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Daily Journal

i’d like an answer

what does it say about a man who at 15 met a girl and positively identified her as his life love

who can remember the exact moment 33 years later, delicious details intact

who wrote frequent long letters after she’d moved far away,  dreams & desires gush across handwritten pages colored with odd drawings, who jumped at every opportunity to be with her even though separated by more than a hundred miles

what does it say about a man who recognized early the unattainable reality, but refused to accept it and resigned himself to quiet longing and absurd optimism

what does it say about a man who expressed his intention to love her while still teenagers, depth and breadth full, and though she convincingly announced her insatiable appetite to explore and experiment, declaring her utter lack of interest in commitment, his love for her endured, evolved and amplified

what does it say about a man who was well aware that the motive behind her summertime visit was to meet a lover who wasn’t that into her, and that she’s here now because it’s convenient while she’s working it out, and it hurts like hell  but he does it anyway to spend moments with her

what does it say about a man who eagerly lurched at every opportunity to be with her, even when it was just to watch her go into a back room at a party at an unknown address with some guy to snort coke.  He was never invited, and wasn’t considered until a ride was needed at the end.

what does it say about a man who had girlfriends, but thought of her constantly.

what does it say about a man who thinks he finally has a chance, elated at the prospect that she’s finally moving back, who searches the newspapers and drives the streets looking for a place for her near him, who believes that she’s finally coming around, after an eternity, who wrote him that it was possible, but “we’d have to take it slow”, so he plans for her and helps her move.  Who makes a date on a Saturday night after work, who shows up at the designated time, who walks into a party and asks where she is, who is directed upstairs and climbs up a dropdown ladder leading to the loft with hope and smiles and when the bedsheet covering the hatch is removed finds her naked with Bob, a guy he knew in high school.  An image burned so excruciatingly deep in his memory it depresses him today (not a figurative today – today actually – you pick the day)

Who stumbled out weeping and swore never, never again..
~
What does it say about a man who years later, is haunted by dreams of her silky black hair, smile that outshines the sun and sensual supple skin that melts his hand. Who begins shaking uncontrollably and breaks out in a cold sweat believing he sees her in line at a grocery store.

Not her…still had to sit.. for a minute.

Time passes…

What does it say about a man who hears her voice on his answering machine late at night, she’s alive in San Diego but doesn’t leave a number, so he strikes out, tearing into a city of millions hoping, needing, believing that somehow he’ll find her with only enduring true love to guide him

A hapless year dwindles and dies…

What does it say about a man who is engaged to his girlfriend of 7 years, who answers an alcohol and drug inspired phone call at 4am and knows from the sweet air he sucks through the phone line a hundred miles away that his life is irrevocably modified forever…again.

Whose heart inflates, spilling through orifices, but doesn’t bleed

Who drops life and speeds to her rescue, unapologetic and with an epic voracious thirst

What does it say about a man who in a blink walks away from everything he knows to build a life with a woman he hasn’t seen in years, but believes in

Who actually physically floated for months after his long lost love, his heart, his reason to be, finally held him and kissed his lips.
~
What does it say about a man who changed his dream to care for her, to support her through victorious battles with addiction, mania, illness and self-loathing

Who went where she wanted to go, because she had to

Who understands, cherishes and exults the greatest gift possible that she bestowed upon him – the gift of human life

Who cries today in gratitude for the family she gave him – who is grateful every breath, every day
~
What does it say about a man who recognized the limitations of his career choice, who did the math, wanted more for the future of his family and began actively pursuing that goal, sacrificing precious time to serve a long range greater good

Who struggled with his own demons in the pursuit, but kept his eye on the prize

Whose sole motivation was to gain an advantage for those who depend on him

Who was walking gingerly along the tightrope of life when suddenly the ends unraveled and the world came crashing up, crushing his feet and confidence.
~
What does it say about a man whose rudder was abruptly grotesquely ripped from the stern of his life, who needed support but was too proud, or too stupid to verbalize it, and instead sank the boat
~
What do you do?

Do you dig in and help out or do you run like hell?

Categories
Daily Journal

What’d You Say?

January 28th, 2010

(48 year-old son, Dave,  is driving his 71 year-old mother, Donna to the store. )

Dave:

Yeah, I had that 65′ Buick, used keep stalling on me.  Figured out rust chips from the gas tank kept plugging up the fuel filter.

I’d travel with 2 pencils, a screwdriver and a spare fuel filter.  Whenever it’d stall, I’d pull over, pop the hood, unscrew the clamps on the fuel filter, stick the pencils into the lines on either side of the filter so gas didn’t leak, put in the spare fuel filter and I was back on the road in four minutes.

Donna:

We used to have an Olds convertible when you guys were little..

Dave:

I remember that car.

Donna:

Brakes were shot – driving you guys around on the ice with no brakes, shish!

Dave:

And you were probably drunk.

Donna:

I always had a few belts before getting into that car. Are you kidding?

Categories
Daily Journal

Why Her?

Fairness is an utterly useless concept and unjustifiable expense.

~~

She’ll look into your eyes and see you

Not where you came from, but where you’re coming from

Not what you do, but what you are

She’ll find you even when you don’t know where you are

She’ll find you, then she’ll bring you out

The best you, not the one you think you’re supposed to be

After you’re finished fighting with yourself, she’ll chuckle a little and you both will share a moment.

You won’t forget.

She may not always win

But she will never be defeated.

~~

She had one love.

One.

ONe lOVe in her life

oNE true love

one only one

one ever

one forever

And it wasn’t meant to be.

The two only ever had each other in reality

In the reality that exists beyond the feebleness of perception

There was ever only each other to turn to in truly life changing situations,

There was ever only each other they could/would rely on

There was ever only one number to dial

each others

then he died.

We all saw it coming, We all knew, didn’t matter, still sucked.

She did everything a spouse would do, not an ex-spouse, which she was

Didn’t matter

ex on paper, life-partner in reality

Not the reality you’re familiar with,

The reality that exists beyond the feebleness of perception.

But why her?

Categories
Daily Journal

Same UnSame

Days change, years change, but people remain the same.

Brutal killings, shocking cruelty, same today as yesterday

If vicious didn’t exist in action, nor would it in vocabulary

But the Wild doesn’t kill viciously,

That perception belongs exclusively to humans

The Wild doesn’t have perceptions

`

Weak strong, smart dumb, popular lonely

loved, not-loved

`

The World Isn’t Changing

People Aren’t Changing

`

The evolution of human perception is redundant and laughable.

Y wood U believe there is original thought, (chuckle)

`

Your thoughts are remakes, ancestral genetic collaborations cellularly revealed anew

Environmentally re-engineered? Sure

but

The environment only affects the outer coating.

Core intact

`

A teardrop composed of time evaporates in the sun

No stain, no residue

Footprints fade in the wind

Voices vanish as their sound dissolve into the clouds

Bodies decompose

Planets spin

Light emits

Soil inseminates

Next

Categories
Daily Journal

My Thumb Still Hurts

Every Day is a Bad Day

Some days suck less than others

Metaphorically, if YOU get on a train going the wrong direction, YOU can make the decision to get off at the next stop, thus controlling your destiny.

BUT,

What do you do when an integral part of your plan takes another train?

Categories
Daily Journal

Talking Like Walking in a Minefield

What I want to say
is different
From that which I’d like you to know.

So why bring it up?

Okay, I’ll bite, what the hell are you talking about.

Well, talking with you is like stepping through a mine field. An explosion is imminent, but I never know which word will set it off.

Frustration and resentment are the two emotions we have most in common lately.

I used to get lost in the gaze of your dilating pupils,
adrift, physicality defied, encapsulated – obsessed

Touch me, I’m butter on an Iowa summer picnic table.

I’m a feather in your palm, awaiting the warmth of breath sweetened by the journey through your sumptuous lips,

You were/are always ever only

foward and ago

That’s not what I wanted to say,
It’s what I need you to know.

ever only always was is

one. you.

used to. tomorrow.

can we?

dried paint chips desperate for rehydration

lost thoughts of a pale mind

greys, all grays

(sigh)

Categories
Politics

Political Common Sense and Morality

The art of modern politics is one part prestidigitation and two parts schmooze.

Question: What is the primary objective of a career politician?

Answer: A paycheck

The first taste of power is especially sweet and seductive.  One becomes aware of the potential for personal gain immediately.  So many with so much want to be your friend and give you things.  Isn’t that great?

While it is illegal for corporations to contribute directly to an individual political candidate, is there any doubt that an overwhelming corporate influence exists?  Billions of dollars are spent on lobbying.  Millions of dollars from a specific industry (or company sometimes) make their way to a candidates campaign.  Votes from candidates benefit the industries or companies who donated so generously.  True statements all.

The question is, how can a candidate connect in a substantial financial way with a specific industry or company and remain objective?

The idea behind democracy, as I understand it, is about people collectively deciding what’s best for their communities.

People care about the environment in which they and their families live.

What is the primary objective of a corporation?

If you answered anything other than profit, you’re wrong.

When Ford discovered in pre-production that the design of the gas tank in their “rush to market” Pinto model was flawed, they manufactured it anyway due to an internal “cost-benefit analysis”, which showed that retooling the assembly line would be more expensive than legal fees resulting from wrongful death lawsuits.

They put a price tag on human life, and it didn’t fair that well in their corporate collective wisdom.

I wonder how many of them or their families drove Pinto’s  after the report came out?

The example may be extreme, but it’s also true.  The bottom-line is the bottom-line for any for-profit corporation.  And these corporations have an incredible amount of influence over our political system.

The sad truth is that money is what determines an outcome of an election all too often and the motive behind the money does not always have the country’s best interest at heart.

(To Be Continued)

Categories
Daily Journal

One by One

Her dreams festered and died as she idly sat by.

Selling precious pieces of life to survive,

Hope bobbed futilely, drowning in a sea of insecurity and confusion.

Neglected fulfillment of empty promises,

Anguish,  isolation…

Her heart thrown into a cobweb clustered corner of a forsaken garage next to rusted screen doors and termite dregs.

Her voice more readily cold. Hiding welled tears and carpet stains.  Fear and apprehension. More than waiting, a void exists, a dark empty hole plunging to the depths of a putrid soul.  Each emotion swallowed scratches and claws as it crawls down.

Alone at daybreak.  Opening her eyes, she scans across the cluttered, claustrophobic paneled room.

The shabby, unkempt trailer she shares with a friend is located in Treasure Island.  Surrounded by prefab plastic and aluminum boxes, mostly inhabited by seniors in their twilight years waiting to die.

She’s haunted by the remnants of their life together.  She awakes expecting to see his sleeping face, close to hers, the dreams seem so real.

Aloneness tips the day into another struggle.  Her heart is as empty as the pillow next to hers that he used to share.

The wedding gown hanging desolate in closet dark is a disastrous  symbol of the love taken away. She’s still paying for the dissolved romance.

An evil thief stole her love, her heart and discarded it among the ruins of lost souls.

Categories
Daily Journal

4:22 AM

Superbowl Sunday, 1988

Phone rings,

I hear the phone but refuse to acknowledge until…

The line crackled and buzzed but her voice sounded through.  My heart pounds dangerously upon hearing the message on the deprecated mini-cassette answering machine owning her voice.

“Dave, this is your long lost love Lisa, Please call me…”

Eight years had passed since last we’d spoke.  I swore her off.  I vowed to never, NEVER, tangle with her again.

How did she get my number?  Why’d she call? Is she in trouble?  Why at this hour? My mind tumbles into a heap of scrap like the aftermath of a sloppy high-speed car accident.

I call back, busy…busy again,  wide awake now even after multiple superbowl brews, I contemplate giving up..but try calling one more time.

Busy signals and bad connections still existed in 1988, but this time she answers…

She had jarred my mom from deep sleep @ 4am to get my number.

We Spoke

She talked about her drug-related life this past year, in and out of rehabs and hospitals, she talked about her estranged husband and their 2  year old daughter.  She talked about her fiance, a navy grunt stationed in the Persian gulf, she alluded to a tryst with Steven Tyler of Aerosmith and accused her psycho-analyst of getting her hooked on Xanax.  She talked about her mom and her friends in rehab and how “everybody love’s me down here”.

She talked, I listened.

She said she was an Emergency Medical Technician (EMT) and a model, but was on welfare at the moment.

“This is a great song!”, she said, referring to some metal song on her stereo.  She placed the phone receiver next to the speaker and sang along, word for word, as the source volume of the music distorted the phone line. She didn’t pick up the phone again until the song ended.

She told me she love me.  I told her I’d call her later that day.  Another good song came on, she turned up the stereo again and continued singing…I slowly, cautiously placed the phone receiver back on the hook, wondering what just happened.

Categories
Daily Journal

Smoking – What A Drag

Patches, Pills, Gum, Really?

Smoking - What A Drag

Tobacco Tryst

I used to love to smoke.  My first hit off an actual cigarette was at the age of 9.  Prior to that we’d pretend with bubble gum cigarettes  that came in cute little packs, designed for kids.  How quaint.Bubble-Gum Cigarettes

Seventh grade was when a bunch of us started smoking for real.  We formed an exclusive club called “The Group” and hung out after school and on weekends at the park adjacent to Gisler Intermediate school in Huntington Beach.  We were absolutely up to no good. We’d bribe older siblings to score a 12-pack of Bud, or loiter in front of 7-11 to pester potential future lawbreakers.  But cigarettes were easy in the 70’s.  There were cigarette machines that didn’t care how old you were, the guy behind the counter at the liquor store hardly ever asked, and if he did you’d say they were for your mom.

Back then everybody was smoking, all your friends houses had ashtrays on the coffee tables in their shag carpeted living rooms. Some had ornate glass jars brimming with fresh Marlboro’s.  Parents couldn’t smell it on your breath because they were smoking too, and once you hit 15,16 or 17, even they didn’t mind that much, I mean at least you weren’t drinking (you were of course, but you were better at hiding that).

What’s The Problem?

We’ve all seen the pictures of black lungs and the decrepit old transient with a breathing hole cut into the base of his throat, and hear constantly about cancer.  But what if you don’t get cancer and you can still climb a flight of stairs without spitting tar?

I don’t care about pictures and studies or all the propaganda devoted to eliminating the $109.2 billion dollar tobacco industry.  Did the cigarette companies target children? Yes, they did. Did they lie to congress?  Yes, they did that too.

Tobacco Executives Lie to Congress

Both reasons are enough to dislike the tobacco industry intensely, but those guys were just doing their jobs (in a sinister, destructive sort of way).   Besides, that has little bearing NOW when you’re trying to quit and jonesing for cigarette.  No, the most diabolical aspect of this entire issue is the command nicotine has over your brain.  You knew it was wrong when you started, you did it anyway, and now that tiny cylindrical paper satchel filled with dried poisonous leaves has complete control of your life.  You plan portions of your day around when you can sneak out to suck on one and when you’re not smoking, you’re thinking about smoking.

And that is THE reason to quit.

The Bad News

Everyone is different, what works for me may not work for you.  In my experience, pills, patches, programs, gum, nicotine replacement therapy, hypnosis, acupuncture, yaddah-yaddah-yaddah… None of it works.

Sorry.

Nicotine is an addictive drug, but smoking is a lifestyle.  The only real way to quit is to make up your mind and do it.  You will not suffer physically, like with heroin or alcohol.  Although you may gain a few pounds.  That habit of shoving something filthy between your lips several times a day becomes an obnoxious yearning.

Your mind is the only true cure on this one and you probably won’t be successful the first few times you try.  I am personally acquainted with those who have, but it took me around 5 years to become smoke-free, so don’t beat yourself up too bad and don’t quit wanting to quit.

My motivation was simply being so pissed off that I allowed this stupid little cancer device to dictate so much of my life.  I have no idea how many packs I bought, smoked one or two, got disgusted with myself then tossed the pack out the car window driving 70 miles an hour down the freeway.  Yes, it was littering, but I never ventured back to go find them either.  It was a process, a mental process.  It’s the best tool you have.

The Good News

YOU CAN DO IT!