The title to this days blog kinda sounds like a western novel or movie or something, don’t it?
Uh oh, wayward tangent alert!
Here’s some more “titles” (while I’m increasing my caffeine levels) Yes, I know…I’m a terrible Mormon.
“The Watch” A fast paced movie about minute to minute time travel.
“Coffee Man” A novel about love and survival
“Loading….” A sci-fi mystery about patience and murder.
“Potty Break” Action “packed” cinematic dynamite, edge of your “seat”, “explosive” thriller about letting go…
Ok, I’m gonna stop now, I can see where this is going.
Speaking of potty break…..
Ok, I’m back. The Potty Break movie had a weak “ending”…..no real substance.
Ok Ok, I’ll stop!
What has gotten in to me so early this Tuesday morning!?
It IS Tuesday, right?
I don’t know what day it is. My phone is off….and I don’t know how to find it on my baby iPad.
Ok, I just figured out that my gps knows what day it is.
It’s Monday Jr?
That can’t be right.
Wayward tangent alert, again….
I just realized that I’ll probably never hold a leadership position in my church because I “may” have used inappropriate language in MANY of my previous blogs.
I kinda cuss when I’m being all emotional and creative….
In my defense, and y’all know this just as much, if not more than me…
Sometimes a dirty word is the only word that can work in certain instances. It takes one to get the EXACT point across: to match the flow of our literary intent….
Or, we (I) couldn’t think of a better word.
In my defense, I only have 33 credit hrs of college. In Texas….
Lets go with the creative juices thing….
Yeah, I’m a Cro-Magnon.
Sometimes I say bad words, think bad things, contemplate mass murder…or is it spree murder?
Hey, you try being a truck driver that goes all over this country, thru tiny towns and big cities and tell me that you don’t feel like running someone off the road!
Good thing is that I can keep fantasy, fantasy. Realistically, speaking….
It’s much more cool in my head; the fantasy part.
I could never kill in real life with the same satisfaction or special effects that I do in my head.
In fantasy dream mode (ok, pretend you’re seeing that daydream thing like they do on tv, with the wavy screen)
Ok, in dream mode, when I kill someone on the interstate (99% of the time its a 4 wheeler; car) there’s lots of screaming, rubber squealing and smoke, metal screeching & crunching, glass shattering and the smell of poop. Oh, and there’s always lots of fire & smoke, blood, guts, people flying thru windshields, the satisfying crunch as my 18 wheeler smashes thru their wrecking cars and over their pavement strewn bodies…..
*shudder in ecstasy*
It puts the lotion on it’s skin….
Thank the holy moly, but in real life, the whole “You’ll not do well in prison” filter keeps me sane.
Plus, I’d probably feel bad later.
Hold up, let me tell Jesus I’m sorry for murder in my heart.
This is my Granny’s fault; all this caring about people and crap.
Social norms…..Not killing fools.
EMPATHY for heck sakes.
Crazy old lady.
She’s the one that took me to church, taught me about Jesus, God and the Holy Ghost!
More importantly, the whole burning in hell thing if I run over people on the interstate, or undress pretty women in my head.
I’d marry them! Don’t be so quick to judge!
I’m a softie but HEY! At least I’m not a sociopath or psychopath , huh?!
That’s good news on this early Monday Jr!
Ok, I gotta go pick up some vegetables and start rolling towards F’n Jersey.
When I first started with WordPress, pert near on 3 years ago I do reckon, I was very prolific with my new posts. I was spouting off everyday, sometimes 3 posts a day; cranking out some good stuff, some bad stuff, but mostly inane stuff.
But, it seems like I have either burned out this year or something weird; I bet I haven’t posted anything new or noteworthy for quite a spell.
No, no I don’t have writers block. You have to be a WRITER to get blocked.
I am just a hack.
People that can stay focused, dedicated or obsessed in creating a work of literature, poetry or the like, or maintaining a continuing stream of thought that keeps others intrigued or interested….
That’s a writer.
I just get easily bored with nothing else to do.
That’s how I am, I guess; or the only excuse or maybe justification I can even use for my apparent apathy towards my sleazy, sticky, fumbling attempts at writing.
I know how I can get with things and it makes me even crazier.
I have the attention span of a $2 crackhead….or maybe a gnat.
Speaking of my creativity or lack thereof, my dwindling level of interest, my non-existent ability to focus on anything other than cooking shows or the Discovery Channel for periods longer than 30 minutes, my aforementioned miniscule attention span, my “creative juice” seems to ebb and flow.
Speaking of juice, my posting is kinda like my 52-year-old testosterone level, really….
At an elderly 52 years old (which I’ve never been this old before) I will unabashedly admit that I would kill for an early morning wake-up boner or WOOD as it is also referenced as by the male of our species; or I’d give a kidney for a boner with amorous intent or hell, I’d be grateful to the point of tears and snot for a boner at the worst possible time. You fella’s reading this know the kind of boner I mean….
A 7TH GRADER BONER FOR HELL SAKES!!!
The kind of boner that a cat can’t scratch or one that could cut diamonds!
No, I haven’t any shame or ability to be embarrassed any longer.
I lost that on my 50th birthday.
The truth will set me free.
However, now that I ponder a little more on my bonelessness (is that a word?) I would consider selling my soul to whatever devil exists in this millennium to treat my long-suffering, dearly betrothed, regretfully abstaining wife to a good ol’fashioned Viking rape and pillage.
It would have to be a Viking rape fantasy playtime, if I ever get the chance. Last time I had wood, I was a masked burglar that jumped out of the closet to assault her and she shot me…..
Ok, I’m getting side-tracked…..again; see how easily I get distracted?
[Quick present moment reality admission]
I made my morning coffee too strong. I have sweat running down my ribs and man boobs. I swear to God there is cocaine in Folgers 100% Columbian.
Hmmm….could be a connection here with my inability to write anything lately…..
Just add copious amounts of stimulants, give me a dose of inspiration or a reason to bitch (which could be the same , I guess) crack open the laptop, back away from the crazy person and watch the fat man dance.
It’s resolution time of course, and here are mine.
I will post updates, stories or assholes…oops, I meant opinions, at least twice a week; or maybe more if the caffiene is pure or when my testosterone is up.
I will practice more on my guitar playing and not on buying them.
Disclaimer: I am newly, 52 years old and I may be experiencing a mid-life thingy. I won’t call it a crisis because I’m not IN crisis.
Or, maybe that’s what the crisis wants me to think….
Stay back, paranoia!!
So, please forgive me if my blog may tend to wander thru mysticism, spirituality, religion, agnosticism, politics, the benefits of the mushroom in the worship of a great white buffalo or waiting on that UFO that dropped our ‘first parents’ off here, thousands OR millions of years ago; depending on your familial school of thought or how you’re particular faith-based group in your neighborhood led you to believe, in a botched attempt to grow a new food source that was stupid and got fat easily….kinda like cows.
I believe that an unseen deity put our first progenitors on this earth, naked…in a perfect garden and told them….BEHAVE.
Not even God is that stupid.
Oh, plus the fact that we’re in a scientifically proven and individually, visually confirmed huge ass galaxy that is surrounded by other, quoting Carl Sagan “Billions and billions of galaxies” end partial quote.
Follow this next thought with me….
If God was an actual scientist; and I believe that all evidence, that we naked apes are capable of understanding point to the fact that, He/She/I Am does occasionally dabble in the sciences.
If “God” wanted to create an experiment where he has access to unlimited material, unlimited time, unlimited knowledge, unlimited space and NO bosses or alphabetized federal agency looking over his shoulder, do you actually believe that he would only have ONE species as his primary focus? Even I, in my sadly, limited and Google accessible scientific prowess know that there is always a control group in ANY experiment.
…several control groups.
Oh lord, I can hear the Jesus, Mohammed freaks now…
“God doesn’t need a control group! He’s GOD!!”
Calm down! Stay back , I’m on your side!
(Sound of whip cracking and animals roaring)
STAY BACK, DAMN YOU!!!
Hell, here I go:
We don’t know if we are even the first attempt in this experiment…
We may not even be the initial, hopefully anticipated outcome of the experiment.
We may be a control group that is going bat shit and has been set aside on a shelf, checked every few million years for any change, be it progressive or regressive, the results recorded and noted for reevaluation at a later date.
(God in a lab coat, shaking his head, scribbles on his clipboard)
“Hmmmmm, not good” he says “Not good at all” then….he starts erasing…..
I think the great flood in the Bible was actually a heavenly lab attendant attempting to wash us out of a petri dish and God stopping him at the last-minute….
Ooooo…I think I’ll start a church.
Anywho, let me get back to my point (Man that’s some wicked coffee)
Mankind is arrogant.
Mankind is superficial, greedy, violent, narcissistic and collectively insane…
Let me quote Eckhart Tolle:
“The collective manifestations of the insanity that lies at the heart of the human condition constitute the greater part of human history. It is to a large extent a history of madness. If the history of humanity were the clinical case history of a single human being, the diagnosis would have to be: chronic paranoid delusions, a pathological propensity to commit murder and acts of extreme violence and cruelty against his perceived “enemies”—his own unconsciousness projected outward. Criminally insane, with a few brief lucid intervals.” – A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose.
But, then someone on this earth goes and does something selfless, beautiful and charitable….
There is nothing more that the present moment in this existence.
The past is past; let it guide you, not define you; “It is in the nature of things that joy arises in a person free from remorse.” – Buddha
There is no future, only dreaming of one.
Tomorrow is optimism OR pessimism….depending on your mood but, tomorrow never really comes….
We are living moment to moment; because I know that, every one of us, have heard the saying “Man plans, God laughs his ass off” Well, maybe not exactly….that way…
“Few of us ever live in the present. We are forever anticipating what is to come or remembering what has gone.”
― Louis L’Amour
Jesus said, in the New International version of the Bible (translation attempt 554); according to Matthew 6:34 “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”
Buddha also reportedly said “Ardently do today what must be done. Who knows? Tomorrow, death comes.”
That’s not being morbid, that’s fact…
We.Do.Not.Know…so why keep acting like we do?
If you have so much faith in a God, you’re supposed to let him handle everything, TRUST IN HIM.
How can people “faithfully” do that and worry about a tomorrow?
Another thing; how can you believe “faithfully” in forgiveness when you let the mistakes in your past affect you in the present moment and for that matter or allow people in your life to remind you of your past mistakes?
People that do that are the worst kind of ugly scar.
“God” is in us all.
“God” cannot be described
“God” is “I AM”
Think about that for a second….
Why would he say that?
How many times do we say that a day, “I AM”?
Are we comparing ourselves to “God” are we blaspheming or are we reaffirming our innate knowledge that we and God are one and the same?
“I AM Trey”
“I AM here”
“I AM doing something”
“I AM your friend”
“…..I AM listening”
Wow….I love exploration and self discovery.
I love traveling thru my mind…..
I just thought of something else….I know nothing, Jon Snow…
When I am typing and farting around on my humble blog, I am not thinking…..
I am just….being present……being here, at this moment.
By the time I wonder “What will the next moment bring?” I have already passed thru “that moment”
Hard to explain…
I’m sorry, I know I’m going on and on about drivel but, I just wanted to share my mid-life situation with y’all this morning.
I’ll leave you with this; and it’s true
If you only think about what you are doing right now, you have no capacity to worry.
Think about THAT
“Treat everyone you meet as if they were you.”
― Doug Dillon
“Do it now, then….?” – Trey (that’s me)
“If you are depressed, you are living in the Past. If you are anxious, living in the future. If you are at peace you are living in the moment.” – Lao Tzu
PS: We have had so many wonderful, enlightened teachers throughout history and we still don’t learn….
When your humble servant (me) first started with WordPress (WP) I was probably just like the majority of y’all;
Didn’t know how to use the regular editor thingy
Didn’t know, and still don’t know, how to use the CSS thingy
STILL don’t know how to promote my writings, poems, musings or my carefully rewritten and reorganized ummmm…..what’s the word for stealing other people’s stuff and acting like it’s yours?
It’s either, ‘plagarize’ or ‘inspired’…
They’re both so close in their meaning, because if you look up both words in the dictionary and read between the corporate lines, they are, pretty much the same thing.
I guess I’ll go with ‘inspired’ because I do it without malice of forethought.
That means I didn’t mean to steal someone’s stuff and make it better.
Besides I can argue all day about why I have never willingly or knowingly plagarized anything.
I don’t read other peoples stuff or I should say, can’t read….
No, before y’all get all crazy and indignant, hear me out
If I read words from a page, I mean, literally read words on a page from a book like entity, I will be asleep in less than 2 minutes.
I have been like this since the 3rd grade. That’s when Mrs Salter first noticed it in me.
I can’t read instructions, newspapers, scriptures or anything over a page long. Seriously.
I will pass out.
I don’t think it’s a problem with dyslexia because I’ve always been a good speller, good problem solver and such; plus, mathematics doesn’t do it to me. I’ll look up dyslexia and see if I’m using it in the right context.
hmmm…doesn’t happen when I write.
I just noticed something else….
Why is dyslexia such a weirdly spelled word that represents a ‘condition’ where people have difficulties with spelling or the correct sequencing of words?
Oooo, look. My first wild tangent in this post.
My life has gotten in the way of me writing as much as I would like.
paying bills, willingly.
paying bills, that I have no idea why they are as much as they say they are.
Treacherous children; at least the ones I know about.
Work; I guess that would be a ‘gimme’
I wish I’d been born rich
Life changes before my upcoming 52nd birthday.
I never thought I’d ever write that statement “Life changes before my upcoming 52nd birthday.”
But…I’m glad, or blessed, that I have gotten as far as I have gotten in this life; this test, this probationary state.
Because, if any of you have ever read any of my previous “get to know me” or “self revealing” posts on my humble blog, you will know that it’s pretty much a miracle that I have lived as long as I have lived.
Note: If I say I’m humble, does that mean I’m not?
If you haven’t read them, let me just simplify it so you don’t have to go thru the torture of reading them
It’s a miracle I haven’t killed me yet.
I was baptized into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints on August 11, 1984; 32 years ago.
I was 19
When I came up out of the water in the baptismal font, I actually checked to see if my tattoos had come off.
Ignorant, yes, I guess; hoak’m maybe
But, man, I wish I had that feeling again.
It’s been the one instance that has seen me thru my fickleness for these past 32 years.
Yes, one moment in time, I knew that everything was gonna be alright.
….past 32 years….
I knew that I wasn’t alone, we aren’t alone. That, I knew secrets…and that I had to tell everybody.
If I had known then, as I stood waist deep in holy water, wiping the soul saving water from my eyes, what would happen in my life over these next 32 years, I probably would have asked the kindly missionary that had dunked me to dunk me again….until I quit kicking and tossing about and just floated, face down.
“Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation? Tell me, if you understand.” – Job 38:4
I have free agency but, Who am I to question God?
There’s a lot more in that question than you actually see at first; read it again and ponder.
I have free agency but, Who am I to question God?
“Mortals, born of woman, are of few days and full of trouble.” – Job 14:1
I have free agency but, I must cry repentance?
I wish I could keep a fetching steady stream of thought on one particular thread of contemplation and insight.
Stupid adult ADHD….
C’est la vie.
I’m all over the place with this.
Oh yes…I think I do finally.
I think I have an understanding in the concept, thereof.
If you are a memeber of the LDS Church, you will understand this…if not, I will add some links for clarification and has absolutely nothing to do with brainwashing. (You are a chicken, you are a chicken)
I have been faithful to the law of tithing for a while now. Tithing
I have been faithful, as much as it is possible these days, to the Word of Wisdom Word of Wisdom
I miss tea and coffee…..WHY!!??
I am trying my darndest to pray each day, as much as possible, considering that I never really made it a priority in my life, plus I’m lazy, plus, I’ve always been like “Why, pray? God knows what I’m thinking or doing or what I need and what I;m thankful for, anyways. He’s a busy God; wouldn’t my stating the obvious to him just be a cruel redundancy or I’d be jamming up the lines for more needy and desperate or WORTHY souls to get their prayers heard?
It’s all about obedience to the word of God, I find out…dang it
I have so many ideas and directions that I can go with on this subject that I can’t keep my thoughts organized.
I think my writers block is gone.
I don’t know why I’ve gone in this direction with my blog.
Maybe it’s a natural course, maybe it’s a budding writer that is searching for meaning. maybe it’s because it’s time for everyone to start exploring their own souls and I can feel it in the air….
Maybe, I heard the voice of God in a prayer where I was saying nothing at all; maybe I was just listening for him, to see if he was eavesdropping on me.
I heard “Endure to the end”
As if someone was leaning over my shoulder and spoke into my ear, in a normal, level voice.
Not still. Not small
I was there and I’m just as surprised as you are.
I opened my eyes. Got off my knees and sat on the edge of my bed. “hmmmmm”
The nice Mormon people sat in the church pews, surreptitiously glancing over their left shoulders as the doors into the chapel opened; breaking the air pressure in the big room, alerting the members of possibly a new investigator or an old crib Mormon coming to worship, and wondering even more so “Why’re they late to church?”
I was a little apprehensive to say the least as I peered thru the doors; the numerous heads turning my way, and the exploring, questioning, judging eyes.
Like walking into a room full of scary baby dolls….at your great grandma’s…
There were some smiles of course; or was the baring of the teeth an act of territorial bravado?
There were mostly frowns and straight, clinched, undecided lips.
A baby cried…
I also noticed that there were some indignance, impatience and irony scattered here and there among the congregant faces.
“Guilt” I think to myself “I feel guilty for getting here late”
That’s a good sign, I guess.
After all, I’d been gone for a long time; from church, I mean.
Definitely lending credibility to the phrase of “Better late than never”
Of course this all took place in the blink of an eye and a simultaneous breath, like most death-defying acts of bravery occur.
I passed thru the door into the chapel, heart thumping.
There was no lightning or burst of hellfire.
No thundering voice yelling “Depart heathen!” or a hissing, demonic “Get. OUT.”
The echoes of my sliding steps across the carpeted floor were mind numbing to me; ringing off every hard surface like insane church bells being jerked up and down by a crazed hunchback!…. I believe I could actually see people wincing as their ear drums busted!
Young mothers screamed, holding their infants up as human shields; old men grabbed their chest and fell to the floor; old women rifled the old mens pockets and the young husbands grunted, opened their eyes, looked around sleepily, dug some Cheerios and Apple Jacks out of a Ziploc bag and munched on them all the while putting the binky back in the baby’s mouth; the preacher leaps over the pulpit, swinging a blinding crucifix around his head, pumping righteous death at me from the barrels of 2 golden revolvers, spitting Gods justice in molten hot lead!!!
Well, it coulda happened…No, wait….
That’s just my imagination. We ain’t got crucifixes in our chapels….or preachers; technically speaking.
The door shut behind me as I slid clumsily into the last seat in the last pew, closest to the aisle.
Peoples heads turned succedently, obediently, back towards the front of the chapel; the room pressure returning back to an optimal church worshipping level.
My ears were buzzing and I realized I had to pee.
“Welcome, Elder Clarke, been a while” came a voice from above…
I looked around the room, scanning various faces that were looking at me again..
I’ve got food on my face, don’t I?
I wipe it off.
Is there an Elder Clarke in here? Weird…
“I’m talking to you, Brother Clarke” said the same all around me voice, followed by a slight microphone squeal.
I’m a Brother Clarke….(I’m still looking around during this time freeze)
Microphone means speakers, speakers mean microphone, microphone MEANS PERSON TALKING TO ME!
Well, technically in the LDS faith, I am an elder but, I don’t consider myself worthy of the title.
I wouldn’t even say I’m a Jack Mormon. I’m more of a…..Doug.
“Yep, Wolf amongst the sheep” I mumble to myself; man, have I gotta pee.
I throw my hand up in a “Howdy y’all” half wave; the kind of greeting you give to a crowd of people when you are late to a meeting or event and gratefully accept the sentence of death pronounced upon you by the goodly town folk.
But, in a nice, Jesus loving way….
“It’s good to have you join us today; welcome back” said the person at the microphone.
He smiled at me and winked.
So, this is how it’s gonna be, huh?
Dirty pool, Bishop.
Note: (That’s what we Mormons call our dirty, rotten, lying, good for nothing, treacherous ward leader)
No, not really. He’s an excellent human being. Ugly kids though….
He promised me yesterday that he wouldn’t call me out in front of the whole ward (that’s what we call our….wait….I don’t know why they call us “ward’s”. You look it up. I’m writing, here)
I threw him a curve ball.
Making a wide, sweeping glance around the chapel, I pronounced “I just got back from my mission, Bishop”
He still smiled but, I saw a look quickly pass over his face.
What was that….intrepidation, fear? Nooo….
The dirty bugger can’t wait to hear what I’m gonna say.
Touché mon ami….
How’d he know…… Dang!
I hate it when people talk to Jesus behind my back and figure me out….
“A mission?” I hear a voice ask; somewhere off to my right, slightly behind me.
I follow the trailing echo of the voice and locate the source.
A teenaged girl. Cute, brown hair, invisi-braces….those questioning, Doubting Thomas green eyes.
Not, the Bishops kid, I surmised.
“You’re too old to go on a mission” the highly astute young girl stated.
I said “You’re never too old to go on a mission” I smiled, sarcastically but, in a loving Jesus way….
She flipped her hair, turned her smug little, snotty face towards the front of the chapel, denouncing my presence in her sphere of supremacy and pronounced the obvious..
“I see you around all of the time, Mr Trey (that’s my name) How can you be on a mission when you never left?”
I hate smart kids; used to beat them up.
**Back and forth banter (I hate having to put ” ” after each quote; bugs me)
“Well, dear, I was on a mission of sorts”
“Did the church call you for your mission?”
“How can they “kinda” call you on a mission?” *snort laugh * Where’d you go on your “mission?” *12-year-olds faint laugh of derision*
……..silence for a few seconds.
Everyone is looking at me.
I feel tears coming.
My face feels hot all of a sudden….
I hear the Bishops voice; not on speakers….right next to me.
I look at him.
He puts his arm around my shoulders and winks at me again.
“Elder…Clarke (he grins) told me this yesterday”
I hear the low rustle of people in church pews paying closer attention. Y’all know that sound.
“Tell them where you served your mission, “Mr Trey”.
Everyone is looking at us, I can tell.
I turn to face them.
Deep breath…. Funny, I was breathing just fine a second ago.
“I went to Hell” I said
…….quiet from the cheap seats.
I think the crying baby was even listening now.
Baby’s are smart.
They talk to angels until they get older and learn how to forget Angel stuff.
Bless his heart…
I know this little boy was sitting somewhere across the aisle, invisible to me; lost among all the big people surrounding him.
“Did you baptize anybody in…you know; where you was at?”
*low snicker* *mom quietly hushing little boy* *grunt, rustle of Ziploc and Apple Jacks*
“Just me” I said
This was too good for all the tweens in my new audience; the missionary scholars…
“You can’t baptize yourself!”
*louder snickers* *quiet slap of a low five*
“You’d be surprised” I said.
My gaze wandered to the front of the chapel, a picture of Christ hung there….
It was the Jesus picture that stares at you, follows you around the room.
I stared back, got dizzy.
How does he DO that?
Once again, hushingly “I was in Hell for 20 years….
I felt the Bishops hand squeeze a little harder on my shoulder; I looked back at the curious people in my ward.
They looked back at me, noticing that my voice had changed, my eyes, my face….
I heard “Mommy, Mr Trey is sad”
“No he’s not, baby….” hushed Mommy. “He’s happy”
I smiled at her.
My voice is husky now….
“I was in Hell for 20 years, here…..and here” I first pointed to my head, then my chest.
*Small voice from cheap seats*
“Is Hell bad?” it said
I sat there for a few seconds before I leaned forward; grabbing onto the top of the pew in front of me; knuckles turning pink, red then white, from my grip….
It comes from recent rain and rainbows; music from your past, a babbling brook that loves to gossip; fresh cut grass that makes your tennis shoes green, or it can come from a beautiful woman that takes your breath away.
I’m a dude…
Depression can come from a baby laughing, the weird word on a roadside sign, the way you may see a person treat another, good or bad, or it can come from that sudden flash of understanding “Egads!” or a new, breath-taking perspective about something you weren’t even thinking about in just that moment; as a matter of fact you haven’t thought about it in sometime then…”BOOM” there it is….
Then, there’s the other place that depression will come from….
It can come from the dark, when your eyes are closed and your mind is supposed to be at rest.
*Mine hardly sleeps anymore*
It can come to you in the night; where things will go “bump” or watch you from your closet.
When the dark inspirations come, it is the type of nightmare that nightmares hope they never have….
It’s really real, man.
I would not categorize what happened to me last Night, whilst in my heavenly repose, as a nightmare exactly…
I did not twitch, jerk, wet my bed; sweat profusely or wake up screaming; tangled in twisted blankets, all of my pillows on the floor….
*There was a struggle*
I woke up, quietly.
My eyes did not jerk open in alarm or horror.
They didn’t open the way our eyes normally do.
They opened the way they do when you’re afraid of what you might see.
*What is that noise? *
“Am I back?”
Not “awake”….”Am I back?”
I remember whispering that to myself, this morning; I laid there for a while, in the dimming light, only a small, gray sliver of sunbeam from the window to stare at.
This is what struck me a little later….
I had gotten up slowly, musing on how real the “episode” in my night terror had seemed and how much of it I seem to have remembered.
It wasn’t like your typical dream, or mine usually; running thru our fingers like water or sand as Dickinson would say.
*You can’t remember *
This time, this one was sticking in my mind….
I dressed slowly, I got up slowly, I moved slowly….
I was exhausted from the dream burden that I now carried in my heart and mind.
*It’s all your fault*
*It’s all in my head*
Later, as I walked up the echoing sidewalk toward the office under a cloudy, morning sky, I stopped.
Why did I whisper “Am I back” and not “Am I awake”?
Did I actually go somewhere else?
Did that mysterious part of my brain know something that I didn’t?
How else could I explain the sudden return from the undiscovered country of my mind, unless it has known how to get there and back in the first place; like it’s been there before, as if though it were a real place.
One thing was for sure…
I don’t wanna go back there.
*I do not control my mind*
*Depression is real*
The depressed place…
The really real, dude….
It is a dark place where you go to scratch at old wounds and make them bleed.
It is a place where you cannot cry;
…only watch and scratch….
It is the place where you talk only to yourself…but you never listen.
*I’m not crazy*
But, in whatever Gods infinite goodness may be, however you look at goodness;
…there was no running or screaming in the “place”, nothing chasing me, nothing breathing in the dark…..
The only monster there, was me.
*I am in the closet, watching*
This is the place we go to, to re-visit mistakes and regrets; as a restrained and gagged bystander we sit and stare; a silent witness to your own stupidity and ignorance; back in the day.
*We scratch and scratch… *
It is the place where you re-live your past and there is NOTHING THAT YOU CAN DO TO CHANGE ANY OF IT!
The only power you have is to toss your head in your sleep and moan “no….” “No….”
Or worse….stay awake.
*This part sucks*
You don’t gasp “wake up” because you don’t know that you’re asleep; you know…I know, that this is as real as it gets…
*Really real, dude*
In the awake place we can force ourselves to quit dwelling on the past, to get on with our lives, to quit “beating ourselves up”; we’re only human after all, we all make mistakes.
Not there; not in the undiscovered, dark continent of our minds.
The monster that is you sits across from you in a small room and begins to tell you a story…..
*Same old song and dance*
It is a long story, it is a true story.
….oh, so true….
*That’s what sucks the most*
“Am I back?”
You cannot protest, you cannot cover your ears, you cannot look away.
I have to look at myself, as I drone on….and on.
The worst part is, is that you are unable to believe the excuses you’ve made anymore…
You are older now, wiser; plus, you know you’re a lying bastard. You know your bullshit…
*Don’t fall for it*
Your monster that is you, knows that you’re a liar….
He knows how I can be….or was.
And he will never….EVER, let me forget.
But, you still try to soften the condemnations….
This isn’t really real, dude….is it?
“Am I back?”
When the monster that is you has finished with his tale, you just sit there, swathed in fresh guilt and regrets, all of the old wounds beginning to fester anew.
The fresh whip marks across your shoulders, face and back burn and gape.
No one can punish you with such ferocity and relentless spite and contempt, as can the very own monster that is you.
“Look what you’ve done” it
And I looked…..
I opened my eyes.
My eyes did not jerk open in alarm or horror.
They didn’t open the way eyes normally do.
They opened the way they do when you’re afraid of what you might see.
“Am I back?”
I’m sitting here in our break-room writing this. I am looking around at the vending machines, a gurgling coffee pot and occasionally glancing up at the humming lights. I’ll tap a key or two on my laptop as a new thought or memory about last night comes to me.
Is it normal to get over the age of 50 years old and become even more afraid of death?
Usually when we are about to reach the finish line we are ecstatic, proud of our achievement “I HAVE FINISHED THE RACE!!!”
Not now….now it’s just “FUCK”…..that was fast.
I don’t tell lies in my blog, at least that I am aware of, because I will honestly admit, I have told lies in the past that I was NOT aware of.
I call them “reflex lies” so as to avoid punishment, admission of guilt, criminal intent and/or divorce.
I can’t call them “little white lies” because in todays world I’ll be labeled a racist.
I’ll call them “PC” lies
My humble blog is the only thing in my life that I can honestly say I MUST keep real, at all cost!
I have lied to myself and others for way too long….
In this blog my words are real because they are not spoken…
Here it is…. In a nutshell.
I am headed to the age of 52 years old this September.
Fuck….that was fast.
I have never been a half century old before.
I am steadily and increasingly surprised and somewhat alarmed at times on the reflections of my life and the never ending contemplations of my mortality that I have, of late, been experiencing
I am scared…totally scared to death of death.
I am cautiously optimistic…that I might be the one man on earth that has the mutant ability to live forever.
….realistically, quantum mechanics type of pessimism, too, I’m afraid.
I am getting older much faster than I was when I was 21….
Do y’all feel that way too?
Shut up, millenials, you haven’t even began to fear life yet.
And hush old people! You don’t know my psyche! LOL!!!
I hurt in places where I never hurt before…especially in the chest area….and my legs.
I know it’s all in my head….
When I get really tired, I get slight head rushes and little stabbing pains everywhere.
Yes, I know y’all are diagnosing me. I already checked with WEBMD and found out I have Shingles, Herpes, Aspberger’s, a cold or rabies…..
I think it’s rabies, myself.
Oh….there is hair growing where hair shouldn’t be growing and it is wiry and gray; it smells weird, too.
The general consensus about my life, in my view and probaly lots of others feel the same way, is that I have wasted most of it.
Oh, sure… There have been good times, wonderful times….
Clapping and dancing and all that jazz.
But on the whole…?
I could have, should have been/done/lived, more.
Weird, how much we’re all alike.
I cheated myself because I took myself and everything around me for granted, it’s realy easy to do in America.
That’s what most of us do, we humans, on the most part, we take most of our lives and time on this earth for granted.
And we honestly don’t think we are. We don’t mean to….it’s just…you know…..gonna last forever.
That’s the crux of taking things for granted; we don’t think of it like that, we don’t think about it much at all until it’s gone.
We get so used to living we forget to “live”, pardon the pun that I’m sure is a pun.
Life is…supposed to happen.
Life here on the blue dot is supposed to have trials and triumphs I guess but, on the most part, our length of time nor quality of life thereof is promised.
Death is the only certainty, not taxes. I haven’t filed taxes for years and I’m still here! Ha Ha!
Death don’t work like that, but the hardest thing to actually believe is the only thing guaranteed; in life, during life, after life; once we start to breathe on our own, not even tomorrow is a surety or the next breath.
Oh, I’m not trying to be fatalistic. I’m really a pretty, positive person.
I’m here, I’m breathing, might as well do my best and hope I get to stay for a while, right?
I can’t dwell on the unfortunates of my life…it is a sin to kill yourself after all, according to most beliefs, and I would BLOW MY FREAKING BRAINS OUT if I let me dwell in self pity and regret.
Something else real quick, a snippet thought; I wasn’t concerned about my planet until everyone else started screaming “The sky is falling!” That can apply to a lot of areas.
Selfishly, I was only concerned about me… even when I was married and had kids.
They, it…. The whole damn thing, never seemed quite real.
I was there….. But, not there.
Now, I think about them all the time…. Kids, planet, homelessness, terrorists, cell phone charger…
I’m worried about life 51.2 years after I started it.
That’s the funny part… If it was funny.
You’re not laughing…..
Now shits gettin’ serious.
Fuck….that was fast.
NOW I’m concerned…
Good thing I’m a closet optimist with a bi-polar mind…
Keeps me in check, to a point. If not, I’ll get drunk, fall down and blame it all on God.
I will be writing and posting about my thoughts on becoming a “ancienter” (my new word) this week.
It will be my personal writers therapy, so to say…”
I don’t wanna bum anyone out and I don’t think it’s ALL that bad, really.
But this is why I blog; this is why I started this blog…
Too work thru my heart with words…and hope y’all, dear readers, help me out.
These words I can’t speak, only Imagine.
This post seems relevant today for some reason…and now, I’m done; for today.
I just made it back to my niece’s house in Tooele, Utah.
This is also in the same general area as the Tooele Chemical Agent Disposal Facility.
Now I know why her children are mutant hell spawn devil worshipers.
There must be some type of air contamination or ground water infiltration from the facility a few miles from the neighborhood.
That is the only excuse or theory that I can come up with to explain the little monsters that my niece Wendy Sue hatched, and has felt compelled, by an outside force she says, to feed and nurture these abominations in hopes of rechanneling their early deviance or preventing them from intermingling with the general population and spreading their perverse, murderous hunger for chicken nuggets and rice crispy squares.
Wendy Sue is our last line of defense against these bright, little sunshine rays of demon seed.
She should be worshipped.
Like, duck tape…
I tried to give her a medal once but her oldest son Brady ate it.
He likes to eat helpless things. Like….special needs children, old ladies, cub scouts and bacon.
He was the first hatchling of the litter. We try to keep him under the stairs and feed him with a sling shot due to the fact that he is not that pretty to look at and is kinda scary smelling when people are conscious.
I looked at him once and was in a coma for a month. I had to wear diapers and be fed chicken noodle soup and ground up Big Mac’s intravenously.
It was hell….a living hell…..
After the fateful day that Wendy Sue had been found; being kidnapped by an alien spacecraft she said, we had discovered to our horror, that she was impregnated with some type of extraterrestrial bacteria!
The selfies from her Facebook page that night showed a bar, her shirt over her head but, nothing that looked like aliens.
Unless, it was that Mexican dude in the lamp shade….
She had Brady first, Zach one week later, Cooper a week later and Madison 2 weeks later.
It takes longer to make a girl because of the boobs.
At least that’s what the alien instruction booklet said that came out at each hatching. Madison’s book was a little thicker because it had pictures and a warranty explaining most things, until she gets older and menopause sets in.
Then, evidently all bets are off…and nothing works right anymore.
The boy’s booklets only had coupons for Sonic hamburgers and free putt- putt golf.
There is also a nice little yo-yo that comes with each boy because their attention span is about as long as…..
What was I talking about…?
Oh…attention spans. Never mind….
Zach was actually found by railroad tracks eating spiders. It took them a while to chase him down because he ran on all fours and peed on everyone every time they tried to grab him.
His main source of nutrition is the gum and candy that is stuck on the bottom of church pews and restaurant tables.
He tried to eat a healthy salad once but he mutated into a type of cocoon and came out with wings in his butt and bumped his head every time he tried to fly.
There is nothing funnier than watching an unconscious person try to fly out of his butt.
It’s freaking hilarious!
When Cooper was hatched his egg was pink and green with little rabbits and birdies on the shell. When he actually hatched, there was some type of plastic grass in the shell with him and a little yellow Peep named Fred. It was kind of disturbing when Cooper ate Fred’s and then smoked the plastic grass.
He said his name was Mud, and he walked around, following little animals and we found him 2 days later; naked, singing on a windmill.
As he got bigger we noticed that he liked to hang out with stray dogs and cats.
We never thought that much about it until he came home one day with the stinkiest over-coat we had ever seen. He said it was a mink coat, but we have never seen mink with white spots, tabby stripes or cat hair.
Is a mink…a cat?
His eyes glaze and hands tremble every time he hears the phrase “Here Kitty Kitty”.
Never let your dog play fetch with Cooper. It’s a one way trip baby!
And he’s not even Chinese….
Madison has to have an exorcism every other week. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal but we are running out of good hiding places for all the dead priests.
They tend to burst into flames when they walk into her room. The last priest actually got the holy water out before Madi took it from him and turned it into strawberry milk.
She loves strawberry milk.
She has a weakness for goofy pajamas too. She used to have that one piece footie kind, but since her feet are so hairy and big we’ve had to cut the footie part off.
Brady ate the footie part….with bacon.
Well….this has been a post of me writing about my nephews and nieces while they have been sitting here watching me and giving me some sage advice which is greatly appreciated.
I told them to shut up and let the talented big sexy man work.
One day Wendy Sue and I will take them all for a nice car ride.