This is a love story.
This means that this is not a happy story.
Nor is it a sad story.
It is a life story.
She marries her high school sweetheart. They get a home, and settle in. They paint the baby's room. The baby is conceived, and born, but never sees a day. Then the next. Then the next.
She weeps for them. All of them. Her children that never were, but always are.
And life goes on.
This is a love story.
Another mother. Another place. Her fourteen year old daughter hooked to wires and machines. She will not see fifteen. She will, while distinctly faced with her own imminent mortality, be her mother's strength. She'll also wonder what it feels like to die. She wonders what it feels like to kiss.
And life goes on.
This is a love story.
A different man. Another home. He holds the hand of the man he loves, as his parents cry, and weep, and rain hate down on them, for being filthy. For being perverts. For bringing shame. They wish he'd never been born. He holds his hand tighter, knowing it will fuel their hate, but it's where he finds his ability to continue breathing. Because you see...
This is a love story.
And they are in love.
And life goes on.
They share a cigarette under the moon. With them, it is always the moon. They can never be. It's complicated. Isn't it always? Everything is easy. Nothing is simple. He hasn't seen her in years. He may not see her for more. But there is this moment. They are at least granted moments. They are few. There are never enough. There never will be. There could not possibly be. So they must learn together, to take each moment. Each rare chance, and create eternity. And thus they learned to freeze time.
Every true love story,
must freeze time.
Because, the greatest horror,
and the greatest remedy,
and the only truth...
Life goes on.
She sits in her chair. The blanket on her lap. Her wrinkled hands gripping the paperback with torn corners. Her eyes are tired, and she rests them by looking away from the words. She sees the picture on the wall. "Goddamn you." she says to the man in the photograph. The man in the ground. The man who gave her fifty years, and left her alone for her last. She misses her children who sometimes visit. She misses her grandchildren, who send her cards. She misses everyone who's come and gone, and sometimes come again. No one she misses more than the old bastard in the photograph. The conversations they had a thousand times, and she wants nothing more than that same conversation number one thousand and one.
This is a love story.
The high school sweethearts drift apart and away. He leaves, and she's left to drift upon the rock, with worn out shoes and broken heart. All is lost, then all is found. A new day.
A new love.
A new daughter.
A new daugher.
Children, and light and laughter.
Because life went on, and love keeps happening, and the better things really do, on occassion, come to the fighters, and the dreamers.
She is happy.
She is fresh.
And the names of her babies are still, and always, remembered on every tear.
The girl in the bed, with wires and machines, has a visitor. He tells her of her other friends who haven't come to visit. The things she's missed in school. When he looks at her, it is not with pity, or fear, or sadness. He looks at her as he always has. With warmth, and kindess, and she knows in her dying heart that she has loved him since they were in elementary school, and through all of her cruelties to him, and his to her, he's been a single constant in her fragile life. He has to leave.
She gets her kiss.
Although in just a few weeks, she will be in a box...
Right now...
In this moment...
She is on the clouds.
This is a love story.
And the couple under the moon, have frozen time. Now they are in bed. Now he's holding her.
Now she's asking...
"What is the first line of our story?".
"He loved her infinitely.".
And now they're dancing.
And now they're laughing.
And now he's holding her beside her car.
And with the goodbye knife she stabs him.
She sits in her chair and smiles at the old fart on the wall.
He holds his hand, they hug, and put the ugly words behind them. They kiss, and make love.
She's with him. Posing for the engagement photos. She looks into his eyes, and feels her yes.
She watches her leave, and knows all the words she should say to keep her from walking out, and doesn't say them.
He stands at his mother's grave, and cannot see through the tears.
She signs the divorce papers.
He signs the marriage license.
They sit outside a bistro sipping coffee in the new city, and after forty years together, he looks into her eyes for the millionth time, and feels his yes.
She sits on her bed, with music in her ears, and dog at her feet, and wonders why she can't just say it.
Just say it.
Just
And all these little love stories
And all these little interludes
And all these little
They dance in the rain.
They kiss in the street.
They watch with pride at graduation.
They weep
They sleep
They hold
They laugh
and cry
and rejoice
and
Freeze time.
And before she drives away. After the kiss. After goodbye. After that final reluctant break of shaking physical contact, but just before she closes the door...
Be love.
Not in love
Not I love
This is a love story.
Which means it is not a happy story
or a sad story.
It is a life story.
Feel your yes.
Steal your kiss.
Be love.
Be loved.
Beloved.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Monday, May 5, 2014
Grandpa's handbag
Do people still use calendars? I assume they must, because at the end of each year I see all those calendar stands. I imagine the stands wouldn't exist if people didn't purchase the product, but still...I wonder. Do people still use them? Like...put the chart with numbers on the wall...pick some significant date, circle it, and then x out the squares in some sort of ritualized countdown with a sharpie and anticipation?
I wonder about this.
I'm not sure I've ever owned a calendar.
Oh sure I have a calendar on my phone. I have a clock on my phone too and don't own a watch. Sometimes when I do a show, the stage manage will give a me a calendar with a rehearsal schedule on it.
So I wonder. Does this happen? Do people do this? Or has the digital age taken from us this hallowed tradition. Or was it ever? I honestly don't know.
Wedding rings are weird right?
We use slave labor, sometimes at the price of limbs and life, to dig relatively worthless rocks out of the ground in Africa. Then we shine those rocks up, ship em across the ocean where they can be evaluated and given false value based on just how shiny they are.
Then we strap those shiny rocks to bands made out of "precious" metal, also given false value, so that all the boys and girls can go to the stores, look at these shiny bands, with the shiny rocks, and choose together, and pay the exhorbitant fees necessary to purchase these pieces of jewelry, that they will later strap on to one anothers fingers as a declaration of state sanctioned, and licensed human property. We somehow think it romantic when one partner says to another, "I'm yours."
Neat.
And then, we all recognize these little symbols of property, as such. We do. I'm not interested in the least in pursuing long term romantic interaction with another person, yet every single time I meet someone new of appreciable age, I look for the ownership ring. I don't care if a person is available or not, I still look. We are trained to do this. It's natural.
We don't like to call it ownership though. We prefer the word "tradition". Tradition gives the word some sort of meaning. We're carrying something important. A tie to our past. A hope for a future. Tradition has value.
Or so we've been told.
Tradition. The baggage of dead men, that for some reason, we feel compelled to pick up that the claims counter.
Funny thing is, with all of our science, and history, and anthropolgy, and archeology, and probably many other ologies as well...we don't know how marriage started. Which culture had it first? Where did it all begin? It's been around forever and ever, and we don't even know why anymore.
One prevalent theory is population control. Not necessarily numbers, just...recognition. Since marriage predates paternity testing by, say oh...10000 years or so, it used to be a bitch knowing what guy was making what babies with what women. If you could assign a guy to a girl, or a few girls, it made knowing whose kid was whose a little bit easier. Or in other words...not to control the number of women men slept with, but just the opposite. Don't let the woman fuck around, with more than one guy, and you know whose mom she is.
Funny thing. I read something somewhere that may or may not be true, 35 percent of the population STILL doesn't know that the child they play parent to isn't actually theirs.
This theory is rooted in probability, or at least some degree of liklihood. We don't like to think about this particular aspect of "tradition" though. It's not romantic. It also suggests that if it actually is true, women should be the most anti-marriage people on the planet, instead of the biggest spenders in the industry.
So now we're engaged in a great civil war. Where half the population believes that a small percentage of the population should not be entitled to the rights and privaleges of that specific tradition. The other half of the population believes they should be.
Those against it, base their beliefs in an entirely different tradition of mythology, worship, and magic minded nonsense.
Those for it, base their beliefs in a supposition of justice for all. Another premise that has never, not once in the history of mankind, actually existed.
Has anyone considered the possibility that the subjugation of rights is, in and of itself,one of our most hallowed traditions?
Just a thought.
The baggage of dead men.
The true value of a diamond is practically worthless. It's a rock, and not even a really rare rock. But with a bit of spit and shine, we give it false value, pretend it has meaning, and wear it on our fingers, regardless how much blood may have been spilled for it.
The true value of any basic human right is inestimable, but with a bit of spit and tarnish, we will demean it, label it, and toss it away. Regardless how much blood may have been spilled for it.
And we do this all in the name of tradition.
The baggage of dead men.
I don't own a calendar. I'm not sure I ever have. I have never connected to that tradition. I had a wedding ring once. I was married for ten years. I lost my ring within the first three months, and never had it replaced. I just couldn't connect to the tradition. It didn't mean anything to me to wear it. It didn't mean anything to me if she wore hers. I believed her when she told me she loved me. I didn't need the symbolism of the ring. I never felt that when she went out without me, she needed the symbol to indicate to others that she was my property.
Who knows though. Perhaps it was the complete ignorance of the tradition, contributed to the end of the relationship. I doubt it, but it's possible.
I seem to work sub tradition.
I don't really connect to any that I can think of. I mean oh sure I put my shoes on the right feet, but mostly because that's the way my feet are built. I wouldn't wear shoes at all, if evolution would have just given me leather instead of skin on the bottoms of my feet. I can do all the things that people do, but I do seem to have a difficult time finding meaning in the things that other people put meaning into. I don't find value in almost all of the things that I was told my entire life, I was supposed to place value in.
It's lonely on the outside.
People talk about the things they do. The things they care about. The things they want. I recognize these things as nearly universal desires in the species, and I desire none of them.
Money
Security
Stability
To settle down.
Settle in.
None of these things really have any appeal to me.
Sometimes I think I want that whole "someone to talk to" thing.
Sometimes that thing where I can trust someone to hold my secrets, and my things that mean something.
Sometimes I think I thought I was...
I'm either very far ahead..
or very far behind
the curve.
The bus of humanity pulled away, and I'm still standing on the curb.
Chasing the bubbles I blew out of the little plastic wand.
And yeah, it'd be fun to have someone chase bubbles with,
but the reality is
if I did
Eventually that person will be really pissed off, and start chasing the bus, to see if they can still get on.
And I'll still be having too much fun chasing bubbles.
I'm pretty sure that I will never care that the bus pulled away.
I'm never going to mark calendars.
I'm never going to care about diamonds.
I know how to paint on my smile, and pretend I care enough, to keep the people around me comfortable.
But if they know me...even just a little...they'll know that I don't.
I can't bring myself to carry the baggage of dead men.
I have given up the idea that I'll ever have that person to chase bubbles with.
But as pathetic as that sounds...
as sad
or lonely
or...you know...
whatever...
It is impossible to chase bubbles and be sad.
I have simply found what works for me.
My public face may be a continual exercise in social lubrication,
but my inside face is actually laughing.
Almost always.
I have found my happiness.
In my solitude.
Yeah it's got its downsides.
It truly does...
but then again...
what doesn't?
I'm not carrying the baggage of dead men.
Which means I've got a lot of room for dancing.
And by god I do.
And by god I'm gonna.
I wonder about this.
I'm not sure I've ever owned a calendar.
Oh sure I have a calendar on my phone. I have a clock on my phone too and don't own a watch. Sometimes when I do a show, the stage manage will give a me a calendar with a rehearsal schedule on it.
So I wonder. Does this happen? Do people do this? Or has the digital age taken from us this hallowed tradition. Or was it ever? I honestly don't know.
Wedding rings are weird right?
We use slave labor, sometimes at the price of limbs and life, to dig relatively worthless rocks out of the ground in Africa. Then we shine those rocks up, ship em across the ocean where they can be evaluated and given false value based on just how shiny they are.
Then we strap those shiny rocks to bands made out of "precious" metal, also given false value, so that all the boys and girls can go to the stores, look at these shiny bands, with the shiny rocks, and choose together, and pay the exhorbitant fees necessary to purchase these pieces of jewelry, that they will later strap on to one anothers fingers as a declaration of state sanctioned, and licensed human property. We somehow think it romantic when one partner says to another, "I'm yours."
Neat.
And then, we all recognize these little symbols of property, as such. We do. I'm not interested in the least in pursuing long term romantic interaction with another person, yet every single time I meet someone new of appreciable age, I look for the ownership ring. I don't care if a person is available or not, I still look. We are trained to do this. It's natural.
We don't like to call it ownership though. We prefer the word "tradition". Tradition gives the word some sort of meaning. We're carrying something important. A tie to our past. A hope for a future. Tradition has value.
Or so we've been told.
Tradition. The baggage of dead men, that for some reason, we feel compelled to pick up that the claims counter.
Funny thing is, with all of our science, and history, and anthropolgy, and archeology, and probably many other ologies as well...we don't know how marriage started. Which culture had it first? Where did it all begin? It's been around forever and ever, and we don't even know why anymore.
One prevalent theory is population control. Not necessarily numbers, just...recognition. Since marriage predates paternity testing by, say oh...10000 years or so, it used to be a bitch knowing what guy was making what babies with what women. If you could assign a guy to a girl, or a few girls, it made knowing whose kid was whose a little bit easier. Or in other words...not to control the number of women men slept with, but just the opposite. Don't let the woman fuck around, with more than one guy, and you know whose mom she is.
Funny thing. I read something somewhere that may or may not be true, 35 percent of the population STILL doesn't know that the child they play parent to isn't actually theirs.
This theory is rooted in probability, or at least some degree of liklihood. We don't like to think about this particular aspect of "tradition" though. It's not romantic. It also suggests that if it actually is true, women should be the most anti-marriage people on the planet, instead of the biggest spenders in the industry.
So now we're engaged in a great civil war. Where half the population believes that a small percentage of the population should not be entitled to the rights and privaleges of that specific tradition. The other half of the population believes they should be.
Those against it, base their beliefs in an entirely different tradition of mythology, worship, and magic minded nonsense.
Those for it, base their beliefs in a supposition of justice for all. Another premise that has never, not once in the history of mankind, actually existed.
Has anyone considered the possibility that the subjugation of rights is, in and of itself,one of our most hallowed traditions?
Just a thought.
The baggage of dead men.
The true value of a diamond is practically worthless. It's a rock, and not even a really rare rock. But with a bit of spit and shine, we give it false value, pretend it has meaning, and wear it on our fingers, regardless how much blood may have been spilled for it.
The true value of any basic human right is inestimable, but with a bit of spit and tarnish, we will demean it, label it, and toss it away. Regardless how much blood may have been spilled for it.
And we do this all in the name of tradition.
The baggage of dead men.
I don't own a calendar. I'm not sure I ever have. I have never connected to that tradition. I had a wedding ring once. I was married for ten years. I lost my ring within the first three months, and never had it replaced. I just couldn't connect to the tradition. It didn't mean anything to me to wear it. It didn't mean anything to me if she wore hers. I believed her when she told me she loved me. I didn't need the symbolism of the ring. I never felt that when she went out without me, she needed the symbol to indicate to others that she was my property.
Who knows though. Perhaps it was the complete ignorance of the tradition, contributed to the end of the relationship. I doubt it, but it's possible.
I seem to work sub tradition.
I don't really connect to any that I can think of. I mean oh sure I put my shoes on the right feet, but mostly because that's the way my feet are built. I wouldn't wear shoes at all, if evolution would have just given me leather instead of skin on the bottoms of my feet. I can do all the things that people do, but I do seem to have a difficult time finding meaning in the things that other people put meaning into. I don't find value in almost all of the things that I was told my entire life, I was supposed to place value in.
It's lonely on the outside.
People talk about the things they do. The things they care about. The things they want. I recognize these things as nearly universal desires in the species, and I desire none of them.
Money
Security
Stability
To settle down.
Settle in.
None of these things really have any appeal to me.
Sometimes I think I want that whole "someone to talk to" thing.
Sometimes that thing where I can trust someone to hold my secrets, and my things that mean something.
Sometimes I think I thought I was...
I'm either very far ahead..
or very far behind
the curve.
The bus of humanity pulled away, and I'm still standing on the curb.
Chasing the bubbles I blew out of the little plastic wand.
And yeah, it'd be fun to have someone chase bubbles with,
but the reality is
if I did
Eventually that person will be really pissed off, and start chasing the bus, to see if they can still get on.
And I'll still be having too much fun chasing bubbles.
I'm pretty sure that I will never care that the bus pulled away.
I'm never going to mark calendars.
I'm never going to care about diamonds.
I know how to paint on my smile, and pretend I care enough, to keep the people around me comfortable.
But if they know me...even just a little...they'll know that I don't.
I can't bring myself to carry the baggage of dead men.
I have given up the idea that I'll ever have that person to chase bubbles with.
But as pathetic as that sounds...
as sad
or lonely
or...you know...
whatever...
It is impossible to chase bubbles and be sad.
I have simply found what works for me.
My public face may be a continual exercise in social lubrication,
but my inside face is actually laughing.
Almost always.
I have found my happiness.
In my solitude.
Yeah it's got its downsides.
It truly does...
but then again...
what doesn't?
I'm not carrying the baggage of dead men.
Which means I've got a lot of room for dancing.
And by god I do.
And by god I'm gonna.
Friday, April 25, 2014
There but for the GRACE of...or whatever...
I'm currently on the bus. Of course by the time you read this I'll be somewhere else, doing something else, but as I'm writing this, I'm sitting in my usual back seat staring into my phone.
I'm on my way to our final dress rehearsal for Grace. A play by Craig Wright. I'm writing this while reviewing lines in my head. Always with the lines.
Theres a neat feeling about final dress. Wanting the show to be perfect. Simultaneously wishing you had an audience, and glad that you don't. Reliving in your mind all the moments leading up to this one. Knowing that in just over 24 hours, complete strangers will have paid money to watch you not fuck up. So you'd better not fuck up.
JC Carter is a director I've worked with a number of times in the past. Every time has been an enjoyable experience. We've built a good working relationship, and an even better friendship. He cast me in my first show upon arriving in SLC, and we've worked well together and often since.
A little over a year ago, JC approached me with a pitch. He asked me if I would be interested in doing this show with him. Grace. I hadn't heard of the show but I was familiar with the playwrite. Sometime around 2004 or 2005, I read a play called Orange Flower Water, written by Mr. Wright. It was the kind of play that just grabbed me. I want to be the person who gets to say those lines on a stage someday.
Quick unrelated pitch. Someone in Northern Utah PLEASE do Orange Flower Water someday. Someday soon.
Moving on.
So JC asked me if I would do Grace, and being familiar with the playwrite agreed. At the time he asked everything was tentative. There was no set location. No time, or place. Just the play, JC directing, myself, and one other actor committed to the project. Beyond that was simply the unknown. Occasionally, I would ask JC where we were at, what progress was being made. The answer was typically the same. No word yet. Sometimes it looked like the show might not happen at all. During all that waiting, life...as it does...continued. Other shows. New job. For a very brief moment it even looked like I'd be moving out of SLC, and wouldn't be able to do the show after all. But I stayed. Here I am.
Sometime in early January I was working out the logistics of two auditions in one day. Noises Off, and Hedda Gabbler were both auditioning, and I had a keen interest in both projects. However two in a day is difficult, especially when they are happening at near the same time, because being on opposite sides of town, and myself a subject to public transit...well...it was a planning nightmare. However, I really love both shows, and thought, even if I don't get cast in either...at least the idea of being in one or the other is just so...delicious.
I got home late one night, and was preparing the email I would send to both companies, setting up an audition time. I was in the process of writing the first email, when my phone buzzed. Text alert. JC was finally, after months of uncertainty, letting me know that Grace had the greenlight, the location locked in, and the rehearsal and performance dates set. The first thing I noticed was the direct conflict with both of the shows I was preparing to audition for. I closed my email, turned off my laptop, and responded to JC that I was ready, and could not be more excited. That wasn't a lie.
Any gambler knows that you don't turn down a sure thing, for just a chance at something else. Besides, this was a sure thing that I'd had my head wrapped around for months. I was thrilled that everything was in motion. I had also recently made a decision that there would be no more talk, or action toward moving. I had for all intents and purposes decided to call SLC my home. The wishy washy back and forth of do I stay or do I go was finally settled. Stay I would do. Stay I will do. And my first show, post that kind of personal moment of discovery and acceptence...would be Grace.
This production, like many others I've been in, and in all liklihood like many others that I hope to be in the future, has not been entirely without complications. Our very first read through presented the first. We had with us, an older gentleman, whose name I can no longer recall to read for one of the roles. The character is a man in his eighties who shares a memory of an experience just prior to WWII. The actor reading this character was not fond of some of the language the character uses, and was already discussing script changes, before we had even finished reading the entire script. This...is actually unnacceptable. This is a HUGE no no in the theatre world, but for some reason, has become a little talked about, but widely accepted practice among theatres and theatre groups here in Utah. I'd love to personally love to stamp out the entire tradition. I have pretty strong feelings about the act of script shining, and those who practice it. That however is another discussion for another time.
Needless to say, this gentleman would not work for us, and we very amicable parted ways. I wish him no ill will, and hope that he does find the work as an actor, that is more suited to his tastes and abilities. Ours however were not for him, nor he for us. Which left us with a blank spot.
Enter Jeffrey Owen. I have worked with Jeff previously on a couple of other shows. I've gotten to know him, and like him. He comes with unique insights and always new and interesting ideas. More importantly he comes prepared. He does his work. He is always...ALWAYS a joy to share the stage with.
He also turns in one hell of a performance.
Although he joined the cast after everyone else, although he was not there for our intial read through or table discussion. It has always felt like Jeff was one step ahead in the game. Although unfortunately not the first choice for this production, he is far and away the best choice. I can't imagine enjoying this experience more, with anyone else in that role.
Grace is a tough sell for Utah. Not particularly I think for the religious themes, but mostly because it isn't light, fluffy, or musical. Oh sure there are some laughs, but this show goes to some pretty dark places. Which I'm thrilled about. I mean I enjoy light, mindless entertainment as much as anyone, but its the darkness that really appeals to me. The explorations. The questions. I want this show to be successful, because I want more shows like this. Always. All the time. I want the shows that don't promise a happily ever after. I want the shows that grab my emotional nuts, and twist.
Grace played on Broadway with a kind of all star cast. Paul Rudd played Steve. Michael Shannon was Sam. Kate Arrington was Sara, and Ed Asner as Karl. When it was on Broadway, I didn't even know the show existed. Johnny Hebda did though. He watched it, and brought it back with him.
It was Johnny that presented the idea to JC Carter. Proposals were made. Ideas exchanged. Hands shook, or proverbialy anyway. I don't know all the discussions. I wasn't there for any of the pre production part of it. I like to think that at some point, food was involved, but probably not. I know that Johnny saw Grace on Broadway, liked it. came home with it, made it possible, and is now playing our Steve.
He carries the line load. He pushes the action. And he does it with seeming ease. He has a wonderful, natural stage presence. It is always so much fun working with him on the stage. Okay I say that like I've done it before. I haven't. This is our first, (and hopefully far from last) show together. So by always so much fun, I mean throughout the rehearsal process...always so much fun. In any given moment, my character may not believe for one second, what his character is saying, but working with Johnny, you have no doubt that HE believes. His sincerity...his dedication to the ideas he proposes are so real.
And that's the crux of it really. I think. The power of belief. People on this planet do the CRAZIEST shit, because they believe. Believe it's in their best interest. Believe its in the best interest of others. Belief. Flying in the face of all evidence. Flying in the face of all rationality, lies belief. That ability to convince ourselves that someone...something...is looking out for us.
I don't know if any of you reading this are believers. I don't know if you're non believers. Quite honestly I don't care either way. The beauty of Grace is that, as a play...it doesn't care either. Someone asked me if this was a "message" play. All I can say is, no. No it isn't. This play does not take sides. It does not condemn. It does not present a case of right or wrong. It simply tells a story. It presents ideas. Ideas that hopefully causes a viewer to examine their own. It is not meant as an indictment against belief...or non belief. It is simply a story about people on either side of that fence, and how their lives collide. And collide they do.
And stuck in the middle of it all is Sara. There seems to be a stereotype in American culture of "the good Christian housewife". I love how Mr. Wright plays off this stereotype. He sets it up. It does it so well, that we may think we know Sara, after just a few lines of dialogue. It seems it would be so easy to write her off. But the playwrite doesn't allow that. He lets us see that there is more underneath than we would otherwise give credit for. We are not let off the hook so easily. And let me tell you something folks. The incredible work of Emilie Starr in the role of Sara won't let you off the hook either. Do not underestimate Sara. Do not underestimate Emilie. It's not often, as an actor, you get to work with someone who is so giving. Who shares energy so fully. Emilie commits every part of herself, to every stage moment.
So here we are. Now just mere hours from our opening. After weeks of rehearsal, we now have only nine performances in front of us, and we will put Grace to sleep. It will be fleeting memories, and words on a resume. But now, right now, it is very much alive in all of us involved.
I know many people who read my little dillies and dallies here, won't be able to make it. If you can though...please do. If you're not sure of times and places, look it up. If you're too lazy to look it up...ask me.
If you say you want to come, but can't afford it...well...here's the fuck you.
May 4th at six p.m., the producers in their ability to predict such excuses, have created the Pay as you May performance. That's right...if all you have in your pocket is one lousy penny, then bring that lousy penny to the front door, and they'll give you a ticket to watch the show. Of course more than a penny would be appreciated, but it eliminates your "I can't afford it" excuse.
If you live in some other city, and can't make it, then do me this favor. Go to a show in your city. Just...fucking...go.
I'm not saying this out of some arrogant pretentious actors "go support the arts" bullshit line you hear now and then. I'm not saying give money to starving actors, or new theatre groups or...you know...whatever.
I'm saying this because, do yourself a fucking favor...turn off netflix...and go get some live entertainment. Go.
Go out to the theatre.
Go to a museum.
Co to a symphony.
Go to a concert.
Go
Go
Go enrich your soul, or spirit, or intellect, or conscious, or whatever you choose to call that part of yourself, that is inside of yourself, that is aware of something greater than yourself.
Even if its not a deity.
Even if its nothing sacred.
Even if it's simply awareness of knowing you don't know.
Art
Music
Creativity
Theatre
Dance
These are the things that make up for
religion
politics
work
Stress
hate
anger
I say go get these things, because believe it or not
you need these things.
Allow these things to connect you once again to humanity, when all the fucking humans have caused you to disconnect.
If you can come see me be other people...well...I'd love if you did. If you can't, at least...do something that feeds that part of you that is always hungry, but you forget because it's easy to forget. Because TV makes you forget. Becasue internet makes you forget. Because other things/people/diversions make you forget.
There but for the Grace of...
well...
You get it.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Wish upon a Star
I am on two different dating sites. That might be a lie. It's within a realm of conceivability that I'm on more than two, but if I am, I have no recollection of joining them, and haven't visited them for...ever? I am on two that I'm aware of. This is funny to me.
I joined one at the request of a friend. I don't now recall exactly why he recommended I join. He must have had some compelling reason at the time.
The other one I joined, because I read a pretty funny article online about it, and just had to see for myself.
Both of the sites are free for basic use. You can of course upgrade membership for full access to photos, emails, and even creepier stalker/voyeur options. I haven't paid for the upgrade. I won't. I just can't bring myself to spend my not that hard earned money on the "business" of love. Especially since, in all honesty, that's the last reason I'm there.
I never visit these sites on my computer. They aren't bookmarked. They are never really on my mind at all. I just don't at all feel compelled. The only reason I remember that I have them at all, is because I have the apps for each of them on my phone?
Why?
Because my phone is the most powerful computer I've ever owned, and I have like...8 apps on the damn thing. 3 of them that I actually use with any frequency. So I filled it up with shit I don't care about, just to make me feel like I'm putting it to use.
So every once in a while my phone will alert me that I have a message from one of these dating apps or the other, and all of a sudden I remember that I actually have the damn thing.
I feel like I should mention at this point that this always suprises me. I have not once, ever, initiated a conversation with anyone on any of these sites. I don't send anyone messages. I don't rate photos. I don't click on the yes/no options when it's offered to me. I in no way put myself out there.
What makes this even more of a surprise is that I've intentionally made myself rather unapproachable with my profile information. I do my best to make it apparent that I am not relationship material. I have said that I am not looking for anything requiring committment. I don't want to casually date, and I'm not simply looking for sex. Honestly if it's not one of those three things...what the hell else is there? I very honestly indicated that I don't drink, I don't go to bars, I'm not into ANY scene, and I don't want kids. I am a happy atheist who won't talk about religion, politics, or your past failed relationships. I won't be a surrogate dad to your kids. I won't be a shoulder to cry on. I'm not interested in getting to know you.
Honestly, how fucked up do you have to be? How desperate, to want someone like that.
I've been very deliberate, and intentional in making myself unapproachable, yet...
Yet...
Yet for some unfathomable reason, I am still occasionally approached.
I'm always nice about it in my return messages. I'll answer questions. Ask my own. Carry on a conversation. I'll always be honest, and friendly. Eventually, they figure out that I was serious when I said I wasn't looking for any of the things I said I wasn't looking for. The conversations fizzle, and they stop writing.
I'm always okay with that.
One girl told me that I reminded her of her ex, and she had to stop before she fell in love with me. I was a "heartbreak waiting to happen.".
I laughed really hard at that. How she had projected so much of someone else on to me. How she was already predicting our future through just a few simple emails. I mean it's awful I guess, but I laughed. I did. Out loud. I had the decency to not write LOL, wished her a happy life, and good luck in her search, and that was it. It was fun conversations. I don't miss her.
They're not all friendly.
These sites list your age for the world to see, and I've never really felt compelled to lie about how old I am.
I recently got this message.
"If your 40, and single, your gross." (sic)
I could honestly only think of one reply.
"If YOU'RE 40, and single, YOU'RE gross."
She replied...
"I'm NOT 40. I'm 26. Your an asshole, never talk to me again.". (sic)
My attempts at helping with grammar went completely unnoticed, once again affirming that choosing not to go into a teaching career was a good decision.
I also found it interesting that she initiated the conversation with an insult, and then demanded I never speak to her again. I don't judge anybody really. To each their own, we all share this big blue/green rock, but sometimes its easy to figure out why someone might be on a dating site.
Then again, that may be harsh...allow an explanation
Although I've indicated on these sites that I'm straight, I'm often hit up by other guys. This never bothers me. I know what it's like to be a guy, and I know what it's like to have sexual attraction, and I know what it's like to have lonely nights, and I know what it's like to want another person. I'm not at all attached to gender specificity. I get it. They're casting their lines out to see if they get a bite.
I always reply to their messages too. I figure if someone took the time to write to me, then it's the least I can do to take the time to respond.
Guys are interesting creatures. I've gotten a ton of nude pics. Most before even the slightest conversation. Most don't include a face, or salutation, just...here's my dick.
Whatevs.
I'm a big boy. I can handle it.
But I can also see how that is just...not even remotely attractive. Although I don't really feel invaded, I can see how it could feel invasive. I'm not offended, but I can see how it's offensive.
Mostly I just don't understand the tactic. I mean sure...swapping nudies is as much a good time as anything else you can do in the digital age, but seriously, it's not the best starting point. If a guy did that in a bar, he'd get arrested, but the safety of wireless and plastic allows for an entirely different kind of protocol.
So if this young woman with the bad grammar is used to receiving such greetings and intros, I completely respect where she's coming from. She see's my profile. Identifies me as the asshole I am, and unleashes the frustration that's been building up based on experiences with other users. I don't really fault her for that. I don't.
I simply wish she'd paid more attention in the third grade.
Usually when I do get a message, and remember that I have a profile, I'll browse other profiles a bit. It passes time, and is sometimes entertaining. It's also...well..kind of monotonous.
The stories are all the same. Loves dogs/cats. Love their kids, but hate the baby daddies. Love hiking, camping, books, reading, music. "I have a weird sense of humor" is a big one. "I keep it real", is another. Really there are only about 6 variations on a theme.
All the past failed relationships. All the heartbreak. All the pain, and misery has made them who they are. All the youthful adventure, and now just want to settle down with someone. All hoping to find the one. All hoping to find Prince Charming.
I blame Disney.
Nearly everyone on the planet is of age to have been influenced to some degree in the ways of love by Mr. Disney. So many people now using Disney terms, weather or not they're even aware of it, in casual conversation, or profiles. The One. Prince Charming. Handsome Prince. All these silly little ideas of romance. Some imagined idea, of a destined love, and the story ends at the perfect first kiss.
It's just so...
so...
I wish I could get behind it. There is a romance there. I guess. That the perfect someone is out there, just waiting to be found. That god, or fate, or destiny, or the stars, have assigned you that one person who will be the perfect fit to all of your missing or broken pieces. It's neat, that idea.
It's also just so much bullshit.
And that's what all the profiles boil down to. Looking for "the one". Waiting for one single person to come along and be perfect.
I just...can't. Sometimes it makes me laugh really hard, and sometimes it breaks my little black heart.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that you can't find someone, who you will eventually spend the rest of your life with, but really the odds are just...not at all in your favor.
Also, why just one? We're on a planet of 7 billion people, and we are not at all biologically programmed for monogomy. The Disney dream is nice, but really now.
I'm also not saying we should all be polyamourous, and have multiple of everything.
I just know that my experience has taught me that I am capable of loving so many people, for so many reasons, in so many ways, to so many degrees. I can't imagine for one second that I am unique in this.
I also get that yeah, for the sake of structure, and security, and comfort, and kids, there is an appeal to a single family unit. Marriage provides a defined structure and environment for the tots. A security for the adults. Something tangible that can be relied on.
At least til the boredom kicks in.
Until everything in the relationship becomes familiar. Predictable. Boring.
All of a sudden when things DO become familiar, predictable, and boring...all of a sudden the poor sap realizes they may not in fact be with "the one".
"We simply fell out of love."
No you didn't. The love is still there. It doesn't go away. You got bored. He got bored. She got bored. That ole spark just doesn't spark anymore...but lo and fucking behold, it sparks just fine somewhere else.
Eyes wander.
That feeling comes back again, and...
Instead of assigning it to chemistry, we call it love.
Now we're in love with someone else, but we're trapped in a stale marriage/relationship.
Maybe our original one, wasn't the one after all, and this new one is the real one, because this one made me feel again, and the old one seems to ignore me.
Ppphhhbbbtttt.
Predictable.
Boring.
Patterns of human nature.
And so now instead of realizing that we are in fact on a predictable course, we have to create reasons to get out of a situation. Invent all the things. Boredom. Neglect. Different paths. One reason, adds to another, and another, and pretty soon, you're hating the person you once thought was the one. So you can make yourself available for another one. Or perhaps just go exploring again so you can find out if there is another one.
I know this all sounds very cynical, and black. I know that. I am not unaware of what I'm saying, and how it's coming across. Feel free to disagree with every word. Feel free to defend that you are different. Your relationship is immune to such things. Feel free to tell me that I am the anomoly, and it's not at all like that.
Then go read some singles profiles.
Look back with a degree of analytical observation at your own past failed relationships.
Nothing has turned me off to the entire dating world, more than being on a dating website. Nothing has made the idea of "love", more mundane.
I tell people I don't date, because well... I don't.
Here's the thing.
I understand.
I get it.
I do.
I see the appeal of being comfortable with someone. I have had that. It's nice. I understand wanting someone in your life who "gets" you. Who laughs at the same jokes. Who appeals to your particular sense of human aesthetics. I get attraction. I get connection. I get desire. I understand all these things.
I was simply cursed with an analytical mind that too easily sees through the fog, and can predict outcomes based on trends.
So what did I just say?
That I won't play the game, because I already know how it ends?
Yup. That's what I said.
Except there's more to it than that.
Even though I know how it ends, you see...I was also raised on Disney. Through all of that bullshit, (yes I can call myself out on my own bullshit), I also still harbor that particular vision.
I would love to find "The One"
I also don't for one second believe that the one exists.
I do think that there are many many many....
Any of whom could become one...or one of the many...
but I just don't have the energy for that.
I'd love to have a night where I don't sleep alone.
I'd love to have inside jokes with another human being.
And pet names.
And ways we pamper each other.
I'd love to be a person that someone brings all their shit to, and feels better for it. I'd love a person who can help carry my shit.
I also am not built for any of that.
See here's my reality.
I'm shit with emotion.
I can fake it okay on a stage,
but when you fake it in real life, eventually if a person gets close enough, they figure that out.
So I don't want to find "the one".
I like my life a mystery.
I don't want to find "the many"
I like my life simple.
I simply want to spend time with the people I'm comfortable with.
The people who are comfortable with me.
And wherever the river flows...well that's just where we end up.
I want every single person, on every single dating site to find exactly what they're looking for.
I want you to find what you're looking for.
I want us...all of us...to find that place where we can say
Where we can admit
Where we can understand
That we are, all of us different. We all want different things, and...
...and that's okay.
I want to surround myself, not in the love of one,
but in the love of all.
And I want to blanket all in my own love.
I want us to all take one another by the heart, and say...
It's okay.
I love you anyway.
You never have to hurt.
You never have to be alone.
You never have to feel insecure, because
You are loved.
As I am loved by you.
You are exactly what I need,
Because you are exactly you.
I want love without restriction.
Without boundaries.
Without rules.
Without Disney.
I want the universe in the palm of our hands.
I want to be beyond human.
With you.
I never visit these sites on my computer. They aren't bookmarked. They are never really on my mind at all. I just don't at all feel compelled. The only reason I remember that I have them at all, is because I have the apps for each of them on my phone?
Why?
Because my phone is the most powerful computer I've ever owned, and I have like...8 apps on the damn thing. 3 of them that I actually use with any frequency. So I filled it up with shit I don't care about, just to make me feel like I'm putting it to use.
So every once in a while my phone will alert me that I have a message from one of these dating apps or the other, and all of a sudden I remember that I actually have the damn thing.
I feel like I should mention at this point that this always suprises me. I have not once, ever, initiated a conversation with anyone on any of these sites. I don't send anyone messages. I don't rate photos. I don't click on the yes/no options when it's offered to me. I in no way put myself out there.
What makes this even more of a surprise is that I've intentionally made myself rather unapproachable with my profile information. I do my best to make it apparent that I am not relationship material. I have said that I am not looking for anything requiring committment. I don't want to casually date, and I'm not simply looking for sex. Honestly if it's not one of those three things...what the hell else is there? I very honestly indicated that I don't drink, I don't go to bars, I'm not into ANY scene, and I don't want kids. I am a happy atheist who won't talk about religion, politics, or your past failed relationships. I won't be a surrogate dad to your kids. I won't be a shoulder to cry on. I'm not interested in getting to know you.
Honestly, how fucked up do you have to be? How desperate, to want someone like that.
I've been very deliberate, and intentional in making myself unapproachable, yet...
Yet...
Yet for some unfathomable reason, I am still occasionally approached.
I'm always nice about it in my return messages. I'll answer questions. Ask my own. Carry on a conversation. I'll always be honest, and friendly. Eventually, they figure out that I was serious when I said I wasn't looking for any of the things I said I wasn't looking for. The conversations fizzle, and they stop writing.
I'm always okay with that.
One girl told me that I reminded her of her ex, and she had to stop before she fell in love with me. I was a "heartbreak waiting to happen.".
I laughed really hard at that. How she had projected so much of someone else on to me. How she was already predicting our future through just a few simple emails. I mean it's awful I guess, but I laughed. I did. Out loud. I had the decency to not write LOL, wished her a happy life, and good luck in her search, and that was it. It was fun conversations. I don't miss her.
They're not all friendly.
These sites list your age for the world to see, and I've never really felt compelled to lie about how old I am.
I recently got this message.
"If your 40, and single, your gross." (sic)
I could honestly only think of one reply.
"If YOU'RE 40, and single, YOU'RE gross."
She replied...
"I'm NOT 40. I'm 26. Your an asshole, never talk to me again.". (sic)
My attempts at helping with grammar went completely unnoticed, once again affirming that choosing not to go into a teaching career was a good decision.
I also found it interesting that she initiated the conversation with an insult, and then demanded I never speak to her again. I don't judge anybody really. To each their own, we all share this big blue/green rock, but sometimes its easy to figure out why someone might be on a dating site.
Then again, that may be harsh...allow an explanation
Although I've indicated on these sites that I'm straight, I'm often hit up by other guys. This never bothers me. I know what it's like to be a guy, and I know what it's like to have sexual attraction, and I know what it's like to have lonely nights, and I know what it's like to want another person. I'm not at all attached to gender specificity. I get it. They're casting their lines out to see if they get a bite.
I always reply to their messages too. I figure if someone took the time to write to me, then it's the least I can do to take the time to respond.
Guys are interesting creatures. I've gotten a ton of nude pics. Most before even the slightest conversation. Most don't include a face, or salutation, just...here's my dick.
Whatevs.
I'm a big boy. I can handle it.
But I can also see how that is just...not even remotely attractive. Although I don't really feel invaded, I can see how it could feel invasive. I'm not offended, but I can see how it's offensive.
Mostly I just don't understand the tactic. I mean sure...swapping nudies is as much a good time as anything else you can do in the digital age, but seriously, it's not the best starting point. If a guy did that in a bar, he'd get arrested, but the safety of wireless and plastic allows for an entirely different kind of protocol.
So if this young woman with the bad grammar is used to receiving such greetings and intros, I completely respect where she's coming from. She see's my profile. Identifies me as the asshole I am, and unleashes the frustration that's been building up based on experiences with other users. I don't really fault her for that. I don't.
I simply wish she'd paid more attention in the third grade.
Usually when I do get a message, and remember that I have a profile, I'll browse other profiles a bit. It passes time, and is sometimes entertaining. It's also...well..kind of monotonous.
The stories are all the same. Loves dogs/cats. Love their kids, but hate the baby daddies. Love hiking, camping, books, reading, music. "I have a weird sense of humor" is a big one. "I keep it real", is another. Really there are only about 6 variations on a theme.
All the past failed relationships. All the heartbreak. All the pain, and misery has made them who they are. All the youthful adventure, and now just want to settle down with someone. All hoping to find the one. All hoping to find Prince Charming.
I blame Disney.
Nearly everyone on the planet is of age to have been influenced to some degree in the ways of love by Mr. Disney. So many people now using Disney terms, weather or not they're even aware of it, in casual conversation, or profiles. The One. Prince Charming. Handsome Prince. All these silly little ideas of romance. Some imagined idea, of a destined love, and the story ends at the perfect first kiss.
It's just so...
so...
I wish I could get behind it. There is a romance there. I guess. That the perfect someone is out there, just waiting to be found. That god, or fate, or destiny, or the stars, have assigned you that one person who will be the perfect fit to all of your missing or broken pieces. It's neat, that idea.
It's also just so much bullshit.
And that's what all the profiles boil down to. Looking for "the one". Waiting for one single person to come along and be perfect.
I just...can't. Sometimes it makes me laugh really hard, and sometimes it breaks my little black heart.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that you can't find someone, who you will eventually spend the rest of your life with, but really the odds are just...not at all in your favor.
Also, why just one? We're on a planet of 7 billion people, and we are not at all biologically programmed for monogomy. The Disney dream is nice, but really now.
I'm also not saying we should all be polyamourous, and have multiple of everything.
I just know that my experience has taught me that I am capable of loving so many people, for so many reasons, in so many ways, to so many degrees. I can't imagine for one second that I am unique in this.
I also get that yeah, for the sake of structure, and security, and comfort, and kids, there is an appeal to a single family unit. Marriage provides a defined structure and environment for the tots. A security for the adults. Something tangible that can be relied on.
At least til the boredom kicks in.
Until everything in the relationship becomes familiar. Predictable. Boring.
All of a sudden when things DO become familiar, predictable, and boring...all of a sudden the poor sap realizes they may not in fact be with "the one".
"We simply fell out of love."
No you didn't. The love is still there. It doesn't go away. You got bored. He got bored. She got bored. That ole spark just doesn't spark anymore...but lo and fucking behold, it sparks just fine somewhere else.
Eyes wander.
That feeling comes back again, and...
Instead of assigning it to chemistry, we call it love.
Now we're in love with someone else, but we're trapped in a stale marriage/relationship.
Maybe our original one, wasn't the one after all, and this new one is the real one, because this one made me feel again, and the old one seems to ignore me.
Ppphhhbbbtttt.
Predictable.
Boring.
Patterns of human nature.
And so now instead of realizing that we are in fact on a predictable course, we have to create reasons to get out of a situation. Invent all the things. Boredom. Neglect. Different paths. One reason, adds to another, and another, and pretty soon, you're hating the person you once thought was the one. So you can make yourself available for another one. Or perhaps just go exploring again so you can find out if there is another one.
I know this all sounds very cynical, and black. I know that. I am not unaware of what I'm saying, and how it's coming across. Feel free to disagree with every word. Feel free to defend that you are different. Your relationship is immune to such things. Feel free to tell me that I am the anomoly, and it's not at all like that.
Then go read some singles profiles.
Look back with a degree of analytical observation at your own past failed relationships.
Nothing has turned me off to the entire dating world, more than being on a dating website. Nothing has made the idea of "love", more mundane.
I tell people I don't date, because well... I don't.
Here's the thing.
I understand.
I get it.
I do.
I see the appeal of being comfortable with someone. I have had that. It's nice. I understand wanting someone in your life who "gets" you. Who laughs at the same jokes. Who appeals to your particular sense of human aesthetics. I get attraction. I get connection. I get desire. I understand all these things.
I was simply cursed with an analytical mind that too easily sees through the fog, and can predict outcomes based on trends.
So what did I just say?
That I won't play the game, because I already know how it ends?
Yup. That's what I said.
Except there's more to it than that.
Even though I know how it ends, you see...I was also raised on Disney. Through all of that bullshit, (yes I can call myself out on my own bullshit), I also still harbor that particular vision.
I would love to find "The One"
I also don't for one second believe that the one exists.
I do think that there are many many many....
Any of whom could become one...or one of the many...
but I just don't have the energy for that.
I'd love to have a night where I don't sleep alone.
I'd love to have inside jokes with another human being.
And pet names.
And ways we pamper each other.
I'd love to be a person that someone brings all their shit to, and feels better for it. I'd love a person who can help carry my shit.
I also am not built for any of that.
See here's my reality.
I'm shit with emotion.
I can fake it okay on a stage,
but when you fake it in real life, eventually if a person gets close enough, they figure that out.
So I don't want to find "the one".
I like my life a mystery.
I don't want to find "the many"
I like my life simple.
I simply want to spend time with the people I'm comfortable with.
The people who are comfortable with me.
And wherever the river flows...well that's just where we end up.
I want every single person, on every single dating site to find exactly what they're looking for.
I want you to find what you're looking for.
I want us...all of us...to find that place where we can say
Where we can admit
Where we can understand
That we are, all of us different. We all want different things, and...
...and that's okay.
I want to surround myself, not in the love of one,
but in the love of all.
And I want to blanket all in my own love.
I want us to all take one another by the heart, and say...
It's okay.
I love you anyway.
You never have to hurt.
You never have to be alone.
You never have to feel insecure, because
You are loved.
As I am loved by you.
You are exactly what I need,
Because you are exactly you.
I want love without restriction.
Without boundaries.
Without rules.
Without Disney.
I want the universe in the palm of our hands.
I want to be beyond human.
With you.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
...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.
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.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
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.
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.
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