Ghosts of Mississippi...

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Not the Same.

'You have to be cruel to be kind'?? 

Horse puckey. 

Cruelty is cruelty, and kindness kindness. 

Not the same. 

No sir...not the same thing at all.  

Half the problems on this planet stem from getting these two confused.


So stop doing it.
It's just mad.

 

Senso Humour.

Never let reality batter you senseless,

to the point where

you are no longer able to see
 

a miracle.

Love in All the Wrong Places...

'Looking for love in all the wrong places.' 

I know the popular view is that 'when you stop looking, that's when love finds you'.


I don't know about you...but most of my life I have been a seeker.

For me, and many other men- it's primal.

The hunter gatherer thing.


(I never had any problem finding sex- but I think we can all agree sex 'aint love.)


So...love??


I never- at any time in my life- felt easy with the notion that love would swing by my place and pick me up in a limo.


On the other hand...the harder I looked...

The further away from any kind of love I seemed to drift.


Then I would get frustrated.

& then angry.

Then desperate.


& there is nothing more off-putting than desperation.

Women can smell it a mile off.

It smells worse than our feet.


'looking for love in too many faces.'
 

The only 'wrong' in this song is the 'looking'.


Maybe love finds us. 

Provided we stop hunting...as if for prey...


& love ourselves. 


Then in the end, if you don't find your match...

at least you know you have yourself.


& if that feels like some kind of second prize...


Then you have to go back to the drawing board.

& romance yourself properly.

MIA...

I will likely put pen to paper about my observations re: America when I get back home. 

Bet you're on tender hooks. 

But one thing I CAN tell you; something is missing. 

I'm just not yet sure precisely what it is...perhaps that's the problem. 

I'm looking for something that is MIA...

Sewage Pipe Dreaming...

Nothing worse than therapists who are just as fucked up as their patients. 

At one time, I briefly toyed with the idea of being a counsellor, thinking I had some kind of life experience that might be of some use in guiding others. 

Bullshit. 

I am in NO position to counsel anyone.  

Empathise with them, yes.  Relate to them, yes.  Share, yes. 

But counsel?   Pigs Arse.

One thing I can tell you for sure- I'm am fumbling along as blindly as anyone else. 

The more I travel...the more I realise this. 

Sometimes I feel we are all crawling along on our hands and knees in a dark sewerage pipe,

& a good day is when we are not bitten by a rat. (& learning to be cheerful about that, one of our greatest challenges.)  

It seems like...all of us are fumbling desperately...still crawling through the same crap...hoping if we just stick with it...

we will finally find the way out.


Or maybe it's just me.

Ghosts in Memphis...

 

It's 4am and I am wide awake in Memphis. 

Just like the little Italian lady in 'Mystery Train'. 

& it's official; I now believe in the supernatural. 

There are indeed ghosts, spirits, strange occurrences in this town- & ipso facto- the world at large. 

Who would have thought. 

You are looking at one of the most cynical, sceptical people around. 

Frankly?  I fully expected to live my entire life safe in the knowledge that everything is perfectly explainable using science and logic. 

That there is NOTHING supranatural going on.

But now?? 

That has gone out the window.     

I realise this is a tease...but I cannot say what happened. 

(I'm sorry.  I guess those who know me personally will understand, and those who don't won't care.

& it is for those who DO care I write this elusive missive.)
 
I'm not sure I will EVER be able to say what has changed my mind. A part of me would love to...

But you just wouldn't believe it. 

I'm not sure I believe it. 

In fact- I am questioning my own sanity. 


But it happened. 

& it has changed FOREVER my view of the paranormal; extinguished every shred of doubt that there is some grand scheme to things. 

I must admit- I have always WANTED to believe there is a prevailing logic to the universe...'something out there', if you will...

something 'in charge with it's own rational grand plan'...

but never really had any proof of it. 

Now I do. 

I'm a believer. 

Now- beyond any shadow of a doubt...which is probably why I cannot tell the story.  

Maybe this is just for me. 

Maybe each of us needs to see the truth of the preternatural for ourselves in our own way. 

Otherwise, how else would we believe something so outlandish, so totally unbelievable???? 


So perhaps the story is better left untold. 


Trust me on this.

:(

I am disturbed by many things. 

But teens drugging girls and raping them- writing profanities on their unconscious bodies and posting the deed on FB until the victim commits suicide- just about takes the cake. 

It makes me gag.  Literally. 

The only thing that gives me any pleasure is fantasizing about taking my revenge on these twisted young swine- & that 'aint a great state of affairs either. 

Women are NOT places to rub our cocks. 

They are human beings. 

Living, breathing, thinking, feeling human beings. 

This bullshit must stop. 

If it does not...we deserve to become extinct. 

Frankly? 

Sometimes I tend to think women would get along fine without us.

There are some good guys out there...

but there seem to be some very very bad ones as well. 

Self loathing man?

Perhaps.

But there is much to loathe.

:(

'The Cat Motel'...

When I'm in sunny Lexington...

I love to stay at the Catalina Motel.

 

 

 

 

 

 Or the 'Cat Motel' for short.

 

 

Ironically enough...these are some of the folk I share these salubrious digs with.

 

 

 

My favourite time of day is happy hour by the pool. 

I love to watch some of the residents getting amorous...

 

 

 

 

And...don't forget...FREE CABLE!!

 

 

 

So next time you're in Lexington...hang out with the IN CROWD at the 'Cat Motel'!!!

Precioussss Lament.

I'm a little heartbroken at the moment...

I lost my beautiful gold ring today. 

It was a lovely ring.  I'm not really a ring person.  But this one...

There were some tears. 

I guess I'm not very good at letting things go.

Another lesson in how to do it without losing my shit.

I hope whoever has it enjoys it even a fraction as much pleasure from it as I did. 

Goodbye, Ace of Spades ring;

I guess I was born to lose...

you.  

 

 

Almost...

To almost connect...

but not quite. 

Time...& again.

And again. 


And...


etc

Watch The Skies...

Is there an emoticon for 'feeling inept'? 

I don't think I have felt so inept in such a long, long time.  Not since I was in school. 

If I keep on moving...keep travelling...just keep swimming...I'm generally able to outrun most negative feelings. 

But tonight...I feel unbelievably inept. 

No other word for it. 

Like I have no clue wtf I'm doing. 

I think if an alien spacecraft feels like picking someone up and doing experiments on their orifices...

I could use some kind of external stimuli. 

Just once...

I would LOVE for something to drop out of the sky and transport me to a magical new world of wonder and excitement. 

Just once...

I'd like to not have to drive the bus all by myself. 

I mean...I can do it...HAVE done it forever...

but DAMN!! 

(am I being overly ungrateful, do you think???) 

Everybody's In.

My very best wishes to those who are looking for love...

to those who have found love... 

and to everyone in between...

A Paid Political Broadcast on Behalf of my Inner Child...

Damn. 

The more I blog about my experiences as a child growing up in a violent household...the more I find other people who have been through the exact same thing. 


WTF???

Anyone here NOT been molested or tortured in their youth???



I have a dream. 

It's a simple dream. 

I don't want to build cities in space, or websites that cure cancer.  I don't want money or prizes. 

Fans, fortune or fame.


I just want adults to leave children the fuck alone. 

Keep your fists, your pricks, your filthy ideas to yourself, you diseased motherfuckers. 


& the mothers?

Once you have been fucked...

Don't hang around and let him keep fucking you or your family!!


Have the balls to stand up for your children.


If you aren't prepared to DIE to protect your children?

Then you have NO RIGHT to call yourself a Mother.


Mother? 

Father?

If you can't treat children right...

DON'T HAVE THEM!!

And if you can't behave decently toward them when you HAVE had them...then get some fucking counselling. 


Aunts, Uncles, Stepfathers, Cousins...

Priests, teachers...

WHATEVER...

If you can't leave them alone??


DON'T GO NEAR THEM!

INSTEAD OF DISCIPLINING THE CHILDREN...

TRY A LITTLE SELF DISCIPLINE!!!
 
& if you can't handle that- for whatever reason...then for heaven's sake find a quiet place to die. 


Don't infect innocent children with your bullshit. 

You might only fuck a child for five minutes...

But trust me...

You do that...you fuck them for life.


Everyone deserves a chance. 

Everyone.

LEAVE...THE FUCKING CHILDREN...ALONE.

One Story.

all these people.  

all these places.  

all these stories.


it's funny how- on some level...

a subconscious level...

they all feel like the same person, 


place...


and story.


i guess that's because they ARE.
 





 

I Sweat The Small Stuff.

The other day, someone asked me what book I was reading.


My first thought was to give them a list...

a list of book titles I thought might impress them. 

NOT what I was actually reading. 


I didn't want to tell them I was reading a book about UFO's...

I wanted to say I was reading something classy.


Why?

I guess a latent desire to be liked.

I was so starved for affection as a child...

I would do anything for the slightest scrap of approval,

I guess I haven't changed much.

I considered making something up to win their approval.

At the expense of my own self respect.


This is called a LIE.

It's not a fib. 

It's not a half-truth.

It's not a 'white' lie...(whatever the fuck that means...)


It's an ordinary, everyday garden variety LIE.

Like those elusive WMD's.


This lie about what I'm reading might seem tiny, insignificant, harmless to you...

But to me?

It means everything.


See...a man's brain...


Sorry. 

Let me start again.

See...MY brain...

learned to lie as a young child.

As a child...

If my father challenged me about something I was alleged to have done?  & I did not do it??

I would tell the truth. 


'I didn't do it Dad'!! 

& I still got beaten just as hard. 


It wasn't long before I realised...

when I was accused of doing things I DID do...

I got beaten just the same.

To say I did do it when I didn't or vice versa actually became one and the same in the chaos of violence.

The arbitrary choices I made about what I actually SAID to my father became dependent on the level of terror and trauma...

so I wailed whatever came to mind in that moment of agony...

& in the process, this cruel interrogation and punishment ritual essentially blurred the line between truth and lies for the rest of my life. 

I figured...If I am going to be beaten just as severely no matter whether I tell the truth or I lie...

What the hell does it matter?

Like it or not...

I have carried this crap with me into adulthood.

Not an excuse...just an observation.


Dad is dead now.

He died last year.

He can't beat me any more.


It's safe now. 

Safe enough to re-learn the distinction between a lie and the truth again.

Because, let's face it...

This distinction is really all we have to keep us going nuts.

Forget the government, law enforcement, the courts...

It's not about them. 

Dad was a lawyer...and he told me...'it's all a game anyway'.

It doesn't matter in court who did what, and who said what.

It's a game of chance.

Arbitrary.


What really matters...is that you are TRUE TO YOURSELF.

No matter what. 

No matter how small or insignificant that truth might seem...

Truth is truth...

& a lie is a lie. 

One little white lie...

& the next thing you know, you are lying about everything again, like it doesn't matter. 

Just to avoid the sting of consequence. 


IT DOES MATTER. 

Even on pain of death...

It matters.


In fact, actually...

It's probably ALL that really matters.  
  
 
Yes, I sweat the small stuff.


& now you know why...

Call Me Daffy...

You may call me a daffy motherfucker...

But I try to maintain a childlike sense of wonder.   

 

For Everything.

ALL of it.


Including the fucked up shit. 
 
That includes my own strange craziness...

& that of my beloved fellow man.


What the hell else am I going to do?
 
 
WHO- may I ask- wants to be around a miserable prick bitching about the state of the world when there is NOTHING he can do about it?

Probably nothing ANY of us can do about it??

When all that is left in my power is to marvel at the whole damn carnival with a childlike sense of wonder...

then goddamn it?

I'm gonna' do just that.
 
 
You can join me if you like...

 

 

Breakfast of Champions...

For my dear friend Kurt Vonnegut...RIP.


Every morning, almost as soon as I wake up...

My friends and family, the people I know and love, and especially the people I spend time with on FB, gather around me and pat me on the back, welcoming me to another day. 

Not literally...but in my mind. 


Maybe there is no difference.


You probably think I'm kidding. 

Even people who know me well, might be justified in thinking I say this for some kind of poetic effect.

There is, after all, no way of proving it is true. 


But it's true. 

As my brain slowly comes to life...

I think about the people in my life, one by one.

It's like they dawn on me, gradually...

Each and every one. 

Those I have met in person, and those I have not. 


I'm not sure there is a difference there, either. 


(ok...here's a weird bit for the stayers, to try to illustrate this point.)


FB friends- ones I have NEVER met- even drift into my subconscious, and help me process my insecurities & latent fears & neurosis.


As some of you might know...

When I was a child, I was a bit of a pant wetter.  

I think growing up with an abusive father terrified me so much, I would lose control of my bladder function.

Anyway, on one particular occasion, after wetting myself with fear, my father locked me in my room, and threatened to take me into town to buy me a dress to wear because I 'pissed my pants like a girl'.


Ever since then...

I have had a thing about the whole deal. 

I have written about it in the past...you can catch up with it if you like.  I even devoted a chapter of my book to it. 

But the point is...
   

Last night, in my dreams, one of my FB friends (a female) took me out for a beautiful new tattoo...

& then bought me a nice dress.     

I wore that dress, and felt completely comfortable in it. 

& she stayed with me for a while, until I was ok again inside.  


& I woke up feeling ok with the world. 


That happens to me all the time. 


Who says FB friends aren't real???