Wednesday, April 22, 2015

dear diarrhea,

nothing has changed. still stuck here. physically, but in the head-space mostly. there's plenty to be done, but no spark. everyday is the same. the self-hate is central to this dilemma. hate never fails to arise. no matter where we end up, nor what's doing. no satisfaction. with all the power, money, fame, and looks - we'd find a way to criticize to the point of sabotage. it's been the pattern - soldier, roadie, scholar, actor, dropout - none of that matters. the novelty eventually wears-off and then we're stuck again - we can't even dropout properly; i.e., in a position now some might find enviable - no job, no responsibilities, no commitments - just loads of free-time - a life of leisure and we are forlorn? so now what? wake-up and eat unto sickness - then exercise unto agony and get berated for being a feeble weakling. feeling sorry for oneself - eat some more. another 6000 calorie day goes by - "if imma be miserable anyways, I might as well eat up. you'll never know when famine will strike, so eat while you can." we are stuck inside again with the same company, conversations, and repetitions - over and over and over, "I need to go out more, volunteer, do something for somebody else, eat healthier, write, be more, meditate more, better, faster, stronger. though, i don't wanna ask for rides. I don't wanna ask for anything. I got myself into this mess. I'll get out of it! nobody wants to come out here to get me. I wouldn't wanna hangout with me either." But, wait until The Warden goes out to use the landline. don't want anyone to eavesdrop and keep score - then, "I might as well eat while i'm here." bothering people when we call. they're busy playing house, with family, and careers. We're not as important because we don't have kids, or projects, and perhaps lack some basic gratitude? always bemoaning status and situation - "don't wanna bring anyone down. it's the same-ole-shit anyways." thinking about an appointment next week, and what to say, and what they're going to say. and then a reply, and then the retort - and then - "if I'm really honest they won't let me leave. what if they want to commit me? but I do think about death a lot." it's always been there. though, it's usually philosophical. like, "where's the line between euthanasia and self-murder?" the constant self-hating-inner-monologue, "piece of shit." is married to, "just fucking kill yourself." even though we know we're not going to. but we reach for a mind-gun - like it's that simple? we know we won't. so why the thoughts? annoyed again. these unwanted thoughts drag us down. like a heavy rucksack that pulls us down into the mud, and inside our skulls. we don't want that. we'd rather have not been born. don't really wanna die, but whats a life spent hating? pathetic. embarrassing. perhaps, we're full of shit and just wanna hangout in our pajamas, never having to really take-care and be accountable? we don't wanna bother anybody, or be a liability. we definitely don't want anyone's concern. perhaps we're just negative because we're stuck with no projects and nowhere to trudge?

Friday, April 3, 2015

omnipresent blandness and blah...

"Perhaps the only difference between me and other people was that I've always demanded more from the sunset; more spectacular colors when the sun hit the horizon. That's perhaps my only sin." ~Joe (Nymphomaniac Vol. I)

I realized not too long ago that I can't truly taste anything anymore. whether the cause is bad sinuses, or years of self-abuse is unknown. I get a mere suggestion of flavor. I can tell coffee from tea, broccoli from ice-cream, but the depth is gone. the bite and edge that once made a cup of joe the highlight of my day... gone. 

Am I demanding more flavor than is actually present? furthermore, this lack of 'flavor' is omnipresent in all my senses. considering, like Joe, I have always demanded more from the sunset. the baseline was never enough for me. satiety always an elusive ghost. hence the propensity for extremes.

for instance, whether sitting on the boat in Canada fishing with dad, or grilling at the campsite, he would often mention "it don't get any better than this!" I'd concur, in the interest of politeness. However, I always found that sentiment a little sad. Those exultations of a worker-bee at play always made me sad. the gents who work for the weekend, or plan vacations.

Even sex, the great preoccupation of so many men, leaves me a little, "meh." and I've had many salacious, and somewhat sordid adventures there, so it's not from a lack of effort. 

am I missing something, or taking something for granted? are all my senses malfunctioning, like my handicapped palette? some would say I want more than my fair-share. but, what's fair? and, who determines the shares?

I rebel.

the idea that contentment is proportionate to some ephemeral x-factor is a shitty and feeble worldview.

I'm simpler then most folks. the few memories of completeness I've experienced (without chemical aid) involve a comfortable chair, and a good book. solitude. or catching that perfect nap, on my back, in the woods. but, it's been awhile. oddly, these memories occurred during my enlistment in the US Army, and typically involved shamming to one extant or another. 

is this mental-illness? the pervasive feeling of trudging under a higher gravity then others? burning under a hotter sun? seeing everything through a foggy and alien atmosphere?

or, am I just getting old and bitter? 

Monday, March 30, 2015

dad died...

death is peculiar. 

some say, "he lost his battle with x."

"he's in a better place."

"he'd want us to [...]"

the things said when confronted with the absurd are exponentially absurd.

death is absurd. 

what's left is memory. he lives on in my mind. the irony being that the sickness robbed him his memory. so now he lives on in this ephemeral and mercurial thing, the mind...

I'd like to honor him by seeking truth and being honest. but I honestly don't know true from false. like him, I feel good doing good. helping others. keeping promises. etc.

I'm reticent to admit the lightness in my step lately. relief is allegedly common when a sick parent dies.

however, I can't help but wonder if I could've tried harder to advocate for him? extended his time here? demanded more?

it feels like once he became too truculent, we shipped him off to pasture. and while he did explicitly state his desire to "die with dignity" early in his struggle, it all seems a little too convenient now. his dying has absolved me an enormous obligation. 

so now what?

I see him in my "mind's eye" daring me to do something bold... to pursue endeavors with zest. to write, play, run, jump, and maybe even sing? not that he did such things... but, he certainly enjoyed his hobbies; the Corvette he restored in the yard, fishing, camping, r/c cars, walking, and reading Sci-Fi. he was and avid tinkerer, a DIYer to the fullest.

I'm driving a 12 year-old truck that was his. the only reason it runs is that he took care of his shit. I try my best with limited funds. I keep it clean and well oiled. 

I also have the shotgun he threatened to kill himself with. it's been modified to make that enterprise easier, such a messy exit. not much dignity there. also, not quite sure how earnest he was... but then again it was loaded, and cocked.

there's no dignity in any death.

I was with him a few hours prior to his last breath. he was sleeping. I said the things a son should say. he had his foibles. but overall, a good man. and that's what I told him. he was a good man. and that he could go if he wanted to.

he did. 

Friday, January 16, 2015

blowback and boundaries

protecting one's autonomy from the barrages of another's intransigence is one of our enduring dilemmas. particularly if one is invested more in outcomes than processes. this is further confounded when motives are skewed and boundaries occluded. particularly when said outcome is irrationally coveted by interested parties. 

Saturday, December 13, 2014

first-world problems

some say, "only boring people get bored."

the maladaptive reply, "fuck you!"

or, "be grateful."

to wit, "eat shit and die motherfucker!"


there is plenty to discredit in how ingratitude can deform inaction, and misshape passive detraction from a group. being happy, one must forget ways to stay reactively disengaged from  unnatural mood-diminishment. there's drugs, therapy, and thought-experiments that are panacea for capriciousness. this is the opposite of maladjustment. but discarding something let-go-of, like a literal handrail, will always misguide one into darkness. this can be as complicated as foul air, a bad-book, or an enemy. anything done the same way, or in one's comfort-zone can be a weak trapdoor farther from destruction. taking no time upon sleeping to forgo breathing can be the start of an unfocused and unproductive evening.

leaving the bed unmade also keeps one sedentary at night.

but consistency is easy. having been lastly addicted to delayed-masochism, it's easy to get ahead in these complicated perfections, and trudge that final ripple of depression they diminish. the trick isnt the short game. rarely destroying infinite changes eliminates old pathways to slavery and consternation.  

Thursday, December 4, 2014

Lazy-Bowel Syndrome in Constipation Nation

we'd like to retract the previous assertion made here that natural bowel movements are primitive and obsolete.

although anecdotal, and based on this authors experience, we now believe there is an intrinsic link between bowels and mind. that perhaps the peristalsis required to naturally evacuate one's bowels also activates a certain mental peristalsis to eliminate waste from the brain? as such, when one becomes physically dependent upon unnatural evacuation, intestinal peristalsis is no longer required and shuts-down. this inadvertently causes the mind to shut-down some as yet unknown mechanism of purging subliminal data. much like dreams being consciousnesses' natural "de-fragging" processes. perhaps the insomnia-caused psychosis is the inability to de-frag, and the inability to eliminate waste naturally causes an inability to delete those de-fragged files? maybe there's an unnatural method for deleting the mind's recycle-bin? drugs?

"you have too much free-time."

no shit. 

Tuesday, December 2, 2014


I remember my dad helping me with my first car. it was an old heap, but he helped me pass inspection and be safe. he took great care to make things right with limited resources. I believe he also enjoyed the time spent together on the project. tonight I remembered being so selfish and self-absorbed, that I just wanted the car on the road so I could hang out with friends and get high.

I inevitably crashed that car showing-off in front of people. I remembered feeling terrible about messing up the car, but I also scored a pocketful of cocaine that night. this was the first time I consciously used a drug to really change a feeling found inconvenient. 

when I finally told my parents about the car my father sarcastically told me, "that's okay. your still cool." he must've known me well enough to know how this would hurt me. I've always held on to this resentment towards him for saying that, and have even said it back to him as a joke.

tonight I had a glimpse of what it must've been like for him. I felt the probable hurt to his feelings by me being an ungrateful and irresponsible shit. I wish I can tell him how much those moments mean to me now. how I am aware of all the sacrifices my parents made, e.g., so much time and energy spent on my fleeting interests and capricious whims. all the times I've used them, their stuff, time, and how they were always willing, even knowing I probably wouldn't reciprocate or fully appreciate it.

I do tell him I love him now. I also tell him he's a good man. sometimes this gets through to him and I see a glimpse of my da still in there. 

I also needed to write it down and send it out into the universe. let the universe hear and know this feeble apology to my da for being inconsiderate, selfish, ungrateful, and irresponsible. and for also not expressing my gratitude and respect earlier and more frequently in my life.

thanks dad. your a good man.