When the lights come on this whole place gets ugly

There are times in your life when something isn't quite right, no matter what it is. We vehemently insist that we can't put our finger on it but know that we must in order to find any peace. And so we set off on a journey of self discovery to loose the demons in our head, name the beasts of our past, and quiet the cranial chaos in a valiant attempt to move forward.

Know what? We're a bunch of schmucks. Yep, all of us. You, me, hell, especially me at this point. I've learned why my current dilemma is so magnified. No one sees it as catastrophic except me. That right there should have to told me that logic played no part in it.

After endless hours of thinking, torturing my psyche in an attempt to let the apparently repressed experience surface then purge it from existence, thoughts of suicide dancing in my head... after literally tormenting myself in just about every possible way, then persecuting myself because I didn't know why I felt that way, it happened.

What? I got to the truth of the matter during a conversation with my mother. Not my shrink that I'd seen not two hours earlier, but my mother.

The conversation twisted. The conversation turned. Before I knew it, the conversation doubled back to show me where the problem was. I can't fully account for why I feel like I do, but now I'm at least aware of where it's stemming from. That's why all the logic in the world wasn't helping me. Why I'd think and think and ponder and try to rationalize. And I'd fail. It's all about something I feel, not about how I think. Damage has been done that I feel was my fault. If I'd only been better, tried harder, kept my mouth shut, denied my needs to better a circumstance that was never going to be worthy of me. Logic dictates otherwise, but thats what I seem to feel like.

You can rationalize those things, but how can you erase feeling? I thought I could use words and plans and lists and formulas to rescue myself from the pit I've found myself in but I can no more use that method to come to my answer than I could to explain the color blue.

My point is that when we tell ourselves that we don't know what the problem is or that something isn't right, that's only partially true. You can live with yourself being miserable, which can serve you depending on the circumstance, or you can write it out or talk it out. Just keep talking, even if you're alone; you'll be surprised with what you come up with if you are willing to drop your barriers with yourself. It isn't easy.

Today I was honest. I saw that I was a self-proclaimed Atlas and having had my onus knocked off balance by circumstances around me, I live in fear of it happening again. That fear causes a paralyzing inaction. And I'm Atlas for crissakes, who fucks with Atlas? I'm not used to it. Even though the first shifting of the axis wasn't my fault, I live as though it were. Logic dictates one thing, my feelings another.

Perhaps now I can begin to know what part of me I'm fighting against even though I don't know why I'm feeling like this. The thing is, I didn't learn anything new today, I simply permitted myself to see it for what it was. It was in there the whole time but I opted to sanction prolonged suffering.

The rubble of the human mind is a strange place indeed. And I am a monkey in a long line.

Ugly

This was sent to me many months ago and I'd like to post it here. This isn't something I wrote but something I read from time to time and, of course, I end up crying. There is nothing else I could say right now that would have anywhere near the meaning that this has...

Ugly

Everyone in the apartment complex I lived in knew who Ugly was. Ugly was the resident tomcat. Ugly loved three things in this world: fighting, eating garbage, and shall we say, love. The combination of these things combined with a life spent outside had their effect on Ugly.
To start with, he had only one eye, and where the other should have been was a gaping hole. He was also missing his ear on the same side, his left foot appeared to have been badly broken at one time, and had healed at an unnatural angle, making him look like he was always turning the corner. His tail has long since been lost, leaving only the smallest stub, which he would constantly jerk and twitch. Ugly would have been a dark gray tabby striped-type, except for the sores covering his head, neck, even his shoulders with thick, yellowing scabs. Every time someone saw Ugly there was the same reaction. "That's one ugly cat!"

All the children were warned not to touch him, the adults threw rocks at him, hosed him down, squirted him when he tried to come in their homes, or shut his paws in the door when he would not leave. Ugly always had the same reaction. If you turned the hose on him, he would stand there, getting soaked until you gave up and quit. If you threw things at him, he would curl his lanky body around your feet in forgiveness. Whenever he spied children, he would come running meowing frantically and bump his head against their hands, begging for their love. If you ever picked him up he would immediately begin suckling on your shirt, earrings, whatever he could find.

One day Ugly shared his love with the neighbor's huskies. They did not respond kindly, and Ugly was badly mauled. From my apartment I could hear his screams, and I tried to rush to his aid. By the time I got to where he was laying, it was apparent Ugly's sad life was almost at an end. Ugly lay in a wet circle, his back legs and lower back twisted grossly out of shape, a gaping tear in the white strip of fur that ran down his front.

As I picked him up and tried to carry him home I could hear him wheezing and gasping, and could feel him struggling. I must be hurting him terribly I thought. Then I felt a familiar tugging, sucking sensation on my ear- Ugly, in so much pain, suffering and obviously dying was trying to suckle my ear. I pulled him closer to me, and he bumped the palm of my hand with his head, then he turned his one golden eye towards me, and I could hear the distinct sound of purring. Even in the greatest pain, that ugly battled-scarred cat was asking only for a little affection, perhaps some compassion.

At that moment I thought Ugly was the most beautiful, loving creature I had ever seen. Never once did he try to bite or scratch me, or even try to get away from me, or struggle in any way. Ugly just looked up at me completely trusting in me to relieve his pain. Ugly died in my arms before I could get inside, but I sat and held him for a long time afterwards, thinking about how one scarred, deformed little stray could so alter my opinion about what it means to have true pureness of spirit, to love so totally and truly. Ugly taught me more about giving and compassion than a thousand books, lectures, or talk show specials ever could, and for that I will always be thankful.

He had been scarred on the outside, but I was scarred on the inside, and it was time for me to move on and learn to love truly and deeply. To give my total to those I cared for. Many people want to be richer, more successful, well liked, or beautiful, but for me, I will always try to be "Ugly".

Author Unknown

Images of sorrow, pictures of delight - things that go to make up a life...

Today would have been my grandfather's something-or-other birthday. Ninety, ninety one? I'm not really sure because there are three accounts of the year in which he was born. Record keeping left alot to be desired back then. He passed away when I was 21 so that was, what, 16 years ago? To this day, I have never had a dream of him and that bothers me. Fiercely.

Lately I've seen alot of anniversaries of sorts, like my grandfather's birthday. But recently I've come upon one full year that I quit smoking. Intermingled with that is one full year since I left Pittsburgh and so shortly, two years that I'd left Ohio (to go to Pittsburgh). Milestones everywhere. Some much easier to face than others.

I suppose though that if we lack milestones, we're dead, and that is kind of crummy. For as much grief as this past year has given me, and it has, it's all a part of life in general. If I had nothing bad, how could I fully appreciate the good? And damn if I wouldn't be a dull person. So much of who I am is my ability to find the silly in the sinister, humor in the heart wrenching and folly in the plain ol' fucked up. Sometimes I fail, but I always go back to that.

Today, I'm just realizing that it's all part of a whole. Tomorrow I may not see it that way and may be bitching and rebeling over nothing important but that's ok. Because for this moment, I know that there can't be one without the other. I'm not so removed from reality as to not realize that although my life may be a hideously written, poorly casted, low-budget three ring circus at times, it is livable.

For now, I know that. For now, that's ok.

Something that I'm 'for'

It's actually taken me a full week to write this post but I have my reasons. Maybe I'm still processing the event, which is very likely.

See, for some people, they make plans and go about those plans unimpeded. That's not the way things are for me, but I'm ok with that; it's just my life, that's all. When something that is important to me does finally work, I can't help but to be in awe. I almost take on this very silent (speaking may break the spell), afraid to blink (it may be gone), almost shy demeanor.

Last Friday, that was me all the way. I finally got to see Matthew Good perform. Even now I'm in a bit of a hazy state thinking about it. I've followed his music for years then went on to read his blog. This is the blog I always link to and I do so for several reasons. Of course you can check out his music, random photos he's taken, and read posts penned by contributing authors as well as take in his views spanning music, observations of human nature, culture, global politics, humanitarianism, and whatever else comes along. This is a boy with alot to say. Which is not to say that I agree with everything, but much of it gives me a new perspective.

There is something about him. The first time I heard him I was hooked. His music has gone through changes throughout the years as have many things in his life. He speaks candidly and in some way, it almost makes you feel as if you are part of this real friendship even though logic says that you aren't. It's almost as if he can't help drawing you in but ultimately keeps most things at a distance. When I learned that he was recently diagnosed as bipolar, how could I not laugh just a little?! Perhaps this is why his personality has appealed to me for so long.

When the fog cleared and the lights came up and Matthew Good was standing less than a dozen feet away from me, I think I was stiff as a board. This person was now undoubtedly real and for a while had this off detatched look in his eyes. The kind that makes you think something is wrong or that they are just going to up and leave. But he stayed. And he played. And sang. Solo acoustic. His voice has the clarity, strength and presence to go head to head with any studio recording. I was blown away.

He spent some time just going back and forth with audience comments and it would seem that he also has a very bold, silly, but dry sense of humor. For a few moments, all the intensity that he harbors just melted away and he was visibly happy just goofing off for a few minutes. And there we were, just two people between us. I was hoping that some of his 'whatever it is' would make it's way over to me and rub off on me.

This wasn't 'just going to a concert'. This was me finally getting to have the experience of sharing time with a person that I greatly admire. To hear his silliness. To see, when he sang, which songs meant the most to him. To be a part of something orchestrated by someone who I can say I look up to. In some ways, this was a defining moment.

I'm trying to make it to one of the shows in Canada now. No one knows what will happen in the future. He may never tour again. I may lose my hearing. We don't know. So I'll willing to spend what I have to make it to just one more show. Momentarily, I wasn't merely 'happy', I was literally taken away to a place I thought I'd all but forgotten how to get to.

Roadside death trap commentary

I'm not knocking anyone here or criticizing how people choose to mourn but I just need to say that I hate, HATE, it when someone dies in an accident and the family/friends build some roadside memorial.

First, I acknowledge your loss and am truly sorry. Selfishly though, from this end, it seems a bit irresponsible of you to erect such a lavish display. Seeing this takes my focus off the road by distraction - it puts me in danger and those around me. Possibly to end in a car crash, which is apparently what you are making a statement about in the first place.

Next, I can't be the only person with erratic emotions on the road. We've talked about the suicide thing and when I see that, it makes me consider just getting it over and done with as I think my car would play a role. Now, if I'm not prepared to go that day, I really don't think you have any right to push me closer to that precipice. You mourn the loss of your loved one due to an accident. My family would mourn my loss due to what almost seems like selfishness on the part of those that insist upon distracting drivers.

And furthermore, when you put little stuffed animals, balloons and windmills, I understand it's a child that was lost. Again, that loss must be terrible. However, it does not give you the right to distract a driver, who may in turn crash and lose their life, leaving behind a small child. Or to make a parent who has just suffered the loss of their child suffer even more. Look, no one is telling you what to do but personally, I think someone should. People have cemeteries, crypts, churches, all sorts of places to memorialize an individual. Most newspapers have a memorial page that runs. Hell, plant a tree. THOSE are appropriate ways to show your loss, not by irresponsibly and selfishly thinking only of your situation while not even examining the ramifications of what could happen due to your limited-sight actions.

I am no one important when it comes to your life. I cannot tell you how or what to feel. I wish you'd not had a loss to endure, but you have. Why would you make it harder every day when you must drive by the scene of the accident? You'll never forget it whether it's decorated or not.

It may seem like a tribute to you but for others, it is a huge distraction. Not that long ago I was driving when it was dark and rainy. A simple trick of the lights had me swerving to miss something that had run in front of me. I made it out of the spin to learn that it was the stretching shadow of another new roadside memorial.

So tell me, if I die because of your choice to put that up, will you erect one for me as well? Would you even feel an iota of guilt?

I'm a window...

come be the rain.


Life is a strange thing, don't you think? Because I do. And I mean, that's all that really matters. Not smug, I mean that should be all that really matters to any of us - our own personal perceptions. It's funny how that shifts from moment to moment. What was once important isn't even worth being retained in the old memory bank any longer. Then there are those things that come at you from left field and shatter every appropriate response you've ever held. Often I really like those things. Those are the things that bump the less important items off the chart and restructure what is there. Interestingly, these things don't have to be of epic magnitude. Sometimes the most subtle ones have the greatest impact. Perhaps it is all about seeing, really seeing what is in front of you whether you understand it or not. There are reasons that we forget things even though I believe it's all still there somewhere. Like a simple passage in a giant tome on a bottom shelf in the basement of the Library of Congress. Just because it is out of immediate circulation does not mean it has ceased to exist.



Meet my friend who has taught me some new ways of looking at things...he's become a sort of sidekick lately. He accompanied me to Buffalo when I went to see Matthew Good the other night. I didn't really know if he'd be going or not and to be honest, I never knew when he'd just plain disappear on me because Alfred really isn't one for talking. But he came along and other than a few short stints playing 'hang glider' it was nice to have him along. I've taken to telling him he's a 'good little puppy' which is entirely ridiculous because he's not a dog. So we made it to Buffalo and back. I think that's actually as far as he's ever gone in his life. My friend Erica was there, too, but she's been on longer trips so I don't think she was overly excited about Alfred doing a roundtrip to Buffalo. After I came back to my mom's last night, I said good night to Alfred but made him promise to smile for just one picture by my car - symbolizing his great adventure.



He may not be a big talker but I've really learned alot from this guy. When the time comes that he spins that final line and jumps for it, I'm assuming my reaction will be similar to the Wiiiillssoooon moment in Castaway.


I'm a window...
come break in.

Beam me up Scotty

Tomorrow I see Matt Good. There really isn't enough that I can say about that. I can't believe it's here yet it still seems a world away.

The interview went well. I'm still conflicted. Either way I sit and wait.

Did I mention I think I was abducted by aliens? I have a block of time that I cannot remember at all. It's really freaking me out because the majority of the time I was driving. Not one bit of a memory. Before it, ok - after that, fine. The 20ish minutes between are a full on blank.