to my first understanding of what a slippery slope we start down when we try to suppress ideas that don’t mesh with our own.
5. Rudyard Kipling: I’m not sure if this is a good suggestion for a female or not, but, I do know that for a small boy of 9 or 10 this is the ultimate reading material. Take away their computer toys, unplug the cable and give them a collection of Kipling’s tales and you will see a boy emerge whose only desire is to have adventures. No watching the Disney cartoon is not a substitute!
Well what are you waiting for I told you not to read my blog, then I told you what to read instead, turn off your computer, go to the bookstore (preferably one of those used bookstores with hundreds of books), and read something entertaining.