Friday, March 25, 2011

I Will Let You Down, I Will Make You Hurt

Cash turns Reznor's slit-wrist fest into a timeless classic. An achingly beautiful gift to us before shuffling off his mortal coil.

(It won't let me embed, so click the link.)

I Am Going To Die

Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror and told yourself you're going to die? Before tonight, I hadn't either. But while I was taking a piss tonight, I was also mulling over mortality, and after I finished, saw myself in the mirror. I realized I flinched and kept from looking at myself with the thought of death in my head.

Well, I couldn't accept that so, I looked myself in the eye and told myself I was going to die. Repeatedly. It was pretty cool, actually. Took some of the charge out it. Felt like I was leveling with myself.

And then I realized that it's a beautiful thing, too. Exactly as it should be. An honor of sorts. In this universe, everything changes, all life transforms. It's what we do. Letting go of this life is just letting go of one form of life. It could be a thing to celebrate and embrace. It should be. The only real hangup is my ego and, well, tough shit for it.

Now pain and heartbreak and evil and all, I still love life. With luck and and good decisions, I'll live to a ripe old age. But like every other creature in this universe, I am going to die. Cool thing is, I keep finding different way to come to terms with that.

Size Matters

Well, it feels like the week-long angerfest/pity party is winding down. At least for the time being. Feeling a little more even-keeled and...normal.

Been thinking about my childhood since the breakup. About the abuse. Pondering the impact it's had on my life. Not the obvious stuff, like sexuality and relationship. Though I clearly have some growing to do in terms of communication about boundary setting (especially in re: being online), I'm pretty content with my sexuality and it's expression.

No, what's occurred to me lately and never before, is that I've let it keep me small. That because I've spent so much time and energy and money dealing with it, healing from it, doing whatever I could to keep it from completely mangling my life, I haven't had much energy to become a vital member of society. The kind of person that I wanted to become. To become the man I could be. I've watched so many dreams and desires just fade away and let them out of this sense of resignation or fear or laziness. I've just assumed they'd die off and disappear, so why bother sweating it?

Or maybe I've preferred them to do so in order to keep myself small. To keep myself hidden. I did my dead-level best as a child to hide. Especially from my peers. Anything that called attention to myself was dangerous and to be feared. I couldn't bear being the center of attention in a group larger than a few.

I've done a lot to change that over the years, but I'm seeing now that I haven't done enough. That I still find ways to keep myself small. And that needs to change.

Your Shoulders In Your Pocket

First heard this about a month or two ago. Thought of it tonight for some reason. It's sheer, utter gorgeousness. Her voice makes me melt.

Monday, March 21, 2011

In Like An Asshole, Out Like A Dick

What's worse than a shart? A shart in public just as you're sitting down to eat. In your last pair of clean underwear. After going to your bank to transfer a meager amount from your meager savings account to cover overages in your checking account while your ex's daughter is your teller.

Alright, March, you suppurating-wound-on-a-leper's-ass of a month. What other humiliations are you going to heap on me before you're through?

Happy Equinox

Blah, blah, blah...


I just got a bunch of shit off my chest in a post that I can't bring myself to publish. It hardly matters that only one person reads this (again, hey Pete!). I write for myself, so I can get shit out of my head that needs release. But I can't decide whether (tiny audience or not) it's kosher to upload my judgements about someone in this forum or not. Much as I want it out there, I'm going with not. 

Waste Of A Day

Woke from a nap late afternoon feeling lonely and depressed. I spent the morning on a caravan of pain. I woke early to have breakfast with S, who's having a hard time of it. His mom's dying, being shuttled from assisted living centers to nursing home, he's not making any money, hates his job and doesn't resonate with where he lives. Between the two of us, I'm surprised we made it out of the restaurant wrists intact. Met with A at 11 to go through storage units. Found a scrap book from the trip we met on and looked through it together. Then continued combing through the detritus of our time together. I should never have taken the nap.…

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Moving Out

No, not this.

I put the ball in motion tonight. I told Jacquelene that I'm leaving the house. We're going to discuss details tomorrow afternoon.

I have such mixed feelings about this. One the one hand, I love this place. It's been a perfect little bachelor pad (even though I wasn't much of a bachelor). It's in a great location, has great personality, suits me, has a hot tub, cool landlady, etc., etc. So, I'm pretty bummed to be leaving it.

On the other, change is in the air. A new place will reflect that. And it'll do me good to have a different vantage point on the world. More to the point, and more importantly, I'll free up some money for paying down my debt. Or just living.

Besides this place is filled with Debbie's energy. It's time to move on...

Left Me To Love...

What it's doing to meeeeee.

Adapt Or Die

If there were an owner's manual for life on this planet, that'd be the only phrase needed.

Update: Or come up with a better idea.

A Fractal, My God

It's the craziest thing. I have the strangest feeling, tonight, that I'm a point on the end of a point in an ever-changing Mandelbrot set. Constantly churning, constantly in motion. A slave to its volition and not my own. Times like this, I think Pete is right about free will. (Hey, Pete!)

I almost feel like a channel. Not in the hucksterish sense, but like I'm just a vessel for this energy that's passing through me. Like I'm it's captive, moving at its will. It sounds ludicrous, I know. The deeper I get into a rational/science-based worldview, the less comfortable I feel saying something like that. But that's how I'm experiencing the sensation.

My reason tells me one thing, my experience another.

But I feel aflame. On fire. As if the brutality—the beautiful brutality—of life on this planet is charring me and molding me. Having its way with me.

It's as if science itself is Rumi's "Friend." Mysticism with a different language and better methodology.

Christ, now I'm sounding like the obnoxious woo practitioners that I've been poking fun at for the past couple of years. But it's what I'm authentically experiencing. Fuck, the diametrically opposed shit that lives in my head!

As irritatingly conceited as it must sound, I feel a strong sense of what Whitman meant with: "Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes."

But then, I'm not actually myself anyway. Just this...

Update: So that's what I write like when I'm high.