Rise

It is clearly time to try a different approach.
I'm going to have to write 2013 off as a complete failure.
I'm tired.
Nay
Exhausted.

I have worked incredibly hard, through most of this year, for a few different things.  I put all my hope.  All my energy.  All my everything into intiating change.  There is absolutely nothing to show for it. Some things, at one point or another were incredibly promising.  There were times, that plans had been made, things were going to happen.  Nothing happened.  This happened, over and over and over again.  I had so many plans.  So many ideas.  So many schemes, and adventures.

Every
Single
Damn
Thing

Didn't happen.  Nothing.
I did all I knew how to do this year.  So many exciting prospects, that just...
And now, I have zero to show for it.
I am in the exact same place I was a year ago.
The only result is, I'm exhausted.  I'm beat up. I'm at that point where if you kicked me now, I wouldn't notice for all the other kicks I've already sustained.  Pretty soon a beating doesn't mean anything anymore.

I must have done, or said something wrong.  I must have acted or reacted in a way that prevented progress.  I'm not above mistakes.  I make plenty.  The hardest part about self evaluation though, is trying to determine exactly what those things were.  This is the time that I really wish there was a god.  But not like the hateful christian god, or the spiteful petty greeks, or the warrior norse.  I want a god kinda like a college advisor.  Except omniscient.  Some guy who'll take you into his office...maybe pour out some coffee, pull out all the files on the last year, and evaluate.

Okay dude, here's where you did good.
Here's what needs improvement.
Now go out there and be somebody.

But that's all simply nice fantasy.  The fact is I get to figure this shit out for myself.  Just like we all do.  I get to go into each new day, pretending I'm not fighting my own battles.  Just like we all do.  I get to say, over and over again, "No really, it's okay.".

Just like we all do.

I know a lot of this lacks specific detail.  That's okay.  I really don't want to go into specific detail.  The outcome is the same.  I have had a year without progress, in any area of my life.  This did not happen as a result of no effort.  It happened as a result of, I guess, all the wrong effort.  That's the only way I can look at it.  It's not that I didn't try.  I simply didn't try the right way.

And so, it is clearly time to try a different approach.
Tabula rasa.
Erase the board and start from scratch.

And that is the new plan.
If everything I try, fails...the only recourse is to either change goals, or change paths.

I simply cannot continue the course I've travelled.  So I've got to set a new one.  I will, as I've always done, walk this one alone.  Every single person in my life, that I have asked to walk with me at one time or another, has opted not to.  So I won't ask again.

Sometimes I think that's the wrong decision.  Sometimes it's a painful one.  Sometimes I feel alone.

Today I saw a girl sitting alone.  In a coffee shop, drinking her beverage, reading a book.  Occasionally she would glance up...look around.  Sometimes our eyes would meet.  She'd go back to her book, I'd go back to my drink.
Eventually some guy showed up, and walked toward her table.  I watched her smile.  That smile that was just for him.  That smile that came, because it couldn't not.  It was so genuine.  Here was a person in her life, that truly made her happy.
It was the most beautiful thing I'd seen in a long time, and I so desperately wanted a smile like that for myself.  From someone who just...it was me.  I make another person happy.  I am happy because another person is part of me.
And I looked at myself from the outside. Alone in the coffee shop.  Content in my solitude.
Content.
A funny word.
A word of acceptance. Yet...also...
Peace.
I know that smile isn't for me.
It won't be.
It can't be.

I have a full year of abject failure behind be.  This is failure in the true sense.  I tried.  I put myelf out there.  I ran the gammut of try try try...and I failed.  Or at least, I have had absolutely no success.
I can take this.  I can eat it right up.  I can turn course at a moments notice, and see where the next/other road leads.  It sucks.  It sucks great big donkey balls.
What I can't do...
What I won't do...
Is ask someone to travel that road with me.

I live a hard life.  I'm not complaining about that.  I fucking LOVE the life I live.  But it ain't easy.

See when people get together, it's to share common dreams and goals and aspirations.  It's to build something that two people can share.
I have nothing to share, and my dreams are not made out of stability.  I am not motivated by money, or financial gain or success.  I need it.  I'll work for it, so I can eat...and have a working phone and a pack of cigarettes in my pocket, but I don't give two shits about it beyond that.  I will never have a "job" worth bragging about.

Having tried the relationship thing twice in the past, and learning from repeated mistakes, the greatest lesson I could take from both of those, is that it is simply wrong on all levels, to ask another human being that I care about, to walk with me into that kind of darkness.

Here there be monsters.

My wonderland has fearsome beasts, and there is no safety net.
There is no retirement plan.
There is either success...or failure.

I've just had a complete year of the latter.
And I will keep going.
I will trudge.
I will march.
I will race wildly into the unknown seeking MY brand of success.  My own achievement that means something to me.
And if that achievement comes with money, or doesn't, is really kind of meaningless to me.

This war is mine.

And so I left that coffee shop, having witnessed the smallest token of the greatest signifigance, reminded in my aloneness, that such things aren't for me.  And yes that's my choice, and I accept it as such...because it's the right choice.

Any other choice, and I would have to either ask someone to do the impossible...
or...
completely change who I am.

Life is neat.  We get to make our own rules, and if we follow those rules, we must understand the boundries those rules place...
or live with the consequences of breaking them.

If you are fortunate enough to have discovered a way, to live with another person inside the compromise that requires...I salute you.  I envy you.  Fucking cherish it.  Hold on with both hands and never ever let go.

I simply don't have it in me to compromise myself, and my aspirations, and all the failures it will take to reach those aspirations...
And I don't have it in me to ask another human on this planet to be that patient with me.  There is a high statistical probability I'll never get there.

Anyway....there is a lot of rambling here.  Just a big fat emptying of the head.  But I think it all boils down to is this...

We all have our own lives...our own decisions.  We each find a path, and follow it.  I think, and maybe I'm wrong, but I think, the most important thing is to make the hard decisions.  To figure out who the fuck we are, and stick with it.  To become friends with the things that are difficult.  To accept that not everything, is for everybody, but to find what's ours.  There are things in life...wonderful amazing things...that I will probably not have.  There are other things that you will not have.  There are all the things that a few will have, and a few things that nobody will have.

The key for me, is being able to identify who I am, and what that means in my reality.  In my little corner of my own little world.  You're all invited to visit any ole time...but the parts of me that I have put away...well...they're put away.

I don't entirely rule out that box may be opened again, because I don't rule out the possibility of anything ever, but if it ever is, well...I'm not convinced such a person exists.

Know peace.  Know happiness.  Know love.  Know starlight, and wishes.  Who cares if they never come true...the joy is in the making of them.

Know hope.  Know kindness.  Know that your way is not the way for everybody, but niether your way, nor theirs is any less valid.

Know right.  The big rights, and the little ones.

Respect your truth.  Respect that truth is not universal.

Share the planet.
Share time.
Share joy.

Remeber that every single person you meet, every single day, is carrying some pain.  Maybe, if you have time, offer to carry some of that pain for them for a minute.

Never...
ever...
EVER...

let another person shame you for you decisions.  Your choices. Your clothes, or your body. Or the most heinous of all...who or how you love.

And never attempt to shame another human being for theirs.

Be happy.
Eat.
Sleep.
Fuck.
Express.
Share your opinion, but for the love of jeebus, don't get all bent if someone doesn't feel the same way you do.
Talk.
Talk.
small and BIG.

Don't be afraid.
Never be afraid.
Take risks every damn day.

Get naked and look in the mirror.
with love.
and acceptence.
and joy.

Who cares if your body isn't perfect.
Wanna know a secret.
Here it is...

There's no such fucking thing.

So love what you see in the glass.
Love it.
Seriously.
Cry because you love it so goddamn much.

And take it from someone with a lot...a lifetime worth...of experience.

It doesn't matter how many times you don't get what you want.
It doesn't.
It doesn't matter how many times you "fail".
It doesn't.

Get up.
Dust off your knees.
Bitch and moan for a minute... (that's perfectly acceptable, and anyone who says otherwise, is full of shit.)
Then
Learn.
Grow.
and move.
Never stop moving.
Ever.
You'll be still soon enough.
All to soon.

So move.
Write your song and dance to it.
Falling down is fine.

Staying down isn't.

...and they will be simple.

Do not go gently into that good night but rage, rage against the dying of the light. - Dylan Thomas.

So Mr. Energy stood up, and said in a booming voice, "I can neither be created nor destroyed.", and everybody cheered.  Here at last was immortality.

And Mr. Entropy, sitting in the back of the room whispered quietly in the noise, "That might be true, but you will run out.".

By 1812, Ludwig Von Beethoven had already lost a significant portion of his hearing.  After the death of his parents he was the sole supporter of his brothers, and in a letter written to them, comtemplated suicide.  He'd had enough.

We all know the story.  One of the world's greatest composers was deaf.  We don't really think about it much, but imagine the impact it had on his life.  The sense he relid on most, not only for his passion, but for his living, was nearly gone.

"While still in my bed, my thoughts turn towards you, my Immortal Beloved.  Now and then happy, then sad again, waiting whether fate might answer us - I can only live either wholly with you, or not at all..." - L. Beethoven.

It is now believed that the identity of his Immortal Beloved is known, and if you've seen the film with that same title...well...that's not her.  Great for the dramatic purposes of storytelling, but WAY off.  It's kind of a disservice to the truth, but it's still a pretty okay film.

Beethoven died in 1827.  Fifteen years after the letter to his brothers, and the three letters to his Immortal Beloved.  He never married, and he died alone.  I mean sure, we all die alone, but he died aloner than most.  20000, yes that's right...TWENTY THOUSAND people attended his funeral.  He lived a life of solitude.  He alienated most people he knew.  He was not a pleasant person to be around.  Often ill.  Always a perfectionist, and incredibly self conscious.  He stopped performing publicly after an embarrasing incident attempting to perform one of his own pieces for a Duke.  He couldn't hear his own music, and muffed it up pretty bad.  After that...never again.  He relied solely on commission.

In 1824, and the premier of his Ninth and final symphony, he went up on stage.  The orchestra had previously been informed that he may attempt to conduct, and if he did to simply ignore him.  They did.  They followed the conductor that was...you know...actually the conductor.  When they finished, Beethoven, who was by this point entirely deaf, was pages behind them and still flapping his arms up on the stage.  Yup.  That really happened.

This man knew sorrow.  He knew isolation.  More than most.
He also knew passion.  And desire.  And...
well...
Love.

It is known that the love he had for his Immortal Beloved was in fact reciprocated.  Despite his flaws, there was another person on the planet who loved him back.  As much as he loved her.  Not for his fame, or his ability.  She simply loved the man.
Circumstance would deny them forever, and he threw himself into his music.  It was his tragedy, and his salvation.
It would be for the benefit of the world.

Shakespeare couldn't have made this a better story.
Or more heartbreaking.

There is a rest of the story.
So L. is up on stage flapping his arms.  The Ninth Symphony...heard by everyone but the man who created it, is over.  He doesn't even know.

The Conductor gently grabs him by the shoulders and turns him around on the stage...so that...
so...
So he could see an opera house.  Full.  Of people standing.  Cheering.  Waving their handkerchiefs at him.  Applauding.  Crying.

And L. wept.

Here's the thing.  I don't know if he wept because of the joy of accomplishment.  Fulfilment.  Joy.  Or if he wept because although he knew the piece.  He never....not once in his life...actually got to hear it.
Nobody ever said WHY he wept.
Only that he did.

Now I know most of my readers are pretty smart folks.  Many, if not all of you probably knew all of this stuff already.  And if you did...awesome.  If not...and even if you did...then...let that all sink in for a minute.
Please.

This man knew heartbreak.  At one point in his life he was ready to end it all.  He was wrapped forever in the love of a woman he would never have.  He was a deaf musician.  Think about that. A. Deaf....DEAF...musician.  He was perpetually alone with only his thoughts and his heartbreak.  He was forced to communicate through written word in a notebook he carried around with him.  He was a genius certainly, but chained by circumstance, and still.

Still...

He gave us so much.  Moonlight Sonata.  Fur Elise.  Eroica.  Allegretta.  Music that three hundred years later we hear.  We recognize.  We are moved.  It is music embedded in our very souls.

And of course, his magnum opus.  The Ninth.  The fourth movement has words that are sung.  In symphony we call this Choral.  This was a first for him.  A first for any symphony really.  For the Choral he took the words of a popular poem...altered them slightly to fit the music.  We call the fourth movement of the Ninth Symphony now, by the name of that poem.

So here's this man.  This desparate man, who lived a life of physical and emotional agony.  A constant longing for things he could never possibly have.  He lived, and died alone.  And this man, for his final piece, gave us...

Ode to Joy

I know I put that up on my FB wall.  I'm leaving it here as well.  This five and a half minute piece of music, that has survived centuries, still excites a pure celebration of life.  A fucking ODE...to goddamn JOY.  This fucking man, who had lost his war, before it even began...who had every reason to hate.  To despair.  Every. Mother. Fucking reason to pack it in...

Gave us that.

There is nothing we can't do.  There is no reason not to do it.
Our celebration is now.
Entropy will win in the end.  It will.
We will all be gone.
I think if we truly understood what that means, we would...
I don't know...
Do it.
Do it NOW.
Live MORE.
Love HARDER.
Hold TIGHTER.
Dance FREER.
Hold hands, sing loud, smile often, have sex, eat donuts, swim in the ocean, jump in a puddle, wish on stars, tickle a baby, pet a kitten, write a poem, share a thought, don't hold back.
don't hold back.
Don't you dare fucking hold back.
If you are lucky enough to be with the person you love, you better goddamn let them know that every fucking chance you get.
If there is someone you want to love, but just aren't sure, you better goddamn let them know that every fucking chance you get.
Whatever you have to say...say it.
Whatever you have to sing...sing it.
Create.
Create.
Create.

There is not a single second of this life that you get a do over.
So get out there and make mistakes.
And recognize now.
Now is your only now.

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time. The ones who never yawn, or say a commonplace thing but burn burn burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars."  -Jack Kerouac.

The road to nowhere

I recently in my life made a number of moves to elicit change.  Change in scenery.  Change in source of income.  Change of location.  Made some calls, online communication of sorts with various other people and organizations.  Threw my cards into the wind, to see what would come up.  I was rather, well, quietly aggressive about this.  Only a few people knew of certain plans, and none but myself knew all of my intent.

Turns out it was all to no avail.  Everything sort of fell flat.  Fell through.  And so here I am.  In the exact same place as I was when I started, and although I still crave the change, I confess a certain feeling of defeat.  I spend a great deal of energy, and at the end, the let down is just sort of...I want to say frustrating, but I'm too exhausted for frustration.

That old saying...Never tell God your plans.  I think that's a silly phrase for a number of reasons.  First off, I don't believe in the fella, and even if I did...I'm quite certain he wouldn't give two shits about my insignigicant little personal desires.  There is nothing in the history of mankind that indicates to me, he would operate on such a petty level.  He's much more into destroying nations, simply because a few guys like to get their shag on with each other occasionally.  He seems rather fond of grand spectacle.

So then there's the whole "Put your positive energy into the Universe" thing.  All that kinda drives me nutty too.  Anytime I hear it, I just wanna go..."Do you know what the Universe is?"  I'll tell ya.  The Universe is mostly an unimaginable expanse of emptiness.  That's right.  we look up and see stars and wonder, and yes, it does excite the imagination but...

but...

If you could see the universe, you would see a whole fuckton of nothing.  There is a LOT of nothing out there.  That nothing is big enough to hold billions...yes BILLIONS...that we know of, and quite likely even more than billions of galaxies and nebula.  And each galaxy also has a whole fuckton of nothing.  Like seriously FUCKTONS of nothing.  And each of those billions of galaxies in that hufuckinmongous universe is ALSO big enough to hold billions of stars.  BILLIONS of stars in each of those BILLIONS of galaxies in that one great big universe.

The mind cannot conceive...so don't try.  Or do.  Rock out, whatever.

Now each of those stars, potentially contains a system of planets and moons, and with a relative degree of probability...life.  Hell there's a good chance there's life right here in our solar system NOT on this planet.  Little microbes and shit floating around the oceans of Europa.

So inside that universe containing all those galaxies...ours is rather insignificant.  Inside this galaxy, our sun among the billions of others, is really nothing special.  And simply because we are the only conciously evolved species that we know of, doesn't mean that we're all that exist.  Seems kind of unlikely to me.
Face it folks...we're neat, but we're not THAT big of a deal.  Our ego is astounding, but reality even moreso.

So the idea that the universe is some wish granting machine paying attention to us, simply because we think happy thought and "send them out there", is just sort of weird to me.

I mean it's neat.  It is...to think that there is some grand plan, or divinity, or consciousness giving a shit about our well being.  It's romantic.  It's hopeful.  It's probably gotten a lot of people through a lot of rough times.  It's just not for me.

I'm also not egotistical enough to demand that I'm right.  Fuck it. I don't know shit...I very well submit that I'm wrong.  I just...well... I doubt it.

All that Deepak Chopra metephysics/quantum mechanics bullshit that he pushes to sell books...actually kind of has about as much to do with actual quantum mechanics, as Yeshua bar Joseph does to Christianity.  Which is to say none at all.

Then again, who am I?  If you're reading this, and you do get behind all that stuff...then...go for it.  Honestly.  Whatever you find in the spin around the burning ball of gas that brings you happiness, or gives you hope...then by all the gods that never were...eat that shit up.  Get as much of it as you goddamn can.  Seriously.  Be happy, in whatever it is that gives you joy.  Or peace.

I also do go for the whole "positive energy" thing.  Not necessarily in the putting it in the universe sort of way...but more in the "we reap what we sow" sort of way.  It does make sense that if the action is positive, so will be the reaction.  Unless you remember that reaction is equal and OPPOSITE.  Okay now I'm just fucking around.

Or am I?

I don't even know myself.  See the thing is, it also comes down to energy, and I done run out of it.

The human brain is wired for negative bias.  True story.  Whether this is genetic, or habitual, or conditioning...I really don't know.  But a bunch of guys in white coats who are way smarter than I am, have spent years studying human psychology and behavior have discovered this.  Negative bias is natural for the human condition.  We are programmed to think the worst.

Anytime we make a positive choice, that's what it is...a choice...against our programming.  Now we can make similar choices often enough that like any other muscle it becomes easier and easier...but we are still acting against programming.  It is simply easier to think negative than it is to think positive.  So positive thinking takes effort.  Especially for sustained periods of time.  Especially for sustained periods of time with no positive result for reinforcement.

I put this out there, not as excuse or justification for being or feeling or thinking negative.  I'm putting this out there as a public service.  A "The More You Know" sort of thing.

Negative thoughts are more natural, and easier to access than positive thoughts.  So it doesn't really do any harm to send positive thoughts/energy out to the universe, if thats the phrase you need...because at least you're making the choice to not follow the natural negative course.  So I'm not saying its a bad thing or idea...this whole universe worship thing that has become so popular.

The only thing that bothers me about it, is the idea that The Universe is actually a concious entity that will grant your wish if you just believe hard enough.  I don't mind a choice to be positive.  I just don't like the God replacement that it's become for disgruntled and misplaced formerly religious.

But that's just me...

And I'm off topic.

I do that a lot.  I ramble.  I say all the wrong things.  I piss off any number of people.  I talk circles and go nowhere.

Especially when I feel stagnant.  Which I do often.  I'm a restless sort.  There are some certain, specific things that I would like to happen, and well...they aren't happening.  I become focused on these things.  I make moves, extend effort, and then nothing happens.  And that's what kills me.  The nothing.
I am made out of patience...but I only have so much mass, and take up so much space.  So being made out of patience still is not an inexhaustable resource.

And so what happens is, I'm tired, and I don't want to play anymore.  I did the work.  I put out the positive energy.  I wore my smiles, and said my words, and they were all the wrong smiles.  And all the wrong words.

And I come to my bed, at the end of each day, and I wait.  I want.  I look up at those stars inside our galaxy, inside our universe, and I make my wishes, and send them out there.  Knowing full well the futility, but still exercising my frail human imagination.

I send my love to the ones I love.  Thinking of them.  Thinking of you.
Yes you.
I remember that although things may seem endlessly frustrating.  Fatiguing.  Infuriating.  This too is a cycle.  The down part of a roller coaster.
I know that the price of joy is pain.  The price of love...loneliness.  And I have had SO much joy, and SO
much love...and so the fare is due.

Its really just the greedy selfish part of me that wants you so badly.

So I'm still here.
Indefinitely.
All things...
as always...
On hold.

I'll wait for you.  I really will.  My imagination may never meet reality.
One who has wedded chaos as I have can never pretend to know a future...
But that can't possibly kill the hope of a bright one.
A better tomorrow.
A glorious disaster.

You know that thing when stars collide, and planets are born?
You and I should do that.

And all our yesterdays

We are so temporary, you and I.  Our fate determined at birth.  We feel so compelled to live our days as dreams, and dream our adventures in sleep.

Life's but a walking shadow

A fleeting moment.  A whisper on a slight breeze that passes in an instant.  We were born in stars, and will in a blink be dust.  All the things we meant to do.  All the things we've never done.  We are at some point nothing more than someone elses memory.  We craft the image of how we'd like to be remembered, but we hide the things worth holding.

I loved you, refracted. 

I tasted what you were.

I want to taste your am.

A poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more.

How many people did you touch today?  How many minutes of your hour passed in a wish of something different.

Something other.

Something else.

I hear your song, but I don't know your words.  My god, I want your words.  I want your joy.  I want your others and elses.

Giftwrapped in light and silhouette.

It is a tale told by an idiot

It is indeed.  Our leaders, and teachers, and priests, and presidents, and politicians all holding our best interests.  All showing the way to a better...

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow...

And do we really want to join in that dance?  

Full of Sound and Fury

and bluster and noise.  And I smile because I know the truth.  I hope you do too.

Signifying nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

We are going to not be here anymore.

That's going to happen.

Do you know that?

Do you?

Do you get it?

We only have right now.  We are better than they have made us.  We are better than we have allowed ourselves to become.

There is a real possibility for nobility. For something grand.  

They rape our time, 

and justify it with wage

not commensurate for living.

So live without wage.

Live without rage.

Live without guilt, or regret.

We are shackled only by our willingness to believe.  To pretend. 

We are set free in each other.

or

At least we can be.

There is a rage of love, burning iniside us just waiting for the opportunity to burst free. 

Your dance is not so disimilar to my own.

That brief candle will go out, out. And the darkness is all that will be left.  This shadow life for me, and for you will stretch with our own revolution.

We can be the infection

and the disease

and the cure together.

Our conversation does not have to end.  Our nights don't have to be so cold. Our days so grey.  The color is in the refraction of the light...not the light itself.

You don't understand yet do you.  The end isn't the point.  Everything ends.  Who cares.  Are you going to stop, before you start, simply because you don't like the final sentence?  Is fear of pain, going to prevent all the things that lead up to the pain?  Why?  That's where the good stuff is.

There is meaning in everything.

Nothing means anything.

Except I love you.

That's all things.

There is not a single part of you, 

That doesn't captivate every part of me.

I want your sin, and your salvation.

I want your petty gods to fight my own.

And our demons dance in bedsheets.

I want your best bad day. 

Your shadow life.

Your brief candle.

I want

I want

I want

Our story to be written.

Step out of the Cave.

I'm color blind.  It's true.  Doc holds up the big circle with all the colored dots, and I can't see any number or letter inside it.  First time he did it I thought it was a trick question.  I saw the look of boredom on the Doctor's face.  He'd obvioulsly seen this a million times before.  My mom just had a look of incredulous wonder on her face.  That's when I knew it wasn't a trick.  She was seeing something in that mess of dots, that I just wasn't.

Here's the nifty part.  If you're not color blind, you have no frame of reference for this.  Just as I have no frame of reference for what you see.  I see color.  I look at a rainbow, and I can distinguish all the colors in it.  I don't need to read a crayon to know what color it is.

My world is not black and white, or various shades of gray.  It is vibrant, and glorious, and filled with all the razzle and dazzle.

But I don't see the numbers in the dots.
Despite my claims of seeing color...the fact remains you see things I don't.
Your world has more definition.

Now I'm not going to turn this into some bullshit version of Plato's Cave Allegory...but, you know...frame of reference.

There are things in heaven and hell not dreamt of in your philosophy.

I'm also not writing a defense of god.  I'm an atheist.  Pretty outspoken about it.
I hate that "The Universe" has become some sort of god replacement for those who've had enough with the Christian mythology, but still want something bigger...and in control.

The Universe is in reality a whole shitload of nothing with some balls of burning gas, and rocks floating around in it.

Now I'm not saying the Universe isn't full of mystery and beauty, and so many things we don't and will never know.

But I'm pretty sure the Universe isn't like a giant genie ready to grant our wishes if we just send out enough positive energy.
Sending out thoughts to the Universe seems about as useful to me as praying.  In fact...exactly the same thing with a different email address.

The Universe doesn't have a plan for us.  It doesn't guide our destiny.  It's not looking over us, or watching out for us.

It's a romantic notion, sure...but...come on.
Or.
Maybe I'm simply color blind.

We make our own destiny.  We get to choose the crayons.  And not only do we get to choose whether or not to stay in the lines...we get to draw the lines too.

I will never...ever...in the entirety of my existence, see the world the same way you do.  I'm not talking from a perspective, or spiritual, or philosophical, or political point of view.
I'm talking...I will very literally never...ever...see the same things you do.  The cones in my eyes, don't allow for that.  My ability to visually process information is more limited.  I have a very specific frame of reference.

Here's the thing though.  I can only know this because I've been told so.
I have to take someone else's word for it.
So maybe the whole fucking world is lying to me.  Maybe the circle with the dots and numbers really is just an elaborate hoax, and just...some of us aren't in on it.  I don't know.  I CAN'T know.

There are very literally things in this world I will never know, because I am physically incapable of knowing them.
And that's just the physical world.

This makes me wonder...

I don't believe in god
or ghosts
or demons
or angels.

But I allow that I could be wrong.
I doubt it.

But I don't KNOW.
Instead I know this.

I know there are colors I will never see.
That's it.
Colors.
I'll try to explain but I'm afraid I'll fall short.

I know that there are colors I will never see.  Colors.  That is so fucking simple.  A certain degree of presence or absence of refracted light, that changes the degree and temperature of that light creating an illusion of something somewhere between full light and full absence...and we call this color...and there are colors I can't see.

That is REALLY fucking simple.
So...
If there is something that simple, that I am from a purely physical disability, not able to comprehend.
How likely is it...
that there is so very much more?

Things...less...simple.
Things less dependant on physical ability.
For everything I know, there are infinite things I don't know, and it would be pretty presumptuious to assume that I do.

My physical reality is different than yours.
So why not my spiritual reality?
My emotional reality?
My intellectual reality?

I have to take, with a certain degree of faith, that this world is different than I percieve it.  Ergo it stands to reason, that it is different for everybody.

Every single person will encounter "truth" differently.
Which is why everything is true.
And which is why
Nothing is true.

The word truth, when taken in this fashion, is a big fat zero.  It cancels itself out.  Your truth, and my truth will never, ever be the same.

The problem is, I think, when we try to insinuate truth on each other.  When, since my truth is mine, it must be universal, and yours as well.

Well it isn't.

There is no such thing as truth.
There are simply facts.
And perception.

Beyond that is always speculation and interpretation.

We claim our petty little moralities on such shaky ground.
And we fight for them to the death.
Simiply because we see the colors differently.

We are so concerned with being right, that we forget that we can simply be.
I will never see the colors you see.
You will never see the colors I dream.
But if we get together...
and color together...
instead of each trying to draw a different picture
we can make a brand new one.
More beautiful than all the others.

We don't have to destroy both worlds, because we are trying to make them into one...
We can become one and occupy both.

First Star to the Right.

It's been raining.  It's nice.  I like the way it feels.  I love the way the world smells when it rains.  I like to sit outside and watch the light from the streetlights reflect in the streets.  I like the quiet of a rainy night.  And then I love to pollute my lungs with tobacco and nicotine as I take in the serenity. I live for the burn that will kill me.

I like to sit in the rain, and feel it on my face.  I close my eyes, and invite you to sit next to me, as our original home falls from the skies.  I've said this before, but it's always true.  Every time I think of you....  Every damn time...

You are smiling.

You see, our world is a mess.  We live in hate and anger and rage and bullets.  We fight oh so goddamn much, over things so goddamn trivial.  And we know this.

We live on a planet filled with men who want to rule you.  They want to keep you stupid, and poor, and sick.  They want to believe they only have your best interests in mind.  They want to make sure that as long as you are alive, you are placed in a position of submission.  They want you to do menial tasks, for very little compensation, and pay them back for the privilege.  They want you too busy to question.  Too angry to think.  To scared to fight back.

We live in a world of mixed messages.  Do this.  Don't do that.  This is inappropriate.  That is offensive.  You can say this, but not that, and  wear this but never that.  

Everything is sacred.

Nothing is sacred.

Someone might get their feelings hurt.

Someone might unfriend you on FB.

Someone might not want you in their club.

We live in a world of petty meanness.

Where we need to apologize for our opinions.

For the movies or music that entertains us...

simply because someone we like or respect...

or want to like or respect us...

might think those movies or music are stupid.

We all have to have opinions.

We all have to be right.

No one can simply enjoy something

without being questioned about it.

Every fucking person...

Is searching so fucking desperately...

for a pedastal to place themselves on.

And goddammit...

I'm here to kick pedastals.

And I'd love your company while doing it.

Like what you want.

Say what you want.

Feel what you want.

Wear what you want.

Learn, read, listen, watch, eat, play, pray, sing, dance, enjoy, spend, go, and fucking DO...

whatever the fuck you want.

And never say sorry.

We live on a planet, governed by chaos. We spin our fucking wheels every day trying to put a little bit of order into it.  We want to control the mess.  We yell and scream and condemn when we can't.

And like the great prophet John Lennon,

I'm just sittin here watchin the wheels go round and round.

I ask you

oh so gently

and quietly

and with my impish grin, splashed stupidly across my lopsided face...

Won't you dance with me?

I am a person to whom you will NEVER have to apologize.

I don't care if we don't share opinions...

or religions...

or gods, or monsters.

I don't care if we don't like the same music, or books, or movies.

I don't care about your guilt, or regret.

  I don't care if you think you're too fat, or too skinny.  

I don't care if your clothes came from Italy, or Walmart.

I just don't.

I know you have pain in you.  I know you do.

I know you have insecurities.

I know you have secrets.

I know you have contempt, and anger and hate too.

I know you get annoyed by all the little things.

I know you're tired.

I know you're stressed.  

I know that all too often, real life gets in the way of all those dreams you have.  All those hopes, and ambitions, and plans.

And for that I want your hand.

I want to take that pain, and stress.

I want your insecurities, and fear.

I want those voices in your head, that tell you 

You aren't good enough.

You aren't pretty enough.

You aren't clever enough.

Mostly

Oh so much mostly.

Very tip top of the mostly...

I want that voice in your head that tells you that you don't deserve...

love

or happiness...

or joy...

And I want you to dance with me in that rain.

And make that shit silent.

I want all of your lies to fall out of your bare feet

as we smile together under water and streetlights.

I want to show you the beauty in the chaos...

and the ridiculousness of all those voices...

and all those feelings...

and all those little fears

They are all so silly.

See cause here's the trick.

I don't have a Peter Pan complex.

I AM Peter Pan.

You probably think THAT's silly.

You probably don't believe me.

Whether you do, or do not is really inconsequential.

The fact is, I know the way to Neverland.

I can take you there.

You don't have to believe me...

You simply have to take my hand.

Immodest mouse

There is a calm that can be reached.  Sometimes though, it's a real fucking struggle.  To brush it all off.  To find that place above, or inside, or wherever it may be...where all the shit just goes away.

Once upon a bazillion years ago, all the tiniest parts of ourselves, blew up in the most violent explosion imaginable.

Those tiny parts floated around the universe for a few eons, came together, made shit, broke apart, floated around, made more shit, broke apart, floated around...

...you get the idea.

Then they all came together again, and here you are. 

Someday they'll break apart again, and we'll all float on all right.

Our tiny parts will separate, and fly in different directions.  They'll go on to once again form something new in some other place for a minute.

Thing is...those tiny parts, well, they just gotta dance.

There's a universal boogie, and ain't no wallflowers allowed.

And somehow, all those little parts decided to dance in the same place, at the same time, in the different bigger parts of you and me.

That's a neat trick.

Perhaps some tiny part of me, recognizes some tiny part of you from some previous dance across the cosmos.

Perhaps we were once part of the same something.

Perhaps we were born in the same star.

Perhaps...

Perhaps...

Perhaps we really were lovers in a former life.

On an atomic scale.

Maybe there is recognition of something much older than we can imagine.

Or maybe we're simply waiting to dance again.

For now though

For now we worry

about not enough money.

not enough sleep

not enough time.

Now we make excuses.

Now we make plans

Now we pretend that things are simply too important.

And we forget about what's important.

We forget that our tiny parts, need to dance, and soon...all too fucking soon...they won't be able to dance in these bigger parts of ourselves any longer...

And they'll all float on all right.

These little parts, only get to be one big part, for a very short fucking space of time.

And they'll all float on all right.

Before we float though...

Before the big part breaks down

And the tiny parts contiue their boundless flight across the cosmos..

to whatever the next destination may be

before we are once again

not but stardust

We have one fucking shot at glory.

All the stars

and all the galaxies have come together.

They've taken their place on the grand stage.

They've shone their lights down

picked up their instruments...

and goddammit

They're playing our song.

Every single rotation, is one less rotation we have.  Every spin, is one spin down.  

We can fly.

We know how.

There's nothing we can't reach.

There's no place we can't explore.

We are our only obstacle.

Let go of the fear.

Let go of the bullshit.

Let go of all the little things weighing you down.

Pick your ass up, and shake it.

Make it wiggle to the beat.

Up in the sky...giant balls of gas are exploding, the percussion of the universe.  Nubulae sing in b flat, and the chorus is only getting stronger.  If you're not singing along...

...you're missing one helluva show.

We can love.

no listen

we have a unique ability...

Fucking USE IT!!!

All those things...

the bags we carry

the hates we nurture

the miseries we nurse

the stress like bondage, strapping us to our guilt, and our pain, and our regret, and 

all those millions of things that annoy us, and make us forget...well...

they make us forget.

We can love.

no listen to me..

We have a unique ability.

WE. CAN. LOVE.

Do you understand?

Our tiny parts have finally come together, into these tiny brains, and these tiny hearts, on this tiny planet...

and 

WE

CAN

LOVE.

Stop with the bullshit already.

Because the time is now.

The music is playing.

The dance has started 

and all too fucking soon, we're all gonna float on all right.

These tiny parts will only come together to make you

this one single time.

Don't fucking waste it.

Love Letter

So here we are in our lazy circle.
Spinning through our daily routine.
Dancing around each other.  Glancing beyond the point of contact.  Who wants that anyhow?

We worry so much about ruining the fantasy.
So lets not.

Isn't it true that my smile might better in your sleep?

Oh so many things.  All the pretty little baubles. The trinkets, and shiny things.
The mess of memories I carry in my pockets.

Oh won't you be my new mess?

Swim in the river of existence. Of remininscence.  Of pain, and doubt.
and joy.
and love.

But don't get carried away in the flood of it all.

We are racing toward the end.
We are running for air.
We are not drinking because we are thirsty.

I think maybe...
just maybe...
we were meant for more.

Perhaps we are more than the sum of each of our separate parts.
Maybe not...
but..
maybe we're safer to never find out.

I mean the truth is...
no matter what...
no matter how hard we try...
no matter how many I love you's...

The end is still just dirt.

We're safer just friends right?
We're free from pain...
if we simply ignore the I love you's.

The gray is so goddamned safe.
And
the security of that particular blanket is
just so warm
and
just so fucking fluffy.

I mean look at them out there.  The lovers.  Holding hands.  Smiling.  Laughing at their own stupid jokes, and pitiful nicknames.
Wrapping themselves up at night...
...in each other.

Aren't you glad you locked up that part of you that thought that was something beautiful?
Something to hope for.
To want so badly for yourself.

You're happier now right?





right?

You're better off without the distraction.

The tears of lonliness
though still tears
hurt less
than the tears
of heartbreak.

So you make yourself busy.
You make yourself scarce.
You make yourself invisible.

You make yourself despicable.
You make yourself hateful.
You make youself pretend.

Because if they don't see you that's great.
If they do see you, and hate what they see...

You know at least the things they see...
...and hate...
are simply the pretense.

You can't give them the things that are real...because
well
you know.

And you do know.
You know that part inside you that is
well
yours.
And yours alone.

Is safe.
It can't be broken.

Again.

Not again.
Jesus Christ...you just can't do it again.

And so we dance our dance
and spin our circles
and laugh our lies.

and know that we are safe with each other
because we are determined.

We are statues.
We are stone.
We are those willing
to simply dream.

Once more into the breech...

Well you see her when you fall asleep, never to touch, no never to keep.

This came out all wrong the first time around.
Guess I'll try again.

Almost exactly a year ago, I began something that I knew from the beginning would not end well. That little place in me that feels things got all wrapped up in another person.  Our time was just a brief intersection on our seperate roads.  We knew we were both simply passing through.  So we passed together.  Then we waved goodbye, and went our different directions.

I played it off as cool as I could, but I also knew it would destroy me.

It did.

But I guess not really right?  I mean here I am.

I let myself become vulnerable with another human being.  I loved every second of it. I was never, at any moment...unaware of the disasterous consequences.
I've lived every day of my life since with those consequences.
I would do it all again without a second thought.  Without hesitation.

Over a year and a half ago, when I became single, I stated that it was my intention to remain so.  When I entered into that brief affair, I knew my resolution would remain safe.  There was no chance...ever...at any moment, that I would not still be single when it ended.

We started with a predetermined expiration date.  We ended right on schedule.

There is no getting that back.  There is simply holding on.

Since then has been a sort of emotional numb.

This is not depression.  Please don't think so.  I don't devote time or energy feeling sorry for myself, or hating my life.  In fact quite the opposite.  I'm typically very happy.

I'm also typically very numb.

I've reached a point I think where I might not want to be...but it's so
well
frustrating.

I meet new people all the time.
Why just today I was surrounded by so many beautiful faces...and I wanted, so very goddamned much, to feel something.
With anybody.

You know.
Spark.

I don't mean simply physical or sexual attraction.  I'm so accustomed to those things that I hardly notice anymore.

I mean the spark.  That connect that reaches oh so much deeper than the superficial.
Sometimes I think that I want that so badly that I may try too hard.
Or maybe that's just my imagination, and I don't try hard enough.
Or at all.

When I was eight or nine, my family took a trip to see my grandparents in Arizona.  The trip took us through Las Vegas.  It was my first time seeing The Strip.  The lights.  The buildings.  The people.

I had a feeling when we passed through.
I would live there someday.
It was more than a feeling really.
Now I don't believe in psychic abilities.  I don't really hold with any type of spiritualism.  I don't know about future recognition, or circular timelines, or forward projection.  For the most part I think it's all a load of bullshit.
But I distinctly remember that feeling of recognizing Las Vegas as home...the first time I ever saw it.

I never once felt compelled to move there.  There was never a reason for me to go there.
I ended up there.
It's true.  It's a long story that I'm not going into...but living in Vegas was one of the least planned things in my life.  It just happened.

Like I knew it would when I was eight or nine.

I have that same feeling about Chicago.
I don't know that I will ever actually live there.
I've never even fucking been there.
Not once.  Ever.

But I feel like I might end up living there someday.
I don't feel compelled to move there.
I have no reason to go there.
I don't really know much about the city at all.

Just a feeling.
But I don't trust my feelings anyway, so who knows.
If it doesn't happen, I won't be surprised.
If it DOES happen, I won't be surprised.

I am made out of patience.  Sometimes I just get these feelings that things will happen.  Sometimes those things actually do happen.  I never ever ever feel like I need to make them happen.  I just need to wait.  That's all.  Just wait.  So I do.

I get that feeling with some people too.  I see someone.  That's all.  Just see them, and I know that our lives will in some way intersect.  I don't feel like I need to make the intersection happen.  I just need to wait for our roads to cross.  Many times it takes years...but...everytime I've had that feeling about someone...
it's happened.  Ususally it's quite profound.

There are a couple people here in SLC, who I'm pretty sure we're gonna connect.
Then again...
I'm just as likely wrong.
I don't trust feelings.  Those things are fucking liars.

What I wonder.
What I sometimes think about is...
If the other person feels it too.

Does this person have a feeling of patient waiting?  Do they also understand that in time, what should be, will be?
Do they even know what should be?  I sure as shit don't.  I have no fucking clue.  I simply know that it's something.

Valentine Michael Smith said it best I think.  "Waiting is."
Grok?

The girl who I had a brief thing with last year...well see I've talked about the end of that story so many times, but never really the beginning.

I had met her years previously, and I knew...when we first met...that in time...
time...
Time is a miserable bitch, and so I have no choice,
but to be made out of patience.

I think, you and I may have a dance yet. So as long as there is music playing...

...Waiting is.

Relax it's just...

So most of the fury has died down.  Facebook and Twitter seem to have gotten back to normal.  Such is the lifespan of the scandal in the digital age.

So why am I addressing it now?  Ninety nine times out of a hundred I pretty much ignore the hype.  So why now?  Why after people have stopped talking about it?

Because the whole thing has left a godawful taste in my mouth.  It started off inoccuously enough.  Little comments, snarky posts about her image...her body...whatever.

Then it progressed.  It got ugly.  It got mean.

I had one person counted among my FB friends who started his post with "Why Miley Cyrus is a horrible person."  Then went on to essentially blame her for all teen pregnancies, and raising up a generation of whores.  His words.  It was at this point I pretty much flipped my shit.

So this is what everybody is talking about.

And this is what no one said a word about.

From this moment forward, all arguments are invalid.

Why is it that Miley is the slut, and Lady Gaga gets a free pass?

Is it because Lady Gaga is a symbol of female empowerment, and fuck youitude? (Or so I've been told by those with opinions.)

It is because Mily twerked Robin Thicke?

Incidentally I have no idea who Robin Thicke is, but I can't hear the name without thinking of Mike Seaver's dad.

Also, I pride myself on knowing more words than the average third grader, but I had no idea what a twerk was until a couple days ago.  Turns out its just a stupid thing people do...like planking...or flash mobs.  Except I guess it's supposed to be sexy?  Or something?  I dunno.

Exactly ten years ago, at the 2003 VMAs Brittney kissed Madonna.  Remember that?  Remember how everyone shit a brick because Brittney kissed Madonna.  Nobody really said anything about the fact that Christina did too.  Nobody said anything about how Madonna kissed two girls half her age.  It was all just...Brittney kissed Madonna.  Of the three, there was only one slut.

Hanna Montana debuted March 24, 2006, and finished production in 2010.  I know this because wikipedia told me so.  I never saw the show.  In fact I'm quite certain that in that time period I never even had access to Disney Channel.  I'm sure though it was a delightful romp with fun filled adventure and teenage family friendly mayhem.  There were, I'm sure a requisite number of laughs, and lessons to be learned, all neatly wrapped up in 22 minute episodes.

I have no doubt that Ms. Cyrus was charming, and cute, and won the hearts of parents and children alike across this great nation, and really...kudos to her.  Although I consistently wear the clothes of a cynical hedonistic man o the world...I actually have nothing against and am all for family programming.  I'm glad it's out there, even if I don't really get involved with it myself.

Here's the thing though.  Miley Cyrus is not Hanna Montana.  I know this comes as a shock to some.  I know others who have railed against her in the past couple days who will undoubtedly say "I know she's not...but...", and to that I ask

Do you?

Here's another news flash for some of ya'all.  This one's really gonna grind yer gonads.

Miley Cyrus was NEVER Hanna Montana.
Never.
Not once.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it seems necessary to burst some bubbles.

Hanna Montana is a product of fiction.  Miley was paid money to say words written by other people.  She was contracted to act in a certain manner in front of cameras.  There is no doubt in my mostly broken mind, that many times, while on set...saying words and doing things in the charcter and clothes of "Hanna Montana", Miley Cyrus was thinking of nothing more than her next union break.

You see, you claim to know that Miley Cyrus is not Hannah Montana.  Perhaps on the surface you really do know that.  Perhaps somewhere, somehow you've been able to separate the two.  Thing is though, Miley very successfully created a character that you fell in love with, and ergo...created expectations.

So now I'll answer the question I posited at the beginning.  What's the difference between Miley Cyrus and Lady Gaga?  Simple really...

Expectations.

Everybody expects Lady Gaga to behave and act in a certain manner.  So when she conforms to expectations, nobody is surprised.  Nobody really has anything to say.
Oh that's just Lady Gaga being Lady Gaga.

But when Miley Cyrus breaks expectations...everybody loses their damn minds.

God forbid a real life human being didn't act and behave like a fictional character you've come to know and love.

Lady Gaga does her thing in front of your 14 year old daughter...well...you can explain that away.
But Miley Cyrus...how dare she betray her role model status.

This makes you very uncomfortale.
And what do you do when you're uncomfortable?

Let the slutshame games begin.

See now she's not Hanna Montan anymore.  Now you can finally make that break.  Now she's the reason your daughters are becoming whores.

I'm sorry to all parents everywhere, but if you are satisfied to allow any celebrity to stand as a role model, without actually talking with your children about the nature of humanity, or willing to stand as a role model yourself...well then...you deserve everything that happens.

To a degree I get it.  I do.  Celebrities.  Sports stars.  Musicians.  These people are in the public eye.  People will see them, and want to be like them.  Hell I'm a grown man, and I still want to be Benedict Cumberbatch.

Thing is though...you have to talk to your kids.  Maybe instead of worrying that Miley is the cause of teenage pregnancy, you should explain to your kids how babies are NOT made.  It's actually quite simple.

I've had sex at least three times, and still no babies.

Maybe instead of pretending that sex doesn't happen...you should accept that it does.

Moms.  Dads.  I know you don't want to hear this.  You certainly don't want to think about it, but someday, your precious little gem is going to use words that haven't been invented yet, to describe acts that your parents were certain would send them to hell.  They'll do this in text shorthand.

This will happen.

Your sons and daughters are going to do disgusting things with people you don't approve of.  And they'll do it without Miley's help.

If you don't want them to do those things...teach them not to.  They'll do it anyways.  And they'll do it without Miley's help.

Then there's this gem.

I get the joke.  I do.  I see where chucks could be had.  I guess.  Except not really.

First thing is, I hate that we live in such a sensitive society where people are made to apologize for anything they say...even if it is stupid.

Secondly...I've seen strippers.  What Miley did, isn't that.

Third...even if it were all true...
all of it...
So fucking what.

I've more than one friend that is or has been a stripper.  I know the stereotypes.  Single moms stripping for drug money.
Know what?
I've also known single moms working call centers for drug money.
I've known single moms working a warehouse for drug money.
I've know single moms working the cash register for drug money.

So think what you want I guess.  Most of the girls I know who do/have done it are/were paying for school.  I know more than one girl who paid for her masters degree swinging her ass around a pole, and I'll tell you something.  Flashing your titties for a few bucks is a far better way to pay for a masters degree than most ways...like say...student loans.

See that's the thing.  We LOVE to take a moral high ground.  Especially where sex, or anything sexual is concerned.

Well I would never...

It's simply unnacceptable...

I hope my daughter...

son...

Anyone who does that is a whore....

In my experience men who call women whores, are simply pissed off that there is a girl who openly enjoys sex...without him.

In my experience women who call women whores, are simply pissed off that there is a girl who openly enjoys sex, when she hasn't learned how to yet.

We are so easily, made so uncomfortable by the most basic of human biological drives...and anything that makes us uncomfortable, we seem to have an incredible need to vilify.

So Miley's performance made you uncomfortable...and the vilification began.

I think one of the great tragedies of the human experience is attaching sex to religion...or morality, when in truth sex and morality have absolutely nothing to do with each other.

I think one of the great tragedies of the human experience, is teaching our children that they should wait until they're married to have sex.

I did that.
I gained nothing from having done that.

I think in fact, that in a perfect world we would have establishments, with working professionals, and by that I mean people who are equipped to deal in a very nurturing sort of way, mentally and physically, where our children between the ages of sixteen and eighteen are HIGHLY encouraged, though not forced, to go and relieve themselves of that pesky virginity problem.  Somewhere where sex and love are kept entirely separate.  Where they can gain experience and knowledge, and information.

I also think that if two people meet, and there is sexual attraction...just fucking get it over with already.  In the dating process, everything that happens before sex is a lie.  It just is.  Once the initial sex is over with...then the truth can begin.  Then you'll be able to have the real conversations.  then you'll be able to know if this is someone you actually want to be with...or simply someone you wanted to bang.

I think instead of protecting our kids from an over sexualized world...thus creating a greater illusion of the glory of sex, we should be honest.  Tell em, "Yeah..sex is awesome.  You should try it."

Then they'll get that out of the way...and discover all the things that are WAY more awesome.

Instead of slut shaming...become sex encouraging.  Teach safety.  Responsibility.

Most importantly...
Joy.
Love.
Truth...in whatever form it presents itself.

If we...
If our children...
If us as a species

could just be the sluts that we're so convinced that Miley now is...

perhaps we could have realized
that her performance
was just that...
a performance

and not even a great one.

Perhaps we'd be grown up enough to know that
sex happens
whether you you aknowledge it or not.

We're so afraid of the act and illusion of sex...
We glorify and glamourize it...
We vilify it...
We make it dirty...
We become outraged.
We sanctify it...
We tie it to our mythologies...
and get REALLY pissed off when other people don't toe the line of those mythologies.

When the truth is...
We're all doing it.
We're all going to do it.
Most of us enjoy it.

And then we go on and do all the other things we do.

There is SOOOOOO much more to life than simply the act of creating it.

So really
the fact is
If Miley's little circus made you upset...
or uncomfortable...
or twitchy...
or nervous...
or made you feel like you are somehow a better...or more moral person...

well

That speaks volumes to me about you
and nothing about her.

What goes around...

This wasn't going to happen.

I had an entirely different blog planned out.  One dedicated almost entirely to being a student and lover of all things chaos, and the resulting effects it has had on my life.

And how my pants are being funny.

Instead you get this one.  Another (sort of but not really, but in a way kind of) joint thingy with Deena.

It started out simply enough.

Deena had asked on FB for blog topics.  This is not really unusual for blog writers.  We are sometimes curious what our readers may want to read about.  I've done it myself a number of times.  Thing is, it can be kind of frustrating.  I've learned from my own experience that asking that question can actually be pretty futile.  Most of the time the responses we get are either ridiculous, or lean toward things that we have never had a single independent thought about.  How can we write about it, if there is no part of us that cares about it?

Knowing all of this, I decided to be specific.  I simply responded to her query with 10 questions I wanted to know about Deena.  This made it personal.  Something that is incredibly easy for anyone to write about.  It's sort of like an interview...except without all that annoying interviewer crap getting in the way.

She took it to heart and responded beautifully.  Then...in true player form, returned the questions with a gorgeous backhand, and now it's on me to answer the same questions.

So instead of digging into the more troubled parts of myself, and how the past few weeks have not so positively affected me...and my incredibly strange and funny pants...I will answer the same questions I previously asked Deena.

So here goes.  I will word them here exactly as I worded them for her, and then answer as they apply to me.

1)  Why in the world would a talented equity actress make SLC her home?

This question came off sounding more harsh than I intended, but it is a curiosity.  It should come as no surprise that most of my relationships, and deepest friendships are with other actors.  These are the people I spend most of my time with.  Many of them are card carrying equity members.  Most are not.  Of those that are, I hear a common lament, that there is simply not enough great equity work in SLC.  Oh sure there is some, but naturally, for the few contracts available, there is plethora of competition.  Acting is a tough gig no matter what professional level you maintain.  It was assumed that I meant perhaps New York may be a better place for a working actor...but really...there are a ton of great theatre towns in this nation, and SLC isn't really known as one of them.  For good reason.  SLC is where musicals go to die...and die...and die...a tremendously long, agonizing, miserable death.  Fer chrissakes, people are all excited about a production of Carousel here.  Carousel.  Carofuckingsel.  I...  I just can't even begin to express how depressing this is to me.
But here's the thing.  That's my perspective.  It's how I see things.  I must always remember I am but one small voice among many.  Her answer was thrilling to me for a number of reasons...foremost being I'll always have at least a little bit of something to look forward to.
My answer for myself regarding this question will be better explained I think in question number 2.

2) What makes a home?
This is actually kind of a silly question.  I imagine most people would have a similar response.  Home is where your family is...or where you make your family.  Home is where you are comfortable.  Home is where you feel love.  Home is ....(fill in the blank with any given warm sentiment).
Here's the thing though.  It's something, from a personal level I'm deeply interested in.  Especially when it comes to specific locations.
I've written pretty extensively on this in previous posts, so I won't go too deeply into it here, but since the question exists...so must the answer.
I am for all intents and purposes...homeless.  Oh sure, I've a roof over my head, and a key that unlocks the front door.  I pay rent on residence.  I am not houseless...but...
I have never felt at home in any location that I've had a mailing address. So to honestly answer question 1, I have to respond, I DON'T call SLC my home.  If I live here the remaining years of my life, whether they be few...or decades...I will never call SLC my home.  I know this.  I've known it since I moved here.  Hell, I'm pretty sure I knew it before I moved here.  I may live out, and die here, but I'll never belong here.
So for me I ask the question What makes a home, because I don't know.  I know what makes family.  I have the best one on the planet.  I know what makes love, and comfort, and I know about zipcodes, and renters agreements...but I still...after 40 years of life...have no idea what makes a home.

Okay the next six questions are kind of a cheat.  I had an incredibly limited amount of time to come up with 10 questions.  Given more than the 3 minutes I had, I'm sure I could have done better, but I did what I could with what time I had.  But also, sort of not a cheat, because there is/was a certain curiosity.  A compare and contrast with who we are...who we were...and who we wish to be.  All played within a defined space of now, 5 years, and 10 years, each progressive direction.  So I'm going to answer the next six questions with two responses.

3) How is 2013 Deena different than 2012 Deena
4) 2008
5) 2003

I will of course address these questions as though the name above reads JayC

In 2003 I had lived in Las Vegas already for two years.  I was finding my niche as a paid theatre tech at The Rio working all sorts of shows as a spot op, or video op, or stage hand depending on the show.  I was receiving the best pay rate I've ever had, for essentially monkey work.  I was balancing working an ever changing entertainment schedule at work, with my ever persistent need to do my own theatre work.  I was quite successfully making a name for myself as an actor and director in the town.  I was on the board of directors for Las Vegas Little Theatre.  I was happily married, and discovering a freedom I'd never known, as an out of the closet atheist.  I was constantly engaged in a new project, and spent more nights than I can count at the local pub with friends talking theatre, religion, politics, and all sorts of other bullshit til the sun came up.  I had a pretty tight knit of friends...most of whom I had gone to college with, and we were all on the same page.  I grew complacent.  I grew fat, and happy.  I was doing what I loved, with the people I loved.  There were bad times of course.  There always are...but I tend to focus on the happy parts of my past.
In 2008 I was divorced, and the casino had decided that it no longer wanted to maintain an entertainment showroom, turning it instead into a night club, and laying off a majority of the techs.  Myself being one of them.  I was now living in Salt Lake City.  I had been here but a few months, living alone in a tiny half bedroom apartment downtown.  I was cast in my first show in SLC as Picasso, in Picasso at the Lapin Agile.  It was tremendous fun, and I met a lot of wonderful new people.  I met a girl who was...unavailable.  I hate that.  I didn't pursue anything because...well...you just don't do that.
Although she would have no idea, 2008 is when I first saw Deena on stage in a play called Skin in Flames, and to be honest, I didn't love the play.  I didn't hate it.  It was good.  She though...  I've told her this... hell I've told everybody this.  She blew me away.  There was a moment in the play where I was transported.  I was left literally breathless by her performance.  I knew as I left the theatre that night that there was talent in SLC, and I couldn't wait to be part of it.
2008 is when I met the girl who I would spend the next four years of my life with.  We met.  We connected.  We decided to give it a go.  And go it did...for four years, and then it stopped going.  And so it goes.  I gained weight.  I lost weight.  I juggled jobs, and acting gigs.  I knew...all along I knew...that things weren't...well...I don't even know how to put it.  Deena says it best in her blog, so I'll refer to her.  Things weren't yes.
In 2012 I was reunited through small world coincidence with the unavailable girl I met in 2008.  Again I was single.  Again she was not.  This time the crossroads crossed harder.  In the end, I still had to let it go, because well...that's just what you do.  The girl I had started a relationship with in 2008, ended it in 2012, leaving me to decide at the time, that the single road is probably the road I should travel.  A decision I don't regret, and haven't changed.  2013 JayC is in a very strange place however.  A land of never say nevers.  Not looking, not searching, but open to all the winds that blow.  Homeless but not houseless.  Everything right now is disposable.  Everything.  Especially my weirdo pants.

6)What would Deena like for 2014
7)2018
8)2023

Deena pretty much stole my answers for these questions, but since she answered them first, I guess it's really I that am stealing her answers.  In these replies we are much the same.
I am not a planner.
Oh sure I make plans.
They almost always...nearly every single time...fall through.
This past weekend I had plans.  Plans that were made in February or March.  Something I was very much looking forward to.  It didn't happen.  Sometimes it's something planned only a few days in advance.  It ends up not happening.  Without fail.
I don't lay blame.  I truly don't  People have lives.  That's the neat thing about life.  It happens.  It changes on a whim.  I'd be lying if I said I wasn't often disappointed.  I'd also be lying if I said I was ever surprised.  It's simply how my life is.  Defined almost soley by bad timing.  The only schedules that I've come to rely on are work, rehearsal, and performance schedules.  Once those are set, they rarely change.  Anything planned outside or around those schedules...well...it's fruitless.  I've discovered that for me, the best way to go about things is to arrange for something to happen almost immediately or within the next few hours.  Anything beyon that...well...
So to think 1, or 5, or 10 years in advance is nothing but the purest fantasy.  I suppose my biggest hope for 2023 is to still be alive.  If I am, then perhaps it's okay to hope that my death will take place in some spectacular space battle.  The icing on top would be if I were piloting a TIE Fighter.

9) You once mentioned going back to school, how's that coming?
That question is Deena specific.  Like she responded, never say never...but I have never had plans of returning to school, and still have no plans of such.  For me...every day is school in one way or another.  I just don't have to take out egregious loans for the education I get/give myself now.

10) If at some point in your life you had been wise enough to put together a time capsule, and you opened it today, what would you hope to find?

Little stuff mostly.  Stuff that would have no meaning for anyone but me.  A hand carved knot slip that my dad made for me to wear at my Eagle Scout Ceremony.  I lost it before the ceremony, and never got to wear it.
A picture of my ex wife and I when we were young and pretty and happy.  I can see the photo so clearly in my mind, and I'm sure it exists...or existed...but I have no idea where.
Four or five cassette tapes I made when I was in High School.  No music on them, just...me talking.  A sort of audio journal thing I was trying out at the time.  I don't know whatever happened to them.
Just..you know...shit like that, that has been lost over the years.
I like to think that over the course of my life, little gnomes, much wiser than I, have been collecting this stuff.  Someday when I'm old, and feeble, and ugly, when I have nothing left to give this world, and this world has nothing left to give me, and I'm sitting under my own giving tree somewhere, the gnomes will come and give me all this shit back, to look at one more time.
That's a nice though.

These questions were all originally intended for Deena, and she did answer them in her own blog.  If you'd like to read her responses, they can be found here.

10 things I want to know about Deena

That sweet thought spot.

Monday 7/29/2013

According to the time stamp on my phone, I got the message from Deena at 10:15 a.m.

You remember Deena right?  Of course you do.  In fact many of you who I know that read these little rants and ramblings are friends with her.  If you're not...well...your loss really.  She's quite the person.  Even if you aren't friends with her, you may know of, or remember our little blog project.  I suppose there remains the possibility that you could be completely unaware of anything I'm talking about.  So to catch up to speed...

A few months back Deena proposed to me, that occassionally we, each from our different points of life...different points of view, pick the same topic, and write about it.  We've done this a few times now.  There is no rhyme or reason to it.  There is no schedule.  There is not a plan.  There is simply the randomness of it, and to tell the truth...I wouldn't have it any other way.  It has been an absolute blast up to this point, and I look forward to each new time. 

At 10:15 a.m. I got a message from her proposing this new idea.

Random thoughts.  Whatever goes through the head over the course of a day.  That's it.  

Well color me intrigued.  I almost never pay attention to my own thoughts.  That seems a dangerous road to travel.  This seemed like just way too much fun to say no to.  Of course I was in.

So now I had to start making note of thoughts.  Whatever shit happens to pop into my head, and I'm very excited to discover what those things might be.  The first thing I begin to notice, is that my thoughts are pretty boring.  I had this idea, immediately upon agreeing to the project, that I would have all of these great, clever, creative, imaginative sparks of random explosion that would entertain and frighten the masses.  What's really happening though is I've been at work for three hours now, and I'm in full baby pajama mode.  

Yes you read that correctly.  I work in a shipping warehouse.  The company I work for is an online retailer primarily focused on women/mother interests.  Baby clothes.  Scrapbooking products.  Stuff for kids.  Jewelry.  You know...pretty much the exact opposite of what I would buy for myself.  So women go to the company's website and buy shit, we in the warehouse print out the orders (somewhere between 1000-1500 on a good day), walk through the warehouse to find the shit they ordered, package it up, and send it out.  It is, to put it mildly, mindnumbing work.  It requires just enough though to keep your brain occupied on that task, but not enough thought to be interesting in any way.  It lends itself to no amount of creativity, and yet if your mind wanders too much, you end up sending some poor woman a skateboard for her kid, instead of crib bumpers for her newborn.  What's really sad, is that as a near 40 year old single male, who's never had a child of his own...I know what a crib bumper is.  I also know what diva cups, freedom bras, and oopsies are.  I am SOOooo prepared for sensitivity.

So there I am, walking through the warehouse, wondering if I can possible be interesting, when I notice I have balled up garbage in my hand.  I throw it, left handed at a garbage can about 15 feet away, and without even hitting the sides, sink it right in.  Of course there is no one around to see it happen.  My first independent though of this project becomes...I am REALLY fucking awesome when there are no witnesses.

I get to a box full of product, located on a very high shelf.  It's pretty heavy, and as I lower it down my arms start shaking.  You see the past few days I've been working out.  Lifting on the in-home weight bench here in the house.  I haven't noticed any difference at all, except if anything...I seem to be getting weaker.  My arms are like jelly.

I fucking love jelly.

Apple jelly specifically.

Although I'm not incredibly fond of apples.

I do like apple juice though.

I should stop drinking soda.

Well actually I pretty much have...what I should really do is slow down on the slurpees.

NEVER

My boxcutter can hardly break through this tape.  Why do they call it a box cutter, when it can't even break cellophane.

And to think, 18 scrawny guys with not but boxcutters brought a nation to it's knees

And now I can't even fly with a cigarette lighter.

God I want a cigarette.

And some apple juice.

I wonder why I'm craving apple juice.

Phone buzz in my pocket.

Facebook notification.

God I fucking HATE candy crush.  It's worse than that goddamn farm game people used to play.  I can't wait til candy crush goes the way of farmville.  That beautiful anticipation that someone may want to talk to me...but no...they just want me to send them extra lives.  

If only friends could send us REAL extra lives.  I'd be jumping down all the sewers to rescue all the princesses, if I had but one extra life.  I don't though, so let the princess figure out her own shit.

Stupid Patrick Stewart has to go and get himself married, so now stupid Jonathon Frakes won't be at stupid Comic Con. There goes my chance to kick Riker in the nuts for having the most glorious beard.

Why is it that when I'm not in a show, there is absolutely NOTHING interesting to audition for...or even go see, but as soon as I'm cast in something three different people offer me roles in fabulous shows that all conflict with the one I'm cast in?  Fuck you universe.

I want to direct again.  

I should write a play.

Okay that one I have all the time.  I mean seriously.  All the goddamn time.  I've been seriously aching to flex that particular muscle again.  Problem is...I have no story to tell.  I try all day long to come up with a good one...but pretty soon, I'm back on baby pajamas, and not thinking about a play anymore.  I crave the process though.  I seriously....SERIOUSLY...want to write a play.  I ache for it.  I just...  I practice.  I write dialogue that goes nowhere.  I'm writing Godot, but with less point.  It's pathetic really.  Also...writing it is only half the joy.  Once it's ready for production...I'd have to go through the work of finding someone willing to produce it.

Work.

Phhbbttt.

I need a new job.

I should go back to college.

College costs money.

I have no money.

I need a new job.

I get to my desk to enter mountains of superfluos paperwork and there's the boutique girl.  She needs me to find something for a customer up front in the store.  That's right.  Our online company also has a physical store.  

She's a PYT and I do as instinct demands.  I notice the low cut of her top, and the way the fabric of her dress hugs her body.  I do this in an instant.  When I was younger, I used to let this moment take forever.  I'd stare, and oggle, and I dunno...probably drool a little.  Then I got older, and became sensitive to feelings, and stopped looking, because it wasn't proper.  Then I got married, and pretended not to look because I was monogomous. Then I got old and single, and said fuck it.  Do whatever you're gonna do, then move on...because life happens.

See the problem is that after four decades of walking this planet, three of those decades living with an intense interest, desire, and craving for all things female, I've...through media, books, movies, magazines, conversations, experience, forums, discussions, and just being male....received just about every single conflicting report imaginable.  The whole checking out thing...it's a mess.  It really is.

"Women aren't objects."

Well duh.  I never thought, insinuated, or for one second thought that they were.

"But sometimes we like to be objectified."

Well duh.  You're human aren't you.  We ALL like to feel that way now and then.

"Women are equal to men."

Um yeah...it's called being human.

"Women are superior to men."

Okay.

"Anything you can do, I can do better."

Well shit...anything I can

 do...ANYONE can do better."

I don't really subscribe to ists or isms.  I don't label myself according to my gender, my politics, my career, or my sexual preference.  All of those things seem to exist on some relative scale of fluidity.  If I DID have to pick an ist though...it would be humanist.

I do believe that all people should be paid the same wage in the workplace for the same job done.  I do believe that every woman, should have every right, freedom, and choice that any man has.  I think she should have access to all types of healthcare...sexual or otherwise.  If a woman becomes pregnant...she should have the availability to utilize ALL of the options available, and the freedom to make whatever choice is best for her.  That's simply how I feel.  I honestly believe that there is HORRIBLE misrepresentation of women in movies, television, and video games.  That's not gonna stop me from playing video games.

I do feel that if a woman is raped or sexually abused in any way...we must...we absolutely MUST and immediately STOP criminalizing the woman.  We absolutely HAVE to stop making the first question..."Well what was she wearing?  What was she drinking?  What did she do to cause this to happen?"  We have to grow up, and we have to put the impetus where it belongs...on the person who committed the crime.

I know that this world we live in is to many degrees not female friendly.  Everybody, man or woman, has every right to wear whatever the fuck they want that makes them feel good.  Feel confident.  Feel attractive.  It is against every single thing in me to ever think that simply because a woman is dressed a certain way, that I am given free access to act a certain way.  

I'm still gonna window shop though.

So there's cute boutique girl.  There's me window shopping.  There's me moving on.

Find out what the customer wants

Find it in the computer

Find it in the warehouse

Go get it.

Repeat ad nauseum.

This is my day.

Every day.

This is my life.

I should be rescuing princesses.

I hate red cars.

I hate the word truth.

I hate how a person declares a truth, and then climbs on that truth taking a moral high ground based on that truth.

Everything is true.

Nothing is true.

I find that the more I learn about anything, the more I grow to appreciate it.

I'm still not going to read or watch Twilight though.

I need a story to tell.

I need nicotine.

I hope the man who invented ecigarettes has everything he ever wanted.

Bathroom break.

Maybe I need a muse.

Someone or something to inspire that story right out of me.

I should go to the park this weekend.

I hope I have sex this weekend.

I will probably not be having sex this weekend.

So maybe I should go to the park.

I wonder if anyone here notices that I read the product numbers out loud when I'm looking for them.

I wonder why I do that.

Thoughts.  Those fleeting things that help us occupy the emptiness of tedium.  I wonder how many of those thought we actually notice, and how many go completely ignored, like so much traffic on the freeway.  The only ones we really notice are the pretty ones, or the annoying ones.

God I hate red cars.

I start to wonder about secret thoughts.  The ones we think might be too dark.  The ones we think might reveal too much about ourselves.  We do afterall have to maintain some sort of propriety.  

But we all have it.  The darkness.  The deviance.  The little kinks and fetishes.  

Come on.  Where's the good stuff?  Why can't I have those thoughts that will turn heads, and stomachs?  That will cause nervous laughs, or slight disgust, or pure outrage...  

This is supposed to be fun.

Be revelatory...

All access to the deviant mind of a sometime blogger, most time actor, full time dork.

Then it occurs to me.  I'm not having secret thoughts because...well...

I don't have secret thoughts.

There's nothing I hold sacred.

There's nothing I won't share.

There's no question I won't answer.

There's no darkness I won't explore.

There's no kink or fetish I won't try at least three times.

(Yes it's a personal rule.  I can't know for sure until I've tried three times.  Once for just the experience alone.  Twice for comparison.  Three times for analysis.)

Although I am quite possibly offensive, you cannot possibly offend me.

but also

I will never judge you.  Ever.  For anything.

Sometimes the very best part of the day is right when you get home from work.  It's not the sitting down, and relaxing...if even for a moment before doing all the things you have to do now that you're home.

It's the moment before.  The anticipation of the relaxation.  That's a beautiful moment.

I should clean my room.

What should I watch whle I clean?

Netflix has too many choices.

I want to watch everything.

I don't want to watch anything.

Thank you Mr. Bach for the Brandenbergs.  

Thank you Mr. Chopin for Nocturn #2

And Thank you, thank you, thank you Mr. Beethoven for Piano Sonata #14 in C Sharp Minor.  A melody that most people have heard so often, and are so familiar with that even hearing it is almost routine, yet to me is still one of the most simple, beautiful pieces of music I've ever known.

Mr Beiber, if people are thanking you for your music 300 years from now, then you'll have my dead respect.

Water.

I'd kill for water.

A beach

A river

a pool

I think I'm part amphibious.

It's time for a new tatoo.  Just got to finish up the design.

I used to wish I was gay.  I tried man.  I really did.  Gay porn.  Pray the straight away.  I honestly wanted that.  True story.  Mostly.  It didn't take.  I still wish I could be bi.  I mean how great would that be.  The whole world a potential sexual adventure.  I think I wanted that mostly though becuase ultimately I'm really lazy, and I think it might be easier to get guys to have sex with me.  That might simply be self flattery though.

Thing is...none of us can be what we're not.

Oh maybe I"ll read tonight.  I don't read enough.  I always forget.  I'm always so tired.

Goddamn 5:30 in the morning

Every morning.

Goddamn not being able to fall asleep until 1 in the morning.

Every morning.

It's a miracle I'm still alive on Friday.

Every Friday.

I should start a religion.

I'm great at public speaking.

I'm short on charisma though.

Maybe I can be the worlds first non charismatic religious leader.

No wait...Pat Robertson.

Fuck.

Oh phone buzz...maybe somebody wants to...

Goddamn candy crush.

Sometimes my roommate's phone rings, and I think it's my phone.

Which is weird because...

we don't even have the same ringtone...

and

I never turn on my ringtone.

Chocolate.

There is never a single moment...never an instant...never any given point of any given day, that I don't want candy.

Ooohhh gobstoppers.  That's what I want.

Or dinner

but mostly gobstoppers.

I sure do have a soft tummy for a guy who never eats real food.

Maybe I should write a play about a...

with...

or...

Nope

Nothing.

Guess I'll go smoke about it.

Twilight.  My favorite time of day.  I hate that I can't think, or even say that word without it conjuring some sparkly piece of shit vampire now.

Fuck you Stephanie Meyers.

I love when the sun is gone, but there is still residual light.  It's my most alive.  It's my most coherent.  It's my most mentally productive.

It lasts about 7 minutes.  And then it's dark.  

Dark.  Always a new kind of friend.  Every damn time.

All the best things happen when the sun is down.

Oh sure daytime is when the stuff happens.  Money is exchanged for goods and services.  Food like products are consumed.  People congregate and do things.  Hands are shook.  Deals are made.  People smile at babies, and take pictures of each other, and go to jobs, so money can be made, for use in further exhange of more goods, and more services.  The general consumerist exchange.  News happens.  Politics happen.  Leaders pound pulpits.  Banks charge interest.  People go places, and do things, and buy stuff, and meet up with other people they like because they have to, or like because it's convenient..or even...sometimes when they're lucky...like because they like.

But at night.

Night is when we put our truths to bed, and our lies put on their shiny shoes and go out dancing.  Night is when we let the romance out, and exchange gifts in whispers and a kiss.  Night is when we touch with purpose, and intent.  When we forget about who we were in sunlight, and become who we always knew we were meant to be.

Night is when we get to remember all the people we have ever loved.  Night is when the quiet slips under the blankets with us, and wraps us in longing.  Night is the friend that never lets us down.  Night is when it's safe to cry.  Or laugh.  Or speak a truth that we are just now realizing.  Night lets us be brave.  Night lets us be beautiful.

And you are, you know.  Beautiful.  I wish you could see you through my eyes.  You would never...ever...question it again.  It is impossible for me to think of you, and not smile.  

If you are reading this because you read Deena's blog first, and clicked a link, and landed here...and then made it all this way...thank you.  If you are reading this because you follow my blog anyways...and you made it all this way...thank you.  Sometimes you like what I say.  Sometimes you don't.  Sometimes I make you angry.  Sometimes I make you laugh.  Sometimes you're just bored, and passing time in the bathroom.  Whatever the case...thank you.

It is my greatest wish now, that you click this I think, therefore... and read Deena's thoughts through a day....