In My Eyes, Pt. 2

One thing I’ve noticed during a good many years spent traveling this spinning chunk of carbon is that the human race is scornfully wasteful, most notably Americans.
I, even though prone to piggishness from time to time, have always found it difficult parting with an inanimate object in which I can foresee a future use, or a past that’s been shared. I mean, why waste the time and energy -much less the money- to find and procure a replacement when you already possess it? I’ve obviously engendered some offbeat personality trait from my mother who, for instance, saved every single rubber band she ever came across! And let me say in the here and now that we, as a family, nor anyone else within shouting distance who needed one, were ever without a rubber band, darn near any size, any color. Something to be said for that. My mother’s sense of practicality and frugality evidently rubbed off on me in some odd way, maybe not for the reasons she chose as she was a product of the Depression, but just as important as her thriftiness was my own burgeoning ecological sensibilities.
The earliest signs that I’d inherited something from mom’s gene pool became evident when I was just a tyke on field trips with my kindergarten class where we were required to bring a brown bag lunch from home. Midway through the day, having explored a fire station, or Holsum bakery, or Noah’s potato chip factory, and having eaten the lunch that was packed with loving care by my mother, I couldn’t find it within myself to throw the bag away, not wanting it to be lost so far away from home, knowing it would be happy and safe and secure and infinitely more loved with me. I mean, a tree gave it’s life for this bag so it deserved a Viking funeral at the least!
I’d bring back the bag to my mom whereupon she would dutifully fold it and put it on top of the bulging stack in the pantry. The irrational love I extended to those brown paper sacks would eventually pay off in a day when they would be needed again, giving them additional life and purpose, and that thought thrilled me to no end. I had that kind of respect, peculiar as it is, even as a kid. This idea might be viewed as silly by most, I know, but I still feel this way about brown paper bags. That much hasn’t changed, nor will it.
These days, if I get a tear in some clothing? I have it darned. If a sheet rips? I get it repaired. I have a personal relationship with these items because we’ve shared this life; a veritable collage of sentimental memories when you get right down to it and I have no problem admitting that inexplicably I’m emotionally attached. I mean, look at the lifeline of a product’s origins; humble beginnings as a raw material produced by nature -a miracle in itself- and then take into consideration the myriad of lives who were involved not only in harvesting and making the item, but in finding its way to you, too. The entire process from start to finish is rather staggering. Makes you appreciate the relationship even more. So why would I want to casually toss these articles in the trash, reduce their meaning? I give them as many lives as a cat ‘cause the stitches they carry are essentially badges of honor and they and I wear each other proudly.
And in its own way, Planet Earth will thank you. Harmony is communicable.
I sleep real good at night. My head buried in my stitched pillowcase. The one that shelters and supports all my dreams, endures snores of wicked dimension.

Shit To Hell

I forget which movie it was, but in it, the actor, Jack Nicholson, screamed at some plebeian who’d obviously torqued his shit, “You want the truth?! You can’t handle the truth!!”
Not knowing exactly why, those phrases uttered by old Jackie boy stuck with me for some time afterward as one thing we have in incredibly short supply these days is truth, and his words, even though scripted, ring very true, particularly in this day and age where lies and skullduggery are commonplace, and the more you spout truth the more misguided miscreants will get in your face, openly deriding your agenda. All swole up with noxious fear and methane distrust they’ll howl and yammer and point their crooked, wicked fingers whereupon you’re summarily judged and labeled a swill sucking pariah. And for what? For telling the truth!!
Lies keep spreading like a nasty rash and the scurrilous, loutish, scandalous behavior exhibited by the esteemed humanus walkus erectus has stained the consciousness of our culture beyond any reasonable comprehension of life as it should be. Worldwide, lies are bought and sold; very acceptable currency these days, A veritable morass of deception has trucked us into this upside-down hell on earth from which I’m having trouble finding my way toward a new dawn. But far from flinching, I’m coming out swinging as the fight is definitely on.
Just yesterday, in fact, speaking the truth caused a truckload of yak dung to be dumped on my doorstep. And I don’t necessarily cotton to yak feces, but even more so, the type person who ordered the caca to be deposited in the first place! That’s the crux. People are the problem here. And there’s a whole bunch of these shits procreating like rabid weasels; more than I care to stomach. Yesterday, despite every possible way I could find in my quest of giving, sharing, exercising patience and understanding, I got crossways with a manipulative, controlling, deceptive, hardcore shit, a person who’d worn the facade of good and truth and righteousness like a badge of honor -I guess when it was convenient for him to say what he wanted me to hear, as it certainly wasn’t part of the real him I later found out- the diseased facade he’d paraded around eventually slinking onto the cold stone floor after a downright miserable fuckin’ day at the dog races; this shit coming unhinged after I’d bent over backwards to help him in every way possible. But in his sickness, his zero currency of trust, geezed to the tits on fear, rigidly and purposely self-destructive, he effectively tore down everything good he’d built up... just to show me he could and would, by God!
Even though we’d spent an entire day in the studio getting absolutely zero accomplished -and all because of choices he made, incredibly numnutted choices, might I add- I was made to be the bad guy because I’d scheduled a business dinner 8 hours after the supposed start of the session. I was on time, had a great kit tuned and ready for the music at hand. I’ve done this before. Let’s look at these facts, shall we? We had five three minute songs to record, and we’d rehearsed them for four weeks... and 7 and 1/2 hours later we hadn’t recorded one solitary fucking note... and he’d wasted hundreds of dollars... and I didn’t get paid a fucking cent for my time.... but I was the bad guy... I reasonably scheduled a business meeting to help my life, a life after this sham of a session which should have been finished by 5 at the least if anything resembling a competent professional would’ve been on the fucking gig!! And the crooked, wicked finger pointed at me and the beefed up shit went to yowling...
Did he look at the facts? No.
Did he look in the mirror? No.
Did he look at the incompetent engineer? No.
Was he ever true to himself? Hell no.
Do I ever get any eye to eye truth? Fucking hellfuckin’ no.
And after all that I’d tried to prepare for him, all I tried to do to make the situation as best it could be given many years of experience and acumen, he chose to toss it all in the trash, never once believing I was telling the truth, even though I’d proven myself throughout the entire process of pre-production and over long talks with him to explain, not only myself, but the process as well, wanting to help him, help his music in every way I could, hell! join up for the ride if all went well!!
He made a series of jaw dropping decisions cause he couldn’t handle the truth. Fear is a bitch. Ignorance and pride, another.
And Jackie boy was right. People just can’t handle the truth at all anymore. I mean, the minute we open our mouth it’s all a hornet’s nest of lies, right? So why believe anything? Why bother fucking with the truth in the first place?! Spend that currency!!
Me? I’m gonna continue to tell the truth. Stands tall. Gives me peace of mind. And one day, maybe it’ll make a difference, however negligible, however grand, matters not. I choose to die satisfied and content, like a conquering hero returning home.
Meanwhile, the fight is on.
Put up your dukes, swizzle stick.

Man Child

Since the clanging of the New Year’s bell, 2K5, I’ve been adrift, sucked into a whirlpool, caught in a rip tide, trying desperately to find the shoreline so I can breathe a sigh of relief. I’ve seen glimpses of shore, but only when the fog lifts, however brief. So I’ve yet to be able to breathe this much sought after sigh of relief and I’m dizzy; I’m waylaid and quivering and I can’t figure out why. But feel it I do. Like a crushing weight that hangs by a thin, minuscule thread directly over my head, the paranoia of omnipresent doom and gloom is pervasive, waiting at the all too ready to pulverize you into tiny, bloody bits should you let your guard down for even a nanosecond. Thus far I’ve managed to keep cataclysm and apocalypse at bay, but not without a fusillade of pug ugly skirmishes which have all left their mark. I’m plumb beat up. I’m floating in raw sewage. And, for the life of me, I can’t get a handle on my predicament. Confusion bewilders me. The reasons for this blind, lurching stagger are unfathomable, unquenchable, insatiable, unanswerable even.
It’s not as if life has decided to deal me a rough hand, not by any stretch, especially when compared to my self imposed exile of which I’m emerging still, or the condition in which many in the world find themselves while brute thuggery and natural calamities take their toll. When I take an objective look at the situation I’ve managed to find outlets for my talents, I’ve laid foundation, I do the work which is asked, I’ve gained momentum, I’m undeterred and dogged. But, in my mind, in this beginning of this new year, the struggle is winning this round hands down and I’m stumbling in circles, unable to see where I’m headed, unable to see the light at the end of the tunnel that I desperately need and saw only weeks before.
Not without glory and victory, stolen moments of calm and solace, peace, I’ve been wowed and amazed by squealing fireballs, gunpowder smoke and waterfalls of shimmering sparks, spates of adrenal freedom and a savage, brain scraping sonic assault, drunk men walking four abreast, arm over shoulder, singing at the top of their whiskey voices for no one and everyone to hear, graveyard tango and big hunky, strappin' wacko, angels in treetops, prayers answered, sweet, buttery vindication, hilltops scaled, kind words given, kind words accepted, ebullient smiles levied, stars in my nighttime sky... yet subjected to the nagging feeling the security, the bliss and sanctity, will evaporate at any moment and there isn’t any lichen covered bottom in which to land; a terrifying freefall of which there isn’t an end; my future.
I can’t feel it, yet it touches me.
I can’t smell it, but I reek.
I can’t see it, yet it sees through me.
It’s there. A penetrating lonely that squeezes me, violates me, takes my breath away, knows me all too well.
My faith put to the test as never before.
I’m eat up as worry does its best to infiltrate my strata and poison my every fiber; a war of the ids, a violent collision of spirit and soul, a fight to the finish with forces that look to weaken me, take me down screaming and kicking.
Punch drunk, black and blue, I continue, like an ant driven by its natural intent I continue even though completely in the dark of what is my true purpose. Do I even have a purpose? This is my dilemma. Where does all this lead? When is a plateau reached? When does one round the corner? When do the gears mesh and glide? When do your feet pull from the muck and you run free, barefoot through the grass like a child?
I dare not doubt, but my teeth are rattling and my brain is mush and when I’m least ready the harpies keep divebombing... and they’re drawing blood. I run, I walk, I sit quietly and think, then I don’t, yet nothing changes.
This is the illusion
Making progress each and everyday, on any scale, is my sole objective. And it was while making progress today, on a day which could’ve been serviced by apathy and surrender, I stumbled upon a secret... and I was humbly reminded who’s in control here,
There were two sounds today which opened my eyes, my heart, my very existence laid bare, and they were both emotions of and from an innocent, a child.
While turning a corner in a market, I heard the bubbling laughter of a child held to his mother’s chest, the intoxicating happiness in the sound stripping all my woes away in an instant. Be gone! and they were. I stood naked.
Turning yet another corner, I heard the mournful wail of a child separated from his mother, and the anguish and sadness in the cry washed me away in a flood of melancholy. Again, I stood naked.
And in that moment, I stopped, silent, bookended by these two outbursts of divinity, and my world was wiped clean. I stood naked. Enlightened.
The startling beauty which was the sweeping impact of those opposing emotions gave me clarity, insight into what was important in the grand scope of what truly constitutes our living, our happiness, our joy. How bad can it be? How good? Simply, it is up to you.
I saw then. Clearly.
Standing there, adjusting to this newfound levity, all of the pettiness that was my confusion became meaningless decoration, only serving to obstruct the simplicity of this implacable grandeur we call life and the living of it. I walked away, naked, drowning in joy and appreciation, realizing I was well on my way, my lot only growing exponentially, more enriched by each passing day, a veritable field ripe with a waving throng of blooming, dew laden, pastel tulips, sunshine on my shoulders. ...I let go and took flight in the breezes which lifted me up far and away... I let go...
I am a man.
I am a child.
I was reminded. I was instructed. I was given knowledge. And by nothing more than a cheerful laugh, a wounded howl from the purity of a child.
A gift. God’s gift.
I turned it over. I let go. I reside by the still waters.
The simplicity. This dance. Again. Again. And again. Forever more.