Sunday, October 22, 2017

Do I look worried?

If my entire life hadn't been weird, then maybe the last few years would have done me in, or maybe wrecked my head. You can't break broke though so things are okay. Weird is is just business as usual then, right?

It's like in the old cowboy movies. You don't worry until the drums stop. So I'll worry when shit goes quiet.

I'm used to this.

Monday, October 09, 2017

Patience...

You see, I had to work to the point where the the outside was a reflection of the inside, and not decorate the outside in the hope that the interior would reflect the design.

Or as The Crocodile said, "best make sure the foundation is solid before you hang drapes."

It took a while.

Saturday, September 16, 2017

DDATHTL Friday Night

I've a pocket full of cash because it's payday. I have a twat art student haircut and I'm looking for something to drown out the voices. Warbling sopranos inside the Pentecostal church on the corner. The faithful old women.

Choir practice not unlike the choir between my ears, except they're petitioning their god and mine is petitioning... who?

Whom?

Fear.

Anxiety falsetto.

Temptation Siren soprano.

Liars, contralto, alto and tenor.

Doom bass.

It's Friday night. It's getting dark earlier, and the air is tropical and wet, but that's a lie too. I will wake up one morning soon to dry, skeletal cold. I will only see daylight on Saturday and Sunday. The others it's leave in darkness and come home in darkness and read or meditate by artificial light and wait for spring.  I will try to find reasons to laugh and maybe this time around I'll look for the right reasons to laugh and find them. There are right reasons to laugh and there are maybe not wrong but definitely not so right reasons. It can be a gift to be able to laugh at things that aren't really funny, but maybe it's because the punchline is that it's not going to last. The worst that can happen is that it will kill me and everyone dies anyway, don't they?

The ladies in the church believe or are at least trying to believe that if they sing loud and true enough that they will never die and be happy for eternity in some sunshiney place with no bad weather and no pain. Good luck, ladies. I really do hope that comes true for you.

For you.

I've some work to do before I can even begin to believe that I deserve that, or even want it.

It's Friday night and there are places to go and they are nowhere really. Just distraction. It's Friday night and maybe I will dance with a pretty woman or just stand by myself and listen to music and be nostalgic and dignified for a bit before I get distracted by thoughts of what is dignity anyway and do I have it or do I know someone who does and how can I be like them. Maybe the music will drown out the choir just long enough to get tired and maybe tired enough that it will be a deep sleep with no dreams that will last long enough that I don't wake up alone in the dark.

It's Friday night.

Monday, September 04, 2017

Eenie, meenie, miney, moe...

Who am I?

I'm the boy in the photos below, the one that you can still see traces of, or so people tell me. People have said that they can still see him though they may have varying ideas of who that boy ever was.  I can tell them but they might not really understand.

It's simple enough though.

I'm the boy that figured out at a very early age that when people played Eenie Meenie Miney Moe, the outcome was already decided at Eenie, depending on where they started.  One, two, three, four or more kids didn't matter.  It all begins with Eenie, so by Meenie this boy knew already what the outcome would be. It was already decided, by mathematics or by chance if it could be believed that they didn't choose where to start and who would would thereby be excluded round upon round, so by Meenie, this boy shut down.

And eventually, though not soon enough, stopped caring and then stopped playing altogether. 

I'm the boy that didn't stop caring or playing soon enough, but I am the boy that eventually stopped. Do people see that now? Is that what they mean when they say they can still see the boy I used to be? Or do they just mean that there's a youthful look still lurking there? I'm not sure which I would prefer. Sometimes it makes things easier if people look and say...

Okay, this one isn't playing.  


Tuesday, August 29, 2017

Recovery


There are days like this. Most of the time no, but why lie? 

There are days like this.  

Sunday, August 27, 2017

You might also enjoy...

56

So another one down... Why does 56 sound so much older than 55? Is it just where my head is at this year? Humor usually does the trick but there didn't seem to be any 'funny yet inspirational' messages to riff off of this year.  It's been an odd stretch in my continuing saga.

My tear ducts have been blocked for several months. They work for the standard biological functions, be it allergies or smoke or whatnot. They've managed to elude the emotional things though,, for hte most part.  The dam almost burst yesterday, triggered by a photo on a friend's Facebook page.  Said friend had a picture embracing a friend who's been battling breast cancer. That resonated, certainly, having lost two close friends in recent years to this particularly malevolent disease. Several other people in my circles have dropped to other cancers as well, but the breast cancer...

Troublesome, but that's got a lot to do with my relationships to the afflicted as well.

The dam nearly burst though but not quite.  The lump in the throat came up and tears fell, but it wasn't the cathartic fit that might have relieved the pressure.

56...

Dinner with my sons was nice. Seeing them doing well, or at least okay, allowed me to exhale and to relax into a semblance of gratitude. Gratitude has been in short supply, and that's not quite fair as things have been relatively okay, a few missteps and heartaches notwithstanding.

I'm tired though. It's mostly my fault as often all that's required is that gratitude, and a level of acceptance. Still looking for that balance and perspective on where things are as opposed to where they were. Patience with myself isn't exactly my thing.

And that's it for now.  I will, at some point, record something of an inventory that might explain this wistful, winsome missive.

But not now.

Union Square 8-26-17

A Matthew Silver Fart Awakening... people underestimate the importance and impact of street theatre like this.  Of joy and spectacle for the sake of it.  It's bigger than that though, isn't it?  It seems a kind of celebration of everything that isn't the horror that we're barraged with by the media... and the lies and mythology that we're expected to just live with.  Matthew is a warrior.