The musings of a madman...

She posted that on my wall…      I loved it. It was an explanation to something that I’ve had none for over the last 25+ years.  I am a creator.  I see things that I want to see, I see things HOW I want to see them.  My eye and ear for detail are so tuned to things that I think I will later find important – or better still things I KNOW I will – that small details are outside of my purview.      She is learning, through this, that my issue is not that I don’t give a fuck so much as that I am more for things that one SHOULD be giving a fuck about than to allow time for things that don’t excite me or just probably don’t fit that description. That is why I hate smalltalk and can prattle on for hours about the inner nuances of Herbie Hancock’s Vein Melter .      But it shows that she spends time trying to “get” me instead of applying needless energy to “fixing” me. I know I am broken, and presented myself as such when we met.  A large part of making me better is pu

     No one ever taught me to pray. I know a whole life of hearing other people do it and it always felt so…  rehearsed.  The frustratingly long altar prayers in every Sunday service.  Grandma squeezing the color out of your hand for fidgeting during the altar call.  Standing by famished when that one uncle everyone only sees twice a year "performs" grace over Thanksgiving dinner.  "Lawd Jesus, take me with you!" at a funeral.  None of it felt quite standard. I know I was always told “come as you are,” and I totally took that to mean that God as I understood him would meet me where I could understand him.      So sure, we know The Lord’s Prayer, repeat mitzvahs, we know standard graces over meals and we’re advised to pray regularly, but my question has always been “how?” Get slapped enough for unintended-but-perceived disrespect just for asking that question as a child and the adult in you just doesn’t ask anymore even if the question never goes away.

     I apologize… I apologize to me.  I apologize for thinking that a lack of attention equated to a dearth of people who cared.  I apologize for going dark instead of continuing to chase a dream. I apologize for letting my output suffer while I felt like shit. I apologize to my work for neglecting it because I felt like shit. I apologize to my keyboard for apparently forgetting that she was apparently the only one that I could tell anything and everything. [ Phlip note : yes, my keyboards are all women] I apologize to both of my readers for--…  No wait, I thank you both for sticking with me despite a complete lack of explanation. I apologize to myself for denying myself the practice necessary to get and be better at the one thing I have always wanted to do.      Most importantly… I apologize for entertaining the suggestion that what I wanted to do was “stupid” (her words, not mine) and subsequently second-guessing myself to the point o

     I imagine this is a common assessment for every person of themselves, but I am my own worst enemy sometimes.  My short term memory leaves much to be desired, but my eye and ear for details of mundane shit that happened a long time ago are A-1.  That often leaves me a prisoner to my own mind, to my habits – past and present at that.      I also have a hard time forgiving myself for shit that I have done or have been blamed for, or at worst have been allowed to believe took place on my watch. Ever laid awake and listen to your brain quoting shit you should have done differently and then chide you for not doing it differently?  I call those Tuesdays. … and Wednesdays. …  or, fuck, any day that ends in Y.      It may seem that I spend a lot of time on what I’ve done wrong and God knows I do as well as I do that this is true.  I surely don’t want to, but it just is.  I don’t take compliments well because I am still so stuck on my opportunities for improvement. An

(sorry, I HAD to do it)      For all we think we know about love, the real fact of the matter is that we really don’t know shit. Ask 50 people the question “what is love?” and you will get 47 answers. Sure, there is a textbook definition: But really, what does all of that tell us?  We have a biblical edict to love one another, but I am have been through my bible time again and have yet to find the words on exactly HOW to do so. Please note, I am taking nothing from my bible as I find nothing anywhere else specifically telling me this either. We find ourselves left to learning everything we know about love from those who love/loved us… My pops: I don’t know I am willing to call this love.  Sure I know him, but do I?  So little was contributed, so little was available that his mother did most of the things that he should have been doing for us.  To him and to everyone he should have been making moves for, his love was for himself. Shit, if this lottery ticket i

     I am a confusing being… I know I am difficult, yet I pride myself in the simplicity that I tend to operate in. When I was 11, we left my pops... When I was 12, I dreamt up two plans… 1 – when the moment arrives, any child I sire will be left with no question of preference, nor would they live in a dearth of attention. 2 – when I get the words confounding my head in order, I WILL entertain the masses with what I am thinking. To thought number 1… I am the middle child in birth order, do your research and understand that this is a real thing.  I live in two families that are each colorstruck, and lived not light or dark enough for full inclusion on either side.  I was left to make my own way.  My baby knows not these problems.  She asks for my attention, she gets it.  She doesn't ask for my attention, she still gets it.  Suffice it to say, I take to this daddy thing seriously enough to not repeat the things that broke me growing up. And 2… I was ne