Friday, January 5, 2018

Our Father (you've been warned)

"The Profiteer

With conquest long beneath the ground,
Your likeness is a poverty of emancipation,
With glory before freedom.
Your purchase washes liberty
With the tarnished blood incision,
Where earth might struggle with pride."

Dear Father,

Just thought I'd shoot you a letter...let you know how school's been doing.  I don't like it much.  It seemed like a good idea when we all made plans, but if I'd had any clue it would be like this? I'da passed. Big time.

So far I've learned how to be homeless as young person. I learned how to be homeless as an older person too.  It's not fun crawling out of the van you live in to walk into Wal Mart and take a whore bath and then don my blue vest and work as a cashier there.  Not at the age of 40.  When I was 19, it was an adventure.  Remember when I told you about  parking the car at Circus Circus in Las Vegas? Yeah...we had blankets up in the windows to block out the desert sun and I played electronic football.  People passing by looked at us pretty weird. We just laughed. That's actually a good memory.

I learned how to be a drug addict. I learned how to be paranoid and stand in the door way with mistrustful eyes and my hand on the shotgun, ready to shoot people for the imagined threats they posed.  Or was all that imagined? I don't know.  Those were weird days and I still wonder about a great many things.

I learned how to recover from addiction too.  That was almost as much of a bitch as being an addict.  Oh! Oh! I learned this neat little acronym from the 12-Step groups: S.O.B.E.R.  It stands for: Son Ofa Bitch, Everythings Real. Pretty nifty, huh?

I also learned, thanks to church, to turn the other cheek.  I did this on a fairly regular basis at school.  I remember the time when some kids followed me home.  They used a stick to scoop a dog turd into tin can and toss it at me.  I didn't cry.  I didn't run. I walked.  And held my head up and didn't look to the left or to the right.  That might  have been bearable if home had been sanctuary.  But it wasn't.

Oh, I'm no saint. Don't get me wrong.  I thought all my endurance of that stuff was for 'righteousness sake'.  But it wasn't.  It was just a series of days in the life of.  It could have been the life of any other number of kids. Oh. And it is. It's going on allll the time. In turn, I beat my sisters, tormented them, scared them and probably scarred them as well. It's what I learned to do.

Speaking of school, dear Father, let me ask you a question: All those poor starving kids in Africa and other undeveloped countries: What are they here to learn? How to swell up and explode?

It's been 2000 years since older brother came down to teach people.  I don't meet many people who've learned much from him.  A glance around the world tells me that much.  Two words, Dad: Epic Fail. Yeah.  Oh, older brother did good.  But let me ask you about that part where he asks you, "Father, Father, why hast thou forsaken me?" Well, what about that, old man?  At this 'resurrection' why didn't any of his disciples recognize him by his body?  They all thought he was the gardener!  So, who's body was it?  And what happened to the body he was born with? Where'd it go, Dad?  Where'd big brother go? Pretty hinky if you ask me.

When I think about it, I get this haunting feeling of deja vu.  I look up at the stars and I know that my older brother isn't there.  I think if I look down at the ground, I'd be closer to the mark.  You know...the law of Moses say's a Life for a Life. could one mans life equal more than just one life?  What about everyone else?  I don't know, but I have a pretty good idea.  I think when a person dies, they can't ever have their original body back.  But a body could be any number of things, right?  After all, a body is just a system. A system of organs, bones, muscles, nerves and blood.  Science, clever thing that it is, has taught me a great many things such as how self-similar everything works. Circles within circles within circles. A regular clockwork.  Nice, well-oiled machine. Just like my body. A body can be any system.  But tell me...who'd volunteer to be a bolt in the machine? Or a nut or a screw?  Or a beam? Sheep.  Nice, frightened, obedient sheep.

But you know.....for a long time I've been wanting to come back home.  And I wonder why.  I don't remember a goddamn thing.  And all that aside, aren't kids supposed to leave the nest?  Sorry pop, but I don't want to be the 40 year old virgin living in the basement with smelly linens, 2 day old pizza and empty soda cans next to my computer.

Just call me Noah's Dove.  Just call me your wandering, backsliding daughter.  Or Son of Perdition if you like.  Maybe I'll wander about looking for the Nazarene.  The one that got left behind to rot in hell for the last two thousand years.  Heh... a thousand years for a day, right?  By God reckoning? Nothing is ever the way it seems.  Well, he rose on the third day, right? It's been two one thousand year days now.  But that's a mysterious work, ain't it?  Soooo then...yeah.  The one who treads the wine-press alone.  He aught to be good and insane by now.  I wonder how it felt. I really do.  Did it feel like two days human reckoning? Or...or...did it feel like two days....your...reckoning?  Yes.  That would do the trick.  That would drive anyone insane.

He's wherever I walk you know.  A closer walk.

Here's my key, Dad.  I know you have  mansions and whatnot, but I love these poor slobs down here.  I love how they keep trying no matter how hard life gets.  As long as there are poor and suffering, I'll stay your ever-wandering and backsliding daughter.  Keep the fancy mansion and promises. And find someone else to play your game.  I'm done with it.  I'll just go on sinning and loving, although not necessarily in that order.  I'll just think what I think, say what I say and do what I do and let the chips fall where they may.

I'll tell you the most valuable thing I've learned since I've been here: Nothing is ever as it seems.  You can get what  you want, but it never turns out to be the way you imagine it.  In my case, it's like.... a big disappointment.  Yeah, promises fulfilled, covenants kept, but what do you get?  Something that doesn't look in any way how you implied  it would look.  The Whopper on TV always looks better than the one you buy at BK.  That's goddamn right.  Have it your way.


Your Anonymous, Backsliding Daughter

P.S. I'm not sorry anymore. I'm done being sorry.
P.P.S. Dad? Just how far does the apple fall from the tree? Just a thought.

"What do you get for pretending the danger's not real
Meek and obedient you follow the leader
Down well trodden corridors into the valley of steel" -Sheep by Pink Floyd, Animals

Wednesday, June 7, 2017


I went camping from last Thursday til yesterday.  It wasn't RV style-we roughed it.  The fanciest things we had were the fold down back seat of the van to sleep on and a small, portable, Coleman stove.  There were no porta potties and no trash receptacles, we had to use trash bags to dispose of our trash.  It was pretty primitive as far as camping goes.  But aside from several backpackers on Saturday, it was nearly silent.  I would sit or lie and listen for the different bird calls.  There's a pair of crows that bicker back and forth and several I couldn't identify.  Truth be told, the crows were the only ones I identified.  Oh! And I saw a pair of small falcons too!

A short ways from the campsite is a beautiful creek going under a bridge and coming out of the other side to flow over huge stones that have been eroded for who knows how many thousands of years.  The erosion looks like tiny steps on the rocks slanted at an angle.  We played a game called stick races: you place a stick or leaf in a spot on the creek where it cannot be immediately swept away but which can eventually be swept into the stream.  I found myself mesmerized as I followed the progress of my little twig hoping it would get swept into the stream before my ex's did.  If it gets stuck for too long or permanently stuck... disqualified! 

And a little sunburn and a lot of bugs!  There were mosquitoes, small black ants, large black ants, noseeums, fireflies and bees of various sorts.  There was even a beetle with a metallic outer wing in orangish pinkish greenish blue.  Yeah, like that made sense.  I got bit up by bugs in spite of using skin so soft, or else the sun gave me a rash (like my ex claims), or both.  I think it's a mixture of bug bites and maybe contact dermatitis from a plant.  At least it didn't get on my butt!

There were short walks.  My ex knows those woods like the back of his hand so he took me into the woods to see where the small stream that comes out of the mountain meets up with the main creek.  Always always take a walking stick with you!  My ex has navigated steep inclines using two sticks (two-stickin it he says) like they were two extra legs.  I tried it once but you really have to have some strength anyhow.

Anyhow, we had a great time and it was so peaceful.  As long as it remains a little known secret, it will stay that way.

Thursday, May 25, 2017

A Walled In Sim

NoFor those not familiar with the series, there's a game called The Sims.  There's four versions now.  In this game, you create a digital person; you determine their looks, give them a wardrobe, assign traits and a life goal, and then you plop them on a starter lot to live out their little lives.  It's really fun.

As the game progresses, they have wishes you can either help fulfill or you can ignore them.  They have careers, fall in love, fight, fish, and fuck.  They even have some free will thrown in for good measure, so you may occasionally find them chatting up a stranger rather than doing the shopping you sent them out to do.

There can be dark elements to this game.  Let me explain.  The first edition I played was a console version called Sims: Bustin Out.  Or something like that.  I let my sim flirt with one of the pre-made Sims.  They fell in love.  I had mine propose only to find out she was already married.  Bummer.  So... I went into buy/build mode and built four walls around the competition then unpaused from build mode.  This is called walling in a sim.  Over time the little sim starves to death and dies because it has no door to walk through and no way to get to food. 

So I played and watched and waited for this sim to die so that mine might marry the girl he wanted.  The thing is, is that these little digital creatures turn around and look at you.  They point at their mouths to let you know they're hungry.  They get lonely and cry.  They lose control of their bladders and end up wallowing in a puddle of their own piss.  I could only take this for so long before I was bawling my eyes out and going into build mode to tear the walls down.  He ate, cleaned up, peed and socialized and slept.  All was made right at last.

"So where are you going with this?" you may be asking by now.

I'm talking about a human being as a walled in sim.  I am a walled in sim.  That is to say, I feel trapped in my home and sometimes unable to perform even the simplest of duties like bathing or washing my hair.  Sometimes the terror I experience just thinking of leaving my house is intolerable.  And I don't feel like I'm in control of any of this.  I feel programmed to be this way to the point that I sabotage my efforts to lose weight (my programming seems to dictate that I can't drop below 205 pounds.) When I apply myself with determination to get even one pound below 200 just to prove I can, the programming kicks in followed by weight loss fail, or even a rapid gain to punish me for my audacity.

However, food must be bought and dishes must be washed so I can cook a meal so whatever evil hand hovering over that big mouse in the sky finally puts me in build mode (which I must not be conscious of)and builds a door or window of time, I can temporarily get a few things done.  I don't fool myself into thinking this is free will anymore.  It's all fear driven.  As soon as I get home I feel relieved and just want to slunk down the front door. 

Whatever hand hovers over the mouse in the sky must be owned by something that really hates me and enjoys tormenting me.  I see people who's lives seem to be lived in the sun and their sim angel or whatever, loves them and blesses them.  Mine just likes to get my hope up and then snatch my hope away.  Any time something starts looking promising, I wait for the other shoe to drop.  Most of the time I don't even look any more.  I'm just waiting for my sim angel to grow bored enough to delete my file. Hey, rearrange the letters in file and you get life!

In Heathen beliefs it could be said that I was born under the dubious auspices of an ill willing Norn.  Perhaps I was an assignment someone didn't want so I get tormented.  Who can say?

Not me.

I don't know if I really believe any of this or not, it sort of smacks of The Matrix, but it's the best analogy I have to describe my frustration.

Sunday, May 21, 2017

Suffer In Silence

My ex surfs YouTube, seeking heart rending songs.
He finds a few.
I hear the tremble in his voice as he barely sings along-he stifles his passion to make it manageable.
I hear all this and remain silent.
I cry quietly, politely,
with my back turned so we don't have to acknowledge the obvious vulnerability that screams from our souls.
We suffer in silence because we fear the rain and the flood should one or both of us speak.

Wednesday, May 3, 2017

A Year To The Day

It's been a year to the day since Sage reached the clearing at the end of the path.  I miss him and Dusty so much.  I need them and I can't have them.

Thursday, April 20, 2017

April Fooled?

I just noticed that I wrote and posted that prologue on April Fool's day. Maybe I was fooling myself.
I've been depressed, and depression doesn't help creativity at all.
Add to that a dash of lacking in confidence and you have a recipe for writing not getting done.
I didn't even want to write a blog entry but it's been over a week since my last one and I don't want to neglect it for about 9 months like I did last year.
That's all I have.

Monday, April 10, 2017

Swoopers and Bashers

I have a couple really bad writing habits.
One of them is editing as I go along and making too many changes as I go along.  Why risk the heartache of all that hard work being for naught if big chunks need to be edited out when the book is finished?

In my defense, Kurt Vonnegut said there are two types of writers: swoopers and bashers.  Swoopers go in like a storm and write the whole thing then make changes later.  Bashers hammer it out word by word, sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph, and chapter by chapter, and edit as they go along.

I guess that makes me a basher, like Kurt Vonnegut.  He said most men are bashers and most women are swoopers.  Maybe someone aught to look into that.  Anyhow, I've bashed out about 8 pages and I have a coyote hangover, but some good ideas are begining to surface. :-D