Hammer Time

If I wrote everything I felt, I would have a lot of explaining to do. Instead, I carefully choose my words. I try to stick to politics and social issues, but since real life is so firmly tied to those things, it all becomes political and social.

I've been in this weird mental space the past few days. Started with an e-mail. These words on the screen made me question a few things I was already questioning anyway. Ran these things by some people I trust (as I had been anyway). I don't think that's a bad thing, but it was a confusing thing. Heard a lot of truth. Heard a lot that made me unhappy. Heard a lot that made me think.

How unpleasant.

"Where do you see me in ten years?" I asked.

"Lonely."

That struck me. It wasn't exactly unexpected, though. It seemed to make sense. That word was followed by a lot of rational thinking. Thinking that startled me by how accurate it was.

I suppose if I wasn't so damn tired and in physical pain right now, I would make some observation and all would be well. I don't have it in me right now. I'm drained. Everything feels odd. Nothing feels quite right. It's not the best time to be making observations.

By now I should be asleep. I'm tired. I didn't get much sleep last night. Don't expect to get much tonight. Instead, I write because if I edit the manuscript I'm afraid I'll screw that up. I have the news on in the background. (Economy update coming up!) My back has a twitch in it that feels kind of new. It definitely doesn't feel good.

A commercial for Dr. Phil's show comes on. Dr. Phil. Now there's a guy I could hit with a hammer and feel damn good about it. Not once. Not twice. Three sharp blows right in the mouth. He's a smug cock of a man who tries to hold people accountable not for their own well being but for ratings. If he had an ounce of integrity he wouldn't do this in a public forum. He would do it behind closed doors (where that hammer could come out if he acted like he does on his show). I'm all for people being responsible. I am not into the idea of humilating them so you can raise the price of your ad space. He's a sideshow and far too many people are paying for admission.

I think of how Dr. Phil would deal with me. "You've got choices, boy! Make them! Stop dickering around and really think about how you deal with other people."

"Well, doc," I'd say. "I don't make emotional choices anymore. That doesn't work well for me. Instead, I kind of go the rational route. When you do that, you'd think things would be black and white, but there's a problem."

"And what would that be, boy?"

"People. People are far from black and white. They are these fucked up creatures -- can I say 'fucked up' on NBC? -- who have little agendas, who can't handle their own affairs, who lie to themselves every day. They make it so you can't deal in black and white because those colors don't exist there."

"Don't you lie to yourself every day, boy?"

"I do, doc. But I know I'm doing it, and I know why. I'm trying to keep my head about me, but I'll tell you what. You impress me. You try to get right to the heart of the matter."

"Why thank you."

And then I bring the hammer out. "Let's get to the heart. Let's get to the truth."

Whack. Whack. Whack. Audience is freaking. A woman passes out. Phil's got a few teeth in his hand. He's looking at his palm as if he can't believe this is really happening. "What the hell?" he asks. It sounds like "Whush da hellsh?"

"That's my truth. A hammer to the teeth. Ain't nothin' truer these days."

Who am I kidding, though? Dr. Phil is an adorable teddy bear. He's the kind of guy you cuddle up with and share a lollipop. He's rock solid.

Hey, thanks to everyone for the birthday videos, well-wishes, gifts and whatnot. Very kind of everyone, and don't think I don't appreciate it. I know I've been distant lately. I've had a lot on my mind. It's the holidays or something. Either way, I thank you. I know I don't always show it, but those of you who are my friends know I mean it.

Off to bed. I won't sleep. But I will think. Lord, will I think. My mind will race. I want this manuscript published.

Bernanke is on television getting grilled as to why he didn't do more. He should have. Could have. Frankly, our representatives shouldn't be asking him questions and telling him he needs to go back to Princeton. They need to do a pay-per-view special where one lucky lottery winner gets to eviscerate him and hang him by his own intestines.

That I would pay to watch. Hey, some people like wrestling. Some like romantic comedies. I like televised executions of public figures who fell asleep at the wheel ... or in Bernanke's case -- looked the other way.

The only thing this guy should be in charge of is picking up his teeth.

Hammer time.

A Clear, Expansive Sky

Black Friday. Woke up knowing the day would be a turning point of one sort or another. The question was asked of me last night. How long can I separate things in my mind before it becomes a problem. I said forever. For a guy who no longer makes decisions based on emotion, this seems like a plausible answer.

I put up my Christmas tree today. I only did it for my daughter because that's the only reason for me to celebrate the holiday. I sat on the floor surrounded by memories of the past. Plenty of ornaments marking her first, second and third year. Plenty of ornaments marking different times in my life. Times I'll never get back. Times I'm not sure I ever really knew what they meant.

My daughter, the one thing I do get emotional about because that is my job as a parent, was having a ball decorating the tree. Eventually I stopped doing it and sat back and watched her. She put ornaments together to make a scene. That made me smile because I do the same thing. She is my child. It's all right there. The hair, the mannerisms, the sense of humor.

And all those pieces of memories disappeared, and I now had a bunch of new ones. Good ones. Ones that wouldn't be yanked away like a dog running to the end of its chain. I took pictures of her in front of the tree. She posed in various ways, always the ham. She told me it was the most beautiful tree she had ever seen, and I told her it was because she decorated it.

Tomorrow is my birthday. My daughter will be with me, so that will be good. My friends and family care more about it than I do. Like I said at work the other day. Yeah, it's great. Let's all celebrate that my parents fucked. That's what it boils down to. I didn't ask to be born. I didn't ask to be put upon this Earth and be a hard companion of misery. These things were thrust upon me, and I don't claim them as my own.

My daughter is excited about it, though. She loves the idea of my birthday. That makes that okay. That makes me feel more human. It makes me think that if I bring her that much joy, I can't be all that bad. The mirror must be a bit of a liar. But just a bit.

The apparent female version of me (or, in order to be fair, I'm the male version of her), is off dealing with family over this vacation stretch. Dealing with family is like robbing graves. You dig into the mold and dirt, unearth treasures both forgotten and previously unknown, but when it comes down to it, you are desecrating the dead. You are delving into things not meant to be explored. You are in uncomfortable surroundings and you have to be on high alert lest you be caught. She deserves to be away from here, but she shouldn't be forced to rob graves.

Her sense of betrayal over what happened at work is like mine. Maybe not the same, but close enough. When I explained to a dear friend why I felt the way I did, she said, "Things happen for a reason." They do, and what happened wasn't my fault, but I knew when it happened that my co-worker's life was about to become very screwed up. It wasn't a pleasant thing to feel or live with. Still isn't, but I've distanced myself. The betrayal remains. The feelings are slowly fading.

My discussions with my friends (one in particular) as of late have been eye opening, to say the last. For once I'm pretty sure the observations made aren't way off base, and I wonder what that says about me. I tell my friends not to worry, but I know they do. I tell my friends I'll be fine, and I will be. The unspoken question remains, however: You'll be fine, but at what price?

There's more I want to say. Plenty, actually. But, as long time readers know, this blog ain't the venue for it. I've already gotten personal enough on here today. People either love the personal or hate it. Me? I feel like I'm poking a corpse, and I'm tired of it for the obvious reasons.

This is also the month my father died.

Talked about GG Allin last night. He's dead, too.

In about eighteen minutes I'll be another year older. One step closer to death. Maybe next year I'll have all this figured out.

But I doubt it.

Cut Wide and Deep

I have this sense that there is a change coming. I can't put my finger on it, but I don't think it's a good change. I sense people are withdrawing deeper inside themselves (a bad place to be, but truly the only safe place). I feel like the storm that was supposed to rock the Northcoast actually found sanctuary in some people I know instead. It remains there, brewing. Building. Festering like a pus-filled wound.

The Dead Kennedys have a song called "Cesspools in Eden." There's a line that says (and I'm paraphrasing ... maybe), "Come lick the pus from my open sores." I've always found that to be an image that is equal parts disgusting and erotic.

As a species, we share fluids to reproduce. We spread disease the same way. You got to wonder if maybe those things are one in the same.

While at work today I dealt with three decidedly insane people. Like drooling insane (there's the fluids again). I started to wonder how fine a line there was between "us" and "them." I think it is a lot thinner than any of us will admit to. When it comes to my friends, I think some of them are at a breaking point. It worries me. I don't want to end up running with the black dog, so to speak.

People have different ways of dealing with all this. Some withdraw deeper inside themselves. Others lash out. It takes a truly touched and special individual to be able to ignore all the insanity around them. Most of us try to get through our day without letting it touch us, without taking in any of the fluids. We know it doesn't always work, but we try. We know some gets in, but we try. We just do our best to make sure the levels don't get too high. We try to stop before we hit the pus, so to speak.

But what can we do?

To be human is, quite simply, to suffer. We learn very early on that life is a series of disappointments offset by occasional bursts of joy. Most times we just hope to be content. We hope for a moment's peace and ask nothing more from it lest we jinx it. The realist knows that we are surrounded by fools, and that can't be ignored.

If you ever wondered about our sanity ... we live in a world where Medicare recipients demand that government get its hands out of health care. We live in a world when men with cameras follow around Paris Hilton, thus ensuring that more men with cameras have to follow her around so that nobody is scooped. We live in a world where people who get their drugs ripped off call the police to report a robbery. We live in a world that is more content with watching people "surviving" on a island somewhere than it is with actually knowing the members of the Supreme Court.

If you aren't crazy now, you aren't paying attention

I worry if I'm doing enough for my friends. I worry about what I can say. What I can do. I know, however, that I can't do much of anything when someone is drowing in a flood of misery. But even I could do something, I wonder if they would want it done.

Misery doesn't love company ... but it's not picky when it comes to its friends. I hope you guys are okay (and you know if this refers to you). If not, I'm willing to listen. Just don't expect me to suckle at your sores.

The Happiest Place on Fucking Earth

Big Pete's in Eureka was filled with cheering football (the American football, not "soccer") fans who were absorbed in multiple screens of pigskin madness. It was enough to make a sane man drink.

Met a friend whom I haven't been able to talk to in a while, and talk we did. Got filled in on her life, her new beau (congrats!), the pain, the misery, and so on. She asked me questions on what kind of shit I've been taking. I answered. It was a nice, long lunch, and I left the pizza place happy that she seemed okay. I can't go into all the stuff, but with all that is going on, "okay" seems like it's one place it would be very hard to be. I admire people who can face the shit head on instead of either blaming the world or withdrawing deeper inside (which I am very guilty of). I admire that bravery. I envy it. In turn, I start to despise myself because of it. Knives are sharp, and I see the fascination...

I got into my car after our discussion. It was warm. Very warm. Eureka is experiencing a heat wave. Supposed to be seventy today. That's suicide weather. The first song I hear in my car? The definition of irony. I kid you not. This is what I heard.


I hate the world that I think hates me
Punch holes in the wall you know that hurts me
Feel dark and cold and alone it burns me
Wish someone would come and touch me
Walking alone in the prison yard
Seeing eyes that seem to see me so hard
Crawling like a snake right back into my room
Feeling like a dead man rolling around in my tomb
There's nothing like finding someone when you're lonely
To make you want to be all alone
There's nothing like finding someone when you're lonely
Makes you feel so...
Walk in to a crowded room I start to freeze
Words fall short mouth turns to wood it's time to leave
Never happy, never sad, iron face
Can't stop looking I keep walking place to place
There's nothing like finding someone when you're lonely
To make you want to be all alone
There's nothing like finding someone when you're lonely
Makes you feel so...
Aww, yeah!
Hearing those sounds that seem to keep me sane
Knifing eyes that point me at my brain
Reaching out my mind it's useless
Reaching out my soul, it's senseless
I feel the mute frustration when I see your eyes
I'm inches away, but in isolation, it hurts to try
Reach out my hand - it turns to stone
I get up, walk out the door, I'm better off alone
Theres nothing like finding someone when you're lonely
To make you want to be all alone

Rollins Band Lonely

Seriously? How does that work? God? Karma? Craziness? Unbelievable. A week of shit, and this. Sometimes you can only shake your head in total frustration.

Last night I hung out with my daughter's vice parent, the tattoo artist/piercer John Lopez (who did my wonderful teeth bracelet), and his daughter (I don't name kids here). John and I are like brothers. We clicked well together the instant we met, and we can go years without talking to each other and have no awkward moments. Last night we talked politics, life, tattoos, and so on. Great stuff. The girls played long and hard, eventually trying to crash together on the floor while the Disney Channel did its best to brainwash us. I love those conversations. I love being engaged. I love "talking shop," and I miss the days I worked with him. We had good times, and good talks.

Past two days has been good talks, and has really gotten me thinking. Time to make sushi, though. Don't want to disrupt the flow of the universe.

Preventative Maintenance

I've always been withdrawn. People who know me well think it's ironic that I can be so at ease with people and charming, yet hate them so much. (I wonder how many serial killers have had the same things said about them?) Part of the truth is that what I hate in them I hate in myself and by isolating myself, I shield myself from that which pains me.

A male friend (lately I seem to have more female friends than male ones because, as I was told, I'm getting a little too deep for those sporting a penis) today told me I was inconsiderate, mean-spirited and I "refuse to hang out." I countered by saying I was honest and rarely hang out because I spend all my free time (of which there is very little) writing. In fact, on those rare occasions I do go out I feel guilty as hell because every second I'm out is a second I'm not honing my craft and getting one step closer to being able to leave my job for a life of travel, book signings and royalty checks (and perhaps the odd movie deal).

I have no illusions about the perceptions people have of me. I've been dealing with it since high school. Didn't care then. Care less even now. I made up my mind about people quite some time ago, and if anything I think my views have even more validity now. Many of the things people think of me are true. Many are not. I can't control their thoughts and ideas, and I don't care to try. But what I don't think I ever covered is why I choose to have friends in the first place.

Here's the deal: If I'm friends with you it's because I think you have something to offer. I think I can benefit from my association with you. I think you can either make me think, make me laugh or be a kind ear to bounce ideas off. Few of my friends are just like me. I already know myself. I don't need to be surrounded by mirrors. One thing my friends have in common is there is something in each and every one that I think makes them unique. Most of them have shared things with me they've shared with few, if any people. I don't spread it around, and I think they appreciate that. I think some of the things I know would blow some minds.

And now my thoughts on what a waste most people are is only becoming stronger. I find the human race, as a whole (and this is obviously speaking in general terms as you have to do when painting with a broad brush), composed of pathetic people who refuse to take responsibility for their actions. People who lie to themselves and others. People who are saved from their own stupidity to the detriment of us all.

It's been said that justice is when stupid people are made to feel the ramifications of their actions. As a society we have taken responsibility away from people and they have acted in kind. If you don't have to be responsible, you won't be. These people then become the problem of those of us who refuse to let society take away our individuality, strength and will. These people, the ones who aren't made to be responsible for their actions, sicken me. They aren't worth saving. They aren't worth helping. They aren't worth a glance in the street. I won't go out of my way to harm them, but I'll be damned if I'll enable them.

I remember being in school and seeing a guy in a wheelchair give a speech about how lucky he was. He was driving drunk and killed his best friend, but he made it out alive. Crippled, but alive. I remember thinking of how much of a prick I thought he was. He caused all kinds of chaos in innocent people's lives, and now he was giving speeches to school kids, telling them not to drive drunk. As if he was any real sort of example. He got to live. Yeah, he may be confined to a wheelchair, but was his friend going to get to see the latest summer blockbuster or eat a hamburger again? No. I wondered why I would ever take this jackass' advice in the first place. Because now he was sorry? Why wasn't he thinking of this shit before he got behind the wheel? Reason: Why would he? The world is full of people like this, and far too many of them get to wheel away. If there had been justice in the world, the father of the dead kid would have put a bullet in the back of the head of the moron who couldn't handle his beer.

And that isn't done often enough.

Think about how often your day is ruined by some dick who thinks that not only does the world revolve around him, but that he is the only person in the world. The guy on the cell phone holding up the line and when you say something he gives you a look. The guy who breaks into people's homes for stuff to steal in order to be able to get his next fix and then cries "addiction" when caught. The woman who cuts you off and just smiles, oblivious to the fact that your heart is pounding in your chest and your kid is complaining that he was almost killed.

We've all been those people at one time or another, but here's the rub. The good ones feel bad about it and try to avoid doing it again. The bad ones never see what's wrong with it in the first place.

I gave up on the human race a long time ago. I wrote it off and closed the book on it. I don't make any bones about it, and I don't fake sympathy. I still have empathy and feel compassion, but I'm careful of who gets that.

If you travel around Eureka, California, you'll sometimes see a homeless lady. She has a sign. Totally pitiful. It says, "Will take verbal abuse for money." It's pathetic on many different levels. Pathetic that she would let people do that to her. Pathetic of her to think she won't take the abuse for free. When you set yourself up for that, you get it whether you want it or not. I don't feel compassion for that person who would sublet her soul that easily. I understand that people have to do what they have to do for money, but I think you have to draw the line when you start to debase yourself. You have to ask yourself if .53 cents is worth it.

One morning, in Old Town (again, Eureka) I spied a drunk urinating on the side of my building. He couldn't stand still. It wasn't even eleven a.m.. I berated him. Called him a human pig, told him I was sick of people like him pissing where I live. Said I was tempted to grab a bottle, break it and plunge the sharp end into his neck. All he could do was look at me with his bleary eyes. Here I was calling him a pig, and he was too gone to do anything about it. He could've been a victim had I so chosen that fate for him, and I'm just as sure he couldn't do anything about that, either.

I witnessed a car accident caused by kids who blew past me without a car in the world. They were driving recklessly. Not paying attention. Ahead of me they lose control and hit a pole. They hit it damn hard. Hard enough to deploy the air bag and stop that constant motion of teenage energy. Never called 9-1-1. Drove right by. Didn't care if they were bleeding to death. I didn't put them into the pole. Honestly didn't even think they would end up that way. But at that point I had a choice. I could call an ambulance so they could make sure these kids who blew by just moments earlier, screaming and driving like lunatics, would be all right. Or I could let nature take its course. That's what I chose. Right or wrong, this is how you learn. Sometimes you don't get second chances. Sometimes the guy you almost drive off the side of the road is the only guy who can save you. Who says he has to?

I'm not without feelings. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love my daughter and care about my friends. I strive to be fair, and I try to be compassionate. I just don't have it in me to be anything less than totally open with people anymore, and this is starting to bug them. Believe it or not, I've been pretty guarded with most people. Not so much now, and it is starting to freak some people out. I understand. I'd be freaked too if a person I was friends with was now telling me he thought I skated through life and would never make my mark on the world. That in the end I'd be forgotten. Another nameless cog in a nameless machine. I would contribute little to the world around me because I had nothing to contribute. Yeah, that would freak me out and hurt me.

But if you fear truth, why ask the questions in the first place.

I never claimed to be an ignorant person who would just let anything fly. I've always been open about my misanthropy and my capacity for violence. I've always tried to treat people the way I've wanted to be treated, and take myself to task when I fail. I beat myself up over every bad move and wrong decision I've ever made, and people who know me well know that is true.

I just don't care how my friends react to it anymore.

I won't apologize for wanting more out of my life. For wanting to make my mark. I won't apologize for thinking people should be free and be responsible for their actions. I will apologize, however, for thinking people would eventually understand.

I want my girl to grow up in a world where people are held accountable. I want her to see that those who make stupid choices are made to pay for their actions. As of now, though, I have to teach her that not only does she have to take responsibility for her actions, but she has to be alert for those who don't because they don't learn. They make the same mistakes again and again, and sometimes you are on the wrong end of that.

This was a lot of venting, but it is needed, as I've had far too many people attempt to take me to task these last few weeks for perceived transgressions against the status quo. Today was the last straw for that. Honesty should not be called anything other than what it is. One should not be made to feel guilty because they won't waste time. Time is the one thing I can never get back. If I could sue for lost time, I would. Every minute wasted is one I will never see again. It's why I don't watch crap movies, and it's why I don't "hang out" very often.

I've made mistakes in the past, and I will continue to make them. I won't, however, be played and manipulated. What you see is what you get. Don't guilt me into acting the way you think I should act. Don't ask for honesty and balk when you get it. And don't, whatever you fucking do, expect me to be as weak-willed as you. I don't look for your acceptance, and I don't need it. The only person whose opinion of me I really care about is my daughter. She did not ask to be brought into this world. She did not ask to have me as a father. Because I chose to bring her into this cesspool of humanity we all share responsibility for, I have to make sure I am doing right by her. And if I'm serious about that (and I am very serious about that), her opinions and thoughts about me give me a good indication of how decent a job I am doing. Everyone else is free to go if they please.

I told my friend I wasn't put on this planet to hold his hand and ensure him that the world was an all right place. I told him he needed to act like a man and stop fucking crying about the fact that I'm honest.

Cruel? Yes. Honest? Yes. I've got a hard enough time dealing with my own demons, though (as any self-respecting human should be doing), and don't have time for his. If he didn't want to hear what I had to say, he should've kept his damn mouth shut.

You know who you are, man. You read this and never comment in the open. Just text messages and little jabs in person. I could name you, let people know your real feelings on some mutual friends, really go into some depth on what I see as your problems. Problems you admit to, but only to a point.

But what I said in the opening paragraph remains true. The things I hate in you are in me, too. And like Nietzsche says, when you fight monsters you have to watch you don't become the thing you hate. The difference between you and I? I'm not afraid to confront them and understand why they are there and what their purpose is.

You? You'd rather ignore them and get upset when they are pointed out to you. The biggest difference between us, though?

You believe your misconceptions are truth. I believe your truths are misconceptions. You believe you are right. Me? I don't care. I only want the truth and have no stake in being right or wrong because truth can't be denied. Truth knows no sides.

Truth should always be your companion. Honesty should always be by your side. If you have those, the rest follows. Heed my advice, though. Dole them out in small doses.

Some folks just can't handle them.

Hints Of Instability

Lately a lot of my friends have been having "troubles." I could rattle off a list of them (and before you think my use of quotes means I don't think they are troubles, read on), but people may be able to identify each other from them. Let's just say they aren't pretty in any way shape or form.

Most of these "troubles," however, don't originate from my friends. They come from/are caused by outside sources. Words. Actions Inactions. It all comes down to people pushing the right buttons at the wrong times to get negative reactions. Most of these morons who are fast and loose with their words and actions are men.

My thoughts on the gender that masturbates without the use of a shower head are fairly well documented. I don't think highly of us. In fact, I find men to be weak, self-centered pricks who often don't think about, let alone see, the damage they do.

Even my desire to do away with these people is nothing more than an erection with purpose.

Most of my friends who have been having troubles are women. I'm friends with more women than men (good friends, I mean), and this upsets me.

Why you women continue to screw us is beyond me. Why you don't call us on this shit more often is a mystery. Why you continue to let it happen is ... understandable. Hell, if it happens enough you eventually come to the realization that most men are idiots and you'll never change that lovable part of our genetic makeup, so why bother.

Me? I'm done with it. These guys, the ones who pull this crap, need to grow up or keep their cockholes shut. It's pretty simple really. Smile. Nod. And don't open your mouth unless you damn well have something substantial to add to the conversation.

On an unrelated note, I'm juggling with the prospect of self-publishing. I need money for my trip, my PA, a tattoo, a television and to survive on. Publishers aren't exactly beating down my door, and I come from a punk rock DIY background, so why not? Plus, if a self-published book (say through Cafe Press) does well enough, I can take those numbers to a publisher.

Any thoughts on this? I'm curious to hear them ... unless you are one of those guys I mentioned at the beginning. If that's the case, just smile, nod, and go on your merry way.

Choke

So, not only is work insane (and by insane I mean ab-so-lute-ly fucking bugshit, eyes crossed, tongue out, drooling nuts), but I heard something today about a friend that I didn't like hearing. Now, the first person I heard it from is one of the cross-eyed lunatics. About half of what comes out this person's cockhole goes in one ear and out the other. That's what you do with crazy. You nod and hope it goes away. The other name involved surprised me. Expected better, I did. Didn't get it. (And if you think this has to do with people at work, you may want to think again. I have a life outside of that concentration camp in the guise of a place of aid.)

Now, I felt no need to tell cross-eyed that the words spewing forth were nuts. To me, that says I feel some respect for the words. I didn't. I only defend people from people I or they respect. Why bother with the others? You won't change their mind. They won't see your point of view. It's a wasted effort. Again, you just nod and hope it goes away. It wasn't true. It doesn't matter. But it still bugged me.

It didn't bug me because it's true (it's not). It didn't bug me because they were right (they aren't). It didn't bug me because it's the same old shit (it is). It bugged me because some people never grow out of high school no matter how old they are. It bugged me because some people stick their nose where it doesn't belong. It bugged me because people you think are nice and reasonable are no different than the rest of the swine.

And today was a bad day for this. Emergency problems. Case problems. Client problems. And then stupidity. I had no real reaction. Sometimes that's the best policy. But I dwelled on it. I started to think of another friend there who told me how his/her friends dwindled in numbers and how decisions made in the past have screwed up his/her future.

And I thought some more.

I thought of high school, rumors, drama, backstabbing, two-faced shit talkers, busy bodies. Morally bankrupt, socially retarded bottom dwellers.

It wasn't just this one thing. It was everything. This was the straw. This was the choke point. I took a good long look in the mirror in the bathroom. Water from the sink was dripping down my face. Stress was at a high. Should I call shit as I see it and start all kinds of problems, problems that wouldn't be visited upon me but on others? Casualities? Should I do that? Should I stick true to my values and say that if it comes from crazy it doesn't need to be addressed? Then I came up with another alternative.

I'll just kill them.

There are quite a few people in this world I would let die if I came upon them at the scene of an accident. I'll admit I don't care about that them much. But what if I looked upon them as enemies and destroyed them?

Nah, that's just as bug-eyed.

But I could promote it. Try to push things in a certain direction. Start the ball rolling. Get the show on the road. Manipulate. Influence. Create situations where you can kind of guess the outcome.

I think that could work. Alleviate the pressure. I know you get rid of some insanity and more fills the void, but why not work on getting rid of that, too?

Some people need to disappear for the better of humanity. I know I shouldn't judge, but if not me, who?

Here's to your destruction. God, I hope your respective families get a call that they found you all dead of shotgun blasts in some nameless gutter on a dead-end street. You deserve it ... more than you'll ever know.

Joaquin Phoenix

I'm watching him (I may not have spelled his name right) on David Letterman. I have heard the press about him being nervous in interviews, but this is uncomfortable. He is super fucking nervous. He won't talk. He is unresponsive. Full beard. Hair going into dreads. Letterman is starting to get a bit perturbed. Phoenix is not exactly amusing or a good interview. He appears to be drugged, but I don't think so. It seems like he'd rather be anywhere but there. Letterman is pushing him on his retirement from acting. He does not want to talk about this. He is questioning the audience. I'm sure you can find a clip online.

I think I understand.

I don't like performing on demand, like a well-trained monkey. I don't appreciate it, and I am uncomfortable when put out in the public eye. I don't like simplistic questions. I don't like the trivial. I don't like putting on their show. I'd rather retreat. I have retreated. I've closed off because some people I thought could understand may have twisted things. I can count on one hand those who haven't. You all know who you are because I continue to have good discussions with you folks.

When the fallout of my life has finally settled, things will be different. Some will be surprised. Some won't. I don't think I care. I know what will make me happy, and while it won't be easy. It will be right. No doubt in my mind about that. None at all. There will be those who question my decisions. So be it.

I'm not here to perform on cue. I'm not here to make you comfortable. I'm here to finish a story, and that's what I'm going to do. Happy ending? Some people won't think so. Me? I know so.

I know so.

Goodbye To The Summer

That title is a line from a Chumbawamba song. Say what you will about the band (and plenty have), I respect it and its message.

I've always been a Fall kind of guy myself. I like the idea of everything dying.

There are a lot of things swirling around in my head these days. Most of them good. I've gone into a bit of an exile because I need to clear my head. The tough decision I need to come to terms with may have been made for me (not that I agree with that yet and not sure I ever will). It's not that I'm afraid of change (especially when change is good). I'm afraid of fallout.

And then I realized I shouldn't be.

Every decision has actions that are foreseen and unforeseen. What is absolutely certain, however, is not acting can have some very hard ramifications that may never be overcome. When I was told of what the decision should be, the logical side said it was right. The emotional side got scared. I felt like I was falling asleep at the wheel, but the vehicle was on autopilot and in very safe hands.

Somewhere down the road things will be very different, very good. I think the writing is on the wall, and I can't wash it off because it speaks truth like a Dada slogan. I know what people will think, as many have already spoken. I know what will be said, because it is already being said. But here's the facts: You don't know shit about the reality of the situation at hand.

That's it. People speaking about what they think they know is far different than speaking of what they know. I appreciate the help, but I don't appreciate having my words shoveled into the dustbin of history.

The cards have spoken. What is right is right. What is inevitable is inevitable, and it is all very, very good. I don't expect the world to understand or agree. I don't care, though.

There is a reason for the exile. Now there is a reason for the return.

Mind The Animals

I have good friends. Friends I can count on. Friends I can depend on. Not all of them, but enough that it makes all the shit a little easier to swallow. I fear I lost one, or am losing one. For a guy who doesn't have a lot of friends to begin with, that makes things kind of scary.

When do you give up, though? When do you stop trying? When do you just unlock the cage and let the tigers eat you? I don't know, but I think I got a little closer to the answer today.

Three good talks with three good friends. Friends who I am sure are tired of listening, but do it anyway. Things were put into perspective. Ducks laid out. But when the talking stops, the empty starts to creep in. It's uncomfortable.

I remain ... unsettled.

Life Will Not Break Your Heart

It will crush it. That's a quote from the Rollins Band. You may know Henry Rollins from Black Flag (where I was introduced to him), the television show or countless spoken word tours. It's a good quote. Very true. It will crush it. Without mercy. Without pity. Without warning.

But what happens when you decide to fight back? You know, dig your heels in and start giving back a little? Twisting the screws? Grabbing it by its neck and putting the shotgun to its head? "Who is crazy now, fucker?" you ask.

I don't like being lied to by "friends." Here's another great Rollins quote. I may have left out a word or two. "I don't know you/I know my enemies/They speak the truth to me with honest eyes/They hate my guts/But at least it's the truth/I trust them just as far as I can throw them off a roof." Very true. Friends, like women, can get under your skin. They can hit where it hurts, and you rarely see it coming. Friends can do damage.

I have someone I consider a friend. He sometimes makes bad choices. Is self-destructive without the use of alcohol and drugs (which makes it worse almost), and has managed to burn bridges in such a way that would make an army proud. Yet, I'm starting to understand that more and more everyday. He hasn't done it to me. I don't know why. Perhaps because I've always been honest with him. But he's poison to quite a few people. I'm starting to wonder why? Is it because he manages to hurt before he gets hurt? Does he see where the shit is headed and decides he's going to just cut to the chase? Yeah, I'm starting to get it. I'm just surprised it took me so long.

I have a small group of people I've let into my life. I'm like that because I'm private. I don't share with people one on one (this is somehow different, though so very public). I don't bring them into my home. I don't let things get deep. It's because it's usually a waste of time. But when I do open up, I do it with people I trust. People I don't think will use that information to hurt me.

That's changed, and by God I won't let that happen again. See, I'm starting to get mad, and that isn't good for anyone.

"My war/You're one of them/You say/That you're my friend/But you're one of them" Again with Rollins.

I don't like being lied to, jerked around, and ignored. I don't like feeling little. I don't like this from the people outside my sphere. When it comes from the inside -- that's murder.

I salute you, my friend. Really. Truly. Honestly. You have a lot to be angry about in your life. You had a great relationship with a great girl, and you blew it. That hurts like hell, but I understand more now than before. I can see why you did what you did when you did it. You were protecting yourself, punishing yourself and you did it before anyone else could. Some people will never see the strength that takes, the devotion. You will spite yourself to save yourself, and it makes total sense. Why give someone the chance to surprise you? Why not yank the rug out from under them?

When your friends get close, you have to watch them closely. Caesar learned that the hard way. When a friend was something more, it complicates matters even worse. Given the chance, I would have done things a whole lot differently.

I wouldn't have done them at all.

And that is the most painful thought to harbor.

I wouldn't have done them at all.

I would've walked away.

I would've turned away.

I would've never considered the idea.

The pain wasn't worth it, and never will be. It's leaving me now, and that feels good. I just wonder what's going to be put in its place. I think I know. I think I have a real good idea. I think before the year is through, a little bit of evil is going to slip out ... and I don't care to hold it back anymore.

God, a Coke sounds good right about now.

Knew A Girl Named ...

... and she is going to hate me for that title.

In my darkest hour, at the last day of the month, an act of fate made me think to call her. I've known her since she was 14. We have had quite a past. But I called. I wanted to let her know my situation and see what she thought of it. After all, I had all these people telling me that I needed to be alone, and that they were worried about me. But what about someone who knew me at some dark times? What would she think?

That phone call set something off.

I found out in a brief period of time that her life had taken some turns, and that she and I seemed to be swimming in the same shit pool. After a few years of being out of touch, it took all of 2.378 seconds to feel like it was yesterday. And that's okay.

I'm thanking her here because I know she reads this. She's grown both mentally and physically (a whole inch, making her like 3'2"). She's become harder, meaner, and blunter, but that's what happens when life has its way with you. There's still that old girl (now a woman) I knew in there, but it is tempered with experience.

Funny how that works out.

What she let me know, though, is that I'm okay in ways I haven't thought of. Lately it seems like I can count on one hand the number of people I think actually give a fuck, and then on a few fingers the number I think actually understand. These people haven't known me for 20 plus years, though. She has. And when I told her my greatest fear was that I was going to die alone like my father, she said something so simple, so basic, that it changed everything.

We vowed not to break contact now. That's important to me because I'm losing friends fast. Never thought I would care, but I think some are getting scared. I know I am ... was ... whatever.

There's another person I want to thank, too, who isn't in the same boat, but is in the same ocean, and she has known me for a few years. Her and I have talked much about what being alone means and how harmful it can be. She's helped me out, too. I don't write about her because she'll kill me, and she'll kill me for this, but I need to say it. (You know who you are.) Too many people know who she is, and while I expect a blade lodged between two ribs later this week, I want to give her some public thanks.

So, you two nameless females who have heard all my shit. You have both helped in some wonderful ways. And for the girl who had a Prince song attached to her name, you don't know how much your words meant. The people who know me now only know the Doug they've seen the past few years. You knew me at the worst of the worst. You've seen me deconstruct. You know how bad that can get. You stuck by me throughout that. The fact that you still said what you said sets the world right. Thank you. This shit pool got a little smaller. I think it's time we all leave it and let the others drown. After all, they don't even realize they are in it.