Sunday Morning Thoughts 8.23.15

So here goes another attempt at this. Consider it the less than grand return.

It’s been over a year- and what a year it has been. Many a time before this moment, the lonely weekly post bearing this title has fallen short, and off track, and unappreciated by its fool of an author. You see, I’m very capable of disappointment, sometimes the sort reaching incomprehensible levels. Not only have a let down myself on a rather regular basis, the pain and heartache I have caused others in this life could border on emotional war crimes.

Yet, there seems to be a sort of insane balance. For as many times as I have been such a great disappointment- expectations were also exceeded and the young man, who is not so young anymore, achieved handfuls of accomplishments that were at the very least good, if not extraordinary. I’ve done a few nice things, while still other humans have thanked me intensely and intimately for actions I deemed to be “no big deal” or “just doing my job”.

So what does that mean?

Mathematically, I suppose that just balances out to average. Sadly, I find that to be immensely saddening, if not disgusting. It is another one of those disappointing personality traits of mine, but being average may be my greatest dread. Even talking about myself this much reflects only on a seemingly selfish nature that puts the rest of the world into categories based upon how they fit into my desires for life. It is narcissistic and vicious, and even worse, I sometimes rather enjoy it.

I cannot say that this has existed for all of human history, as I have only seen a sliver of it- but it seems to me that humans love to believe that things are going to change. They often hope that they will change for the better, but lately I hear folks saying a bit more of the contrary. Actually, a lot more to the contrary. They say the world has changed into a bad place- or from a bad place, into a worse one.

I hear talk about society failing and the world running out of safe places left to go. Some people fear radical Islamic extremists, other people fear rising oceans and climate change, while some are just hiding from the bills they have to pay. There are even those who live in constant terror of what happens in their own neighborhoods. You don’t hear many people talking about sunshine and roses these days. It’s doom and gloom, and in case you haven’t heard it on the news, we’re all going to die. And to make matters worse, a spectacle of business man/reality television goon who inherited his rather lavish lifestyle is attempting to become King America. And a good number of folks think that’s a good idea.

But I don’t need to tell you all of that. You already knew that.

What you may not have known is that today was set as my daughter’s due date. So you know, she has not arrived yet. She may be stubborn, like her father who pushed his own arrival on Earth two weeks past his own due date.

Hopefully she doesn’t keep this up for long. Her father already causes her mother enough strife, we don’t need the little one to push that any further.

Not that her mother can’t handle it. She can deal with most anything. I find it very admirable, when I’m not too busy feeling awful about my own lack of comparable courage. I haven’t had a little human growing inside of me, sucking the energy out every day as the spawn grows larger and stronger. Plus, I’ve still been able to have beer and sushi and soft cheeses which makes my issues seem all that much smaller.

So cheers to the mother of my child, she is a better person than most, especially myself, though she may never admit that. In fact, not admitting it, makes it all that more true.

But her and I can both agree, that we would very much like to meet this little human. I personally have a feeling her arrival will help make every thing seem easier. Other than crying in the middle of the night and soiling her diapers. Still, that stuff doesn’t last forever.

But.

Having a child so close to being part of this world, does not put me entirely at ease. It’s much closer to terrifying. Before all of this, I had set my wee little ambitious heart on trying to change the world for the better. Since that young boy set that goal, it seems to have only gotten worse. He didn’t have anything in this life that he needed to rush into action for. Now he does. Now I do.

No, I am not yet a parent but just the impending occurrence has got me to wondering as to why others seem to do as little as possible to make this future better. Again, I don’t know that their efforts exist or not, or in what intensity they do exist, but if people have been making babies since the first people started happening, and those people only want the best for their children- why has everything gone more and more to shit with each passing generation?

Maybe I’m thinking too much, or in the wrong kind of ways, but I would call myself a failure as a human and more importantly, as a parent, if I left this planet worse than when it was given to me. And no, that’s not just an environmental thing for anyone trying to brand me as tree hugging liberal. And no, it’s not because I think Hilary is just a bad a choice for “leader” of this nation as Trump, for those who might want to think of me as some sort of closed minded conservative. I know how you like to operate, internet.

That being said, I do think we should be kinder to the Earth, if we want to make it last and I do think we should apply a little more intense thought and rationale to selecting our elected officials, no matter how angry and fed up we might be. I do think that all lives matter as much as the people living them choose to value theirs and their neighbors. I think anyone who says their god is loving, but also wants you to kill people is not thinking with their own head. I do think we need to try harder and learn more about ourselves and each other- but I don’t think that this is a unique point of view.

It’s easy for me to stand on the internet soapbox and tell you all about my views, but I don’t intend to stop there. The difference is, that I now have someone to live for that means more than anyone else. She will mean more than any friend, family or romantic relationship has and I owe her the best life I can provide. I owe her a future, as do all of you. If you’ve been alive long enough to spend money or vote, you’ve been alive long enough to help make the changes everyone loves to complain about. I’m guilty, but I am now newly motivated.

I opened this post with an explanation of my great lack of perfection. That is because perfection is a myth, and one of the most harmful myths in all the history of man, (and women). No one is perfect, nor is any place or any time. Perfection is stagnant. Progress and regress are all that exist. Things do not stay, they always change. Yet where they change are up to us. Or so it is for us in the third dimension.

So for my little girl, I will try to make progress.

holderness

Intervaled Insomnia

A dream was had,

In between

Bits and tads of sleep

Vu’ed Deja

At the age of

Aches

That should not

Be had.

 

Mad?

I used to get

(And still)

 

Sad?

At times

Now always somewhere

But no such time for fret

 

Regret?

Inevitable, you see

When what once was

Becomes belief

Of what is wished

To still be.

Such sanctity defiled

For vile

Self deprecating assurance.

 

But this dream

(As this poem originally schemed)

Seemed to deem

Visions of you,

Above all else.

There was touch

Though ‘twas memory

To feel

How you

Once felt

Sweet,

And smooth,

And soft-

Or so such nocturnal visions

Pulled so taught.

 

Until waking

To the blinds of staggered light

For despite

All my tardy might

In my arms rests nothing,

Lies no one,

Not you,

The soul these arms

Used to know.

Bad Jokes that Make Laughter

Elephants
in white rooms,
And old Sammy’s writing tomb
Thoughts that loom,
Of days once blooming
Before losing.

Perchance the silence
Will turn to talking
And walking,
For the sake of stalking
A few hours more alone,
Yet together.

Canine physicians,
Those living musicians,
We danced a night away to
Like Marvey made those Irish do
With lives so sad
Yet inspiring-
The urge to retire,
Specifically,
In someone’s arms,
Or someone in mine.

Time-
That bastard,
Cast so far away
Decided not to stay,
This fool, named I
Made beauty cry
To try,
In vain,
As was known,
To romanticize loneliness
And pain.
To what gain?
None.

Come-
To remember
Hammock rides,
And the passing tides
Of pages
We young sages had shared.

But one in particular,
Still drunk on rage
At no one,
For nothing,
But the self
Cries for help
And gets still,
Beyond his fill,
Of what is deserved.

Night/Day

Dreams,

Oh, how they scheme

To remind this mind

Of a rash decision,

Of rationalized madness

That made sadness

Out of joy

Just to toy

A soul employed to loneliness.

 

A short age,

Regretful rage

And page,

After page,

After page,

Of literary therapy

To inspire thee

To give a chance,

A second chance

To break the trance

Of memory,

Sweet memories,

That were once such grand realities.

 

Selfish, I know,

To have shelved this

Just as it was to spare

A heart ensnared and bitter

For with her,

He was free,

And now without, he can see

The fool that used to be 

Sunday Morning Thoughts 7.13.14: On Attempting Impossibilities

 Another week gone and here I am again. True, I don’t feel as dreadful as I had this time last week, especially regarding physical aspects, but I’m still misaligned. Terribly so, I might say, but I might be a liar. But this isn’t new. The only part that was truly new in almost half a year, or much longer really, is understanding the root. The cause, or what have you.

If there is a such thing as tragedy, it would have to be that it took this long. For you see, as much abuse as I’ve tossed my own way the past seven days, and many before that (although I know I promised that I would try to fix that, and I am, I’m just a slow learner), an admission was made that should have been made a very, very long time ago. Oh! To be in a galaxy far, far away. But since I am without a time machine, or any kind of sonically driven tool, or a British accent for that matter- I will have to make do. So stuck in time, in gym shorts, in America, I will do what I can.

It’s a tricky thing, wanting to a be a writer, especially of good fiction. I can only speak for myself here, but a story without struggle and hurt, is no story worth reading. And although I only speak for myself, I figure a few of you might agree. Now to understand good storytelling, you must live an interesting story, or so I have decided to go about it. However, there is a limit and there are lines that should be watched. To be a sadist regarding your fictional characters is one thing, but to be that way with someone you love in this real world of ours, is something totally different. Those lines and limits I was talking about? Yes, well, I’ve crossed them and am none to proud of it. Most recently especially.

But.

If there is something that could be pulled from that, it would be the thousands of words I’ve added to the made up tale of a soon to be not so young man named Mitch. Some of you may have even met him. Now Mitch and I, we have our similarities, some would even say that we are one in the same and we almost are. The difference, I hope, is that Mitch is of fiction, whilst I am not. Also, I hope, that only Mitch realized where he had been going wrong, romantically specifically, far too late. I might be too late as well, but I can only say what’s going to happen to Mitch. I am, in a way, his god after all. But, to make the two of us the same again, even when faced with impossibilities, we shall try and try just the same. Be it in vain or achieve the aim, we shall try.

Before this day is done, Mitch will be thousands of words further. His story may even finish, in which case, if you’re are interested, let me know. You could give it a read and let me know what you think, if you’ve got the time. It will be rough and sloppy, much like having to date me, but I think it will be worth it in the end.

Oh! And poetry. I’ve written a good bit of poetry this week. It’s an interesting thing, poetry. I have been without it for too long and what a shame that is. I’m glad to have it back but less than glad that my verse and prose is grim, where it used to be the opposite. The last time so much poetry was produced, the circumstance were much more grand. I also got some written for me, to me, which I must confess my friends, there isn’t a thing more wonderful in the world. I still have some of them, though such things can only prove to make me sad now. I hope to change that, but again, I can only speak to the future of Mitch.

But a week can be long, as this one had been. A lot can happen in a week, as happened for me during this one. I don’t know what the next one will bring, but I know what I’ll try to do with it. Failure is, as it almost always, the worst thing that could happen. And since I’m already there in a good few senses, what is there to be afraid of? I’m not a total failure, of course. I just want to be a more total success. I used to be closer to that but hindsight, much like insomnia, is a bitch.  

What’s One More?

‘Twas I

(cue sad sigh)

who had that

for which most

don’t even get to try.

But why?

Oh! Why?

Would one ever let her go?

Supra-man himself could not know,

could not show,

the bastard fantasy

for its fallacy.

 

While reality,

was,

all grand and dressed with passion,

and,

abandoned in a fashion

no true knight ever would.

Yet dreadful hindsight all included

I refuse to stay secluded

for just a chance,

a single chance,

for one more dance

or lazy morning

with all the glory

of skin so soft

and eyes so longing

to get inside a soul

some poor coward

would not let in.