despite a great visit with my dad, I find myself in a state of...
something.
depression? maybe. i was just sobbing, triggered by something on tv that hit a little too close to my heart.
f*ck, i hate this time of year.
ghost
Monday, December 31, 2012
some sort of existence?
it's been a week since i've seen my kids. they've been on vacation with their mom. i went out west to visit my dad and keep my mind off the fact they've been so far away from me. i'm back now, and they'll be here tomorrow.
Friday, December 21, 2012
cold
i am devouring chaos, with a winter's chill chaser. autumn's lovechild
has spared me her fingerprints, and these knowing owl eyes have me
second guessing the wild rumble of my bones. and yet, Sleep sweeps my
eyelashes, drowning me in my own daydreams. do you remember when you tried to invite yourself in, but bounced from
my ribcage instead? ghost
has spared me her fingerprints, and these knowing owl eyes have me
second guessing the wild rumble of my bones. and yet, Sleep sweeps my
eyelashes, drowning me in my own daydreams. do you remember when you tried to invite yourself in, but bounced from
my ribcage instead? ghost
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
aphorism
i've mentioned before that the holiday season sends me into a sort of
melancholy. and this year, that melancholy has been threatening to
become a full blown bout of depression. but i keep fighting it. i just
keep swinging. i have noticed this year though, that while i was shopping for my kids
gifts that the melancholy was replaced by a sort of subtly giddy
excitement. i keep imagining their bright eyes and infectious smiles
and the shredded wrapping paper and the wild imaginings i'll get to
listen to all afternoon while they play with their toys, draw and
paint, and enjoy with the things i chose for them. that giddiness settled on me last night while i wrapped their gifts
and i caught myself smiling. and i wondered that love can over come so
much pain. i wondered how it could just make the complexities of our
pain melt away. i love my kids. it's that simple. i love them. there's no hardship i
won't endure for them, no lengths i won't go to see them happy and
healthy. and then i began to think that love is so simple we will never understand it. it is the simplest thing in the world, and yet it is infinitely
creative. if you try to think about it, all you get is a mass of
contradictions. i wrote a while back that love, i find, is nothing
more than a heart. i'm rethinking that. i had begun to believe it was
not the grand metaphysical scheme i have always believed that
wonderful four letter word was, that it was simply chemicals and
filled needs. but, it's got to be more than that. if it were just a
heart, despite the amazing things a heart is capable of, i don't think
it capable of overcoming the hurt this life can inflict. maybe it's
subjective. maybe love is like that for me. maybe it's something
different for you. different for everyone. ghost
melancholy. and this year, that melancholy has been threatening to
become a full blown bout of depression. but i keep fighting it. i just
keep swinging. i have noticed this year though, that while i was shopping for my kids
gifts that the melancholy was replaced by a sort of subtly giddy
excitement. i keep imagining their bright eyes and infectious smiles
and the shredded wrapping paper and the wild imaginings i'll get to
listen to all afternoon while they play with their toys, draw and
paint, and enjoy with the things i chose for them. that giddiness settled on me last night while i wrapped their gifts
and i caught myself smiling. and i wondered that love can over come so
much pain. i wondered how it could just make the complexities of our
pain melt away. i love my kids. it's that simple. i love them. there's no hardship i
won't endure for them, no lengths i won't go to see them happy and
healthy. and then i began to think that love is so simple we will never understand it. it is the simplest thing in the world, and yet it is infinitely
creative. if you try to think about it, all you get is a mass of
contradictions. i wrote a while back that love, i find, is nothing
more than a heart. i'm rethinking that. i had begun to believe it was
not the grand metaphysical scheme i have always believed that
wonderful four letter word was, that it was simply chemicals and
filled needs. but, it's got to be more than that. if it were just a
heart, despite the amazing things a heart is capable of, i don't think
it capable of overcoming the hurt this life can inflict. maybe it's
subjective. maybe love is like that for me. maybe it's something
different for you. different for everyone. ghost
Monday, December 17, 2012
going home
i am contemplating stillness. a desolate and flat land breathing wind
blown silence. my young will be off on adventure, and i will return to
the land of my own youth where the scape and scope is empty, like the
canvas of a tormented painter who wants to impress his agony on
canvas, but can't force himself to make the first stroke. the traces of my footsteps are long gone, probably blown away by the
ever blowing wind. the sky is brighter there, bleached like my life
before i moved to the great green. every time i return, it feels less
like what i remember from childhood. the affection i feel for the land
crumbles in my hands, like sand. there is little for me there now, and
i always feel like a man out of place. winter is here, but the weather is warm. still, everything feels
frozen. despite the quiet, i feel very little peace. i have to move now. i think i remember i was going somewhere. other
than the constant push from within, i'm in no hurry. i've seen all i
can from this point, though. it is time to move on. it's going to be a hard winter. i will make it through. mine is a
nuclear winter. always has been. ghost
blown silence. my young will be off on adventure, and i will return to
the land of my own youth where the scape and scope is empty, like the
canvas of a tormented painter who wants to impress his agony on
canvas, but can't force himself to make the first stroke. the traces of my footsteps are long gone, probably blown away by the
ever blowing wind. the sky is brighter there, bleached like my life
before i moved to the great green. every time i return, it feels less
like what i remember from childhood. the affection i feel for the land
crumbles in my hands, like sand. there is little for me there now, and
i always feel like a man out of place. winter is here, but the weather is warm. still, everything feels
frozen. despite the quiet, i feel very little peace. i have to move now. i think i remember i was going somewhere. other
than the constant push from within, i'm in no hurry. i've seen all i
can from this point, though. it is time to move on. it's going to be a hard winter. i will make it through. mine is a
nuclear winter. always has been. ghost
Friday, December 14, 2012
jack
i'm no kerouac. i'm not an open road. my life's work isn't painted in
a gaudy yellow line, slapping the asphalt like a time devouring
river. i don't own a nikon or black loafers. i don't hop boxcars, or
sleep under stars so pristine they make God himself smile at his own
work. i have no cool lurking in the corners, giving mystery or pain to
strange women. there's no red rush of neon or cheap wine pissing in
the wind, crawling home to rape the sunrise. i don't have a mouth angels could fall into, my tongue and lips rarely
betray the tangled beast of my mind. my words do not tumble in a
torrent, like a cacophony of noise and empty thought. i'm simply a man of stone, with hazel eyes and a seeking soul. ghost
a gaudy yellow line, slapping the asphalt like a time devouring
river. i don't own a nikon or black loafers. i don't hop boxcars, or
sleep under stars so pristine they make God himself smile at his own
work. i have no cool lurking in the corners, giving mystery or pain to
strange women. there's no red rush of neon or cheap wine pissing in
the wind, crawling home to rape the sunrise. i don't have a mouth angels could fall into, my tongue and lips rarely
betray the tangled beast of my mind. my words do not tumble in a
torrent, like a cacophony of noise and empty thought. i'm simply a man of stone, with hazel eyes and a seeking soul. ghost
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
i will not inherit the earth, despite what you believe
i've got a filthy mouth, and a gallery of scars hanging in my throat. thirty seven years silent and i still can't tame this skull caged constellation between my
temples like i have this lightning strike tongue that hisses so many
"f*ck yous" against my teeth. i try so hard to write myself hollow, to corrode away my sharp edge
bones, and you think i am nothing, an insignificant nebula orbiting
the wrong atmosphere. you mistake my quiet nature as meekness and say
whatever you choose with no fear of consequences. but, my veins bleed black ichor, and words are not ever only words,
mother f*cker. ghost
temples like i have this lightning strike tongue that hisses so many
"f*ck yous" against my teeth. i try so hard to write myself hollow, to corrode away my sharp edge
bones, and you think i am nothing, an insignificant nebula orbiting
the wrong atmosphere. you mistake my quiet nature as meekness and say
whatever you choose with no fear of consequences. but, my veins bleed black ichor, and words are not ever only words,
mother f*cker. ghost
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
annual descent
i used to love the holidays. they used to be filled with a sense of
wonder and freedom and hope. there was always hope. in recent years,
though, i have found myself floating down into melancholy. that sense
of wonder and freedom are gone now. mostly, all the holidays bring me
are pain as i continue to struggle. hope is a myth. despite all the illness and physical pain of recent weeks, though,
drops of gold, those last rays of an all too short fall barge past the
cold wind, no excuses, and gently caress the edges of my mouth into a
smile. they remind me of my favorite days. blue skies and sunshiny
cold. today reminds me of better times. almost nine years to the day i
leaped into a crazy beautiful life, a life ultimately cut short in
tragic fashion. how time flies. i can't quite comprehend that it was so long ago. i miss that life. i miss feeling loved. i miss feeling adored. even it
was all a lie, the circumstances leading up to that leap were
dizzying, exhilarating, but i do not know how I did it. i fear
sometimes that i'll never be able to do it again. with the exception
of the two suns that were born of that leap, i often wish i had never
taken it. or more specifically, i wish i had not jumped in the
direction i did. but would i change it if i could? there has been
little but enduring pain as a result. i know. i chose. it's my fault. my life had never offered me anything that could harden me for the
loss i never saw coming, a loss i still feel the ripples of every
single day. perhaps it is my punishment for my many sins. perhaps it's
some grand cosmic joke. perhaps it's a test. i find it cruelly
humorous that now, as i did before the leap chronicled again and again
in these pages here in ghostspace, i am asking, "when will this end?" ghost
wonder and freedom and hope. there was always hope. in recent years,
though, i have found myself floating down into melancholy. that sense
of wonder and freedom are gone now. mostly, all the holidays bring me
are pain as i continue to struggle. hope is a myth. despite all the illness and physical pain of recent weeks, though,
drops of gold, those last rays of an all too short fall barge past the
cold wind, no excuses, and gently caress the edges of my mouth into a
smile. they remind me of my favorite days. blue skies and sunshiny
cold. today reminds me of better times. almost nine years to the day i
leaped into a crazy beautiful life, a life ultimately cut short in
tragic fashion. how time flies. i can't quite comprehend that it was so long ago. i miss that life. i miss feeling loved. i miss feeling adored. even it
was all a lie, the circumstances leading up to that leap were
dizzying, exhilarating, but i do not know how I did it. i fear
sometimes that i'll never be able to do it again. with the exception
of the two suns that were born of that leap, i often wish i had never
taken it. or more specifically, i wish i had not jumped in the
direction i did. but would i change it if i could? there has been
little but enduring pain as a result. i know. i chose. it's my fault. my life had never offered me anything that could harden me for the
loss i never saw coming, a loss i still feel the ripples of every
single day. perhaps it is my punishment for my many sins. perhaps it's
some grand cosmic joke. perhaps it's a test. i find it cruelly
humorous that now, as i did before the leap chronicled again and again
in these pages here in ghostspace, i am asking, "when will this end?" ghost
Friday, December 7, 2012
picking up the guantlet
[[posterous-content:pid___0]]
my dear friend and occassional political sparring partner, Kristie, nominated me for a blog award, proving two people from different backgrounds and opposite views on pretty much everything can still be friends and share mutual respect. i think the rest of the world could learn something from us, Kristie.
thank you so much for the nomination! i am honored.
liebster is a german word meaning dearest, beloved, or favorite. The Liebster Award is given by bloggers to other bloggers and is intended to showcase exceptional blogs.
here’s the cookies:
1. add the award icon to your blog!
2. link to your nominator to say thank you.
3. post 11 facts about yourself.
4. answer the questions the tagger has set for you.
5. create 11 questions for your nominees to answer.
6. choose up-and-coming bloggers with less than 200 followers, go to their blog, and tell them about the award.
eleven facts about me:
1. i’m not a redneck despite my ability and willingness to use firearms or my belief that we would all be safer from mass shootings and the average criminal enterprise if more law abiding citizens had their concealed handgun licenses.
2. i could eat tacos for every meal, every day, forever.
3. i never say anything out loud, but when i see someone with a starbucks cup in hand, or when i drive and see a long line of cars waiting in the starbucks drive through, the noise sheep make rolls through my head. i have no idea when or why this started.
4. my classroom has big partially completed murals on every wall and all the ceiling tiles are all painted with different pictures. i plan on expanding into the hallway this spring. everyone assumes i started this because, “it’s just his creativity manifesting itself,” but the truth is i was trying to pick a fight with a certain administrator we had at the time.
5. come january, ghostspaceechoes will have been up and running for ten years. i have seen hundreds of blogs i’ve read regularly dry up and die in that time. i wonder what causes them to do so. i’ve never once thought about closing up shop, despite not a soul having read the first years’ worth of material.
6. every time i’m filling something out online and i have to hit a button that says submit, a little voice in my head screams, “NEVER!!!”
7. i’ve never been diagnosed mind you, but i share most of the characteristics of those who are diagnosed with synesthesia.
8. i have a recurring dream of this annoying kid getting smashed by a foul ball. i’ve had it at least ten times. i always know within the dream it’s that dream again, and i sit back and watch.
9. i’m building a chess set. the pieces are anywhere from eight to sixteen inches tall and made of cardboard and wood. each piece is different and have character names. i’m currently working on a pawn. sure, it takes a while, but i’m not getting paid a dime for it, so i can move at whatever pace i choose.
10. i think animals are sometimes sent into our lives to test us in some way, to teach us something. i’ve always held a secret belief that they are some sort of angels. that’s why strays are so hard for me to turn away. my brother knows this, and that’s why i now have taco belle.
11. whether typing or writing, i rarely use capitals. generally the only things i capitalize are names. i mean, what did those other words do to deserve that sort of emphasis?
eleven questions asked of me:
1. who was your best friend in kindergarten and how did you meet? billy. we were both the only four year olds in our class at this little christian school my folks sent me too. after first grade, i left the school. as a senior in high school, i had long long hair and a penchent for comic books. one day while perusing the aisles of a new comic book shop, i noticed this other long haired wierdo behind the counter who was vaguely familiar. after we confirmed who we were and realized we knew each other, billy said, "so this is what happens to kids who started off in christian school wearing ties and getting our knuckles slapped." to which i replied, "yeah, we grow our hair out long and spend our free time in comic book shops."
2. where is your happy place, and why that place? i'm most at peace when my kids are with me. i love when my father and brother and i and all our kids and family can get together. i have a hard time imagining a better way to spend my days.
3. what song will make you stay in the parked car until it’s over? the grudge by tool. there's a point where maynard let's rip a 40 second scream that brings the hair on the back on my neck upright every single time i hear it.
4. do you generally have more good dreams or more nightmares? nightmares. but, i really do enjoy the rush they bring so i generally enjoy them. unless they're about my kids. then i can't go back to sleep until i know they're safe.
5. what is still sitting in your refrigerator that should’ve been tossed long ago? there's a half carton of eggnog that went bad a couple of weeks ago.
6. what movie have you seen the greatest number of times? ferris bueller's day off. i love it so much.
7. when did you first start working with computers? how were you introduced? my first experience with computers was in the seventh grade. we were taught typing on these ancient apple comps that ran dos. black screens with green lettering. i was well into college before i was introduced to the internet.
8. what was the lamest Christmas gift you ever received? bath towels. need i say more?
9. what gives you the purest joy you know? two things. watching my kids play when they don't know i'm watching. seeing them grow and learn and develope and seeing their joy brings me joy. also when my brother and i get together, sometimes we'll both get tickled about something and the fit of laughter overcomes both of us. it's rare, but when it happens, there will be tears and belly pain.
10. how much do you regret ever joining facebook? i have no facebook regret. it's allowed me to find and reconnect with people i've lost through the years. it's allowed me to get some closure with some of those people, to answer questions that have plagued me for years, and let me make some interesting new friends. it lets me more regularly communicate with members of my family that i don't see often, if ever, and share my life with them and vice versa. sometimes, when i'm lonely, it's all the social contact i can manage.
11. the house is on fire. your family and pets are safe on the street outside. what 3 things do you try to grab on the way out the door? my wallet, a large envelope with birth certificates, social security info and the like, and my phone. if i've got those three things, i can have a place to stay and a foot up on getting the rest of it replaced.
eleven questions i am asking:
1. what is the name of the first person other than family members who you knew you loved? are they still in your life today?
2. if you're married or with someone, what's your favorite part about the relationship? if you're unattached, what's your favorite part about riding solo?
3. if you could live your life over again, what's the one thing you would want to change?
4. how do you make spaghetti?
5. would you rather spend your vacation in the mountains or on a beach?
6. is there any place in the world you absolutely have to see before you kick off this mortal coil?
7. what would you order as your last meal?
8. what five words would you use to describe yourself?
9. what was the last thing you remember that
really made you laugh?
10. which character was your favorite on friends?
11. if not now, when?
blogs i am nominating:
ghost
Monday, December 3, 2012
missing
so, as some of you know, about two weeks ago, i had occasion to pull
out three fourths of one of my molars with a pair of needle nose
pliers. really, given the circumstances, i had no choice, and to be
honest, i felt fine the next morning. the fourth of the tooth that
remained was sharp and jagged and i figured since i couldn't get at it
with my trusty needle nose, i should probably see a dentist. this was
right before Thanksgiving so no one could get me in until last
tuesday. that was fine. went in. doc removed the rest of the tooth
and then had to dig out the root prongs. let me just tell you, if
you've never had the honor of being the recipient of that little
procedure, i recommend you skip it. still, i've had one or two teeth removed before and i'm usually fine,
the pain is minimal, and i go on about my merry way. this time
though, i developed what is known in the world of dentistry as dry
socket. anyone else ever suffered through this? now, i'm a tough guy,
not in the beat you up in the ally sort of way, but in the pain
doesn't hurt me kinda way. i've played entire soccer seasons with
broken bones, pushed carts up hills for years with torn meniscus,
dealt with constant headaches since i was a boy. however, dry socket has been kicking my posterior up and down the ally
for the last week. i've missed multiple days of work and been a
general bore for my kids. nothing i was supposed to accomplish has
been accomplished. the pain has been such that i've forgotten key
things, like my keys. my mind has been preoccupied with the constant
throb of pain that radiates from my jaw up into my head and down into
my neck. i'm back at work, but i still don't feel good. but i've got my heating
pad and an ice pack on standby. here's to hoping i can make it through
the day.
ghost
out three fourths of one of my molars with a pair of needle nose
pliers. really, given the circumstances, i had no choice, and to be
honest, i felt fine the next morning. the fourth of the tooth that
remained was sharp and jagged and i figured since i couldn't get at it
with my trusty needle nose, i should probably see a dentist. this was
right before Thanksgiving so no one could get me in until last
tuesday. that was fine. went in. doc removed the rest of the tooth
and then had to dig out the root prongs. let me just tell you, if
you've never had the honor of being the recipient of that little
procedure, i recommend you skip it. still, i've had one or two teeth removed before and i'm usually fine,
the pain is minimal, and i go on about my merry way. this time
though, i developed what is known in the world of dentistry as dry
socket. anyone else ever suffered through this? now, i'm a tough guy,
not in the beat you up in the ally sort of way, but in the pain
doesn't hurt me kinda way. i've played entire soccer seasons with
broken bones, pushed carts up hills for years with torn meniscus,
dealt with constant headaches since i was a boy. however, dry socket has been kicking my posterior up and down the ally
for the last week. i've missed multiple days of work and been a
general bore for my kids. nothing i was supposed to accomplish has
been accomplished. the pain has been such that i've forgotten key
things, like my keys. my mind has been preoccupied with the constant
throb of pain that radiates from my jaw up into my head and down into
my neck. i'm back at work, but i still don't feel good. but i've got my heating
pad and an ice pack on standby. here's to hoping i can make it through
the day.
ghost
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
9th annual It's a Very Shenry Christmas cd swaparama
so, i spoke to our fearless leader about what has become our tradition
of swapping music within our circle every year for the last nine
running. a busy busy man, our Shenry, he did tell me that since he has
been out of touch with his internet family for so long and that he
felt his blog was in such a state of neglect that he hadn't planned on
hosting it this year. so i will. i'm just a steward, mind you. i'm
just going to hold down the fort until Shenry gets back in the saddle.
it's his shindig after all. i just can't stand the idea of letting
something that has been so much fun and meant so much to me over the
last (almost) decade ride off into a sunset. so, here we go. returning swappers, you know the score. if you're in, send me an
email with your address so i can compose a list to send to the rest of
the swappers. if you're new and don't know my email, leave yours in
the comments and i'll get back to you asap. time being of the essence, i'm going to make a command decision and
skip the portion of our program where i ask for input on theme ideas
and choose one for us. this year, the theme is "A Message." consider
your song selections as something you'd like to say to someone in
particular, a group of people in general, or the world at large. or
just put whatever the hell you want to on it. the rules are simple.
put your selection together on disc, put a track listing and reasons
you chose each song on your blog (or send it as a note with the cd if
you're not of the blogger sort) and ship it out to your fellow
swappers in time for Christmas. i'll get you all the addresses of the
swappers involved in this year's piracy as soon as i have them. spread the word, amigos. let's do Shenry proud. ghost
of swapping music within our circle every year for the last nine
running. a busy busy man, our Shenry, he did tell me that since he has
been out of touch with his internet family for so long and that he
felt his blog was in such a state of neglect that he hadn't planned on
hosting it this year. so i will. i'm just a steward, mind you. i'm
just going to hold down the fort until Shenry gets back in the saddle.
it's his shindig after all. i just can't stand the idea of letting
something that has been so much fun and meant so much to me over the
last (almost) decade ride off into a sunset. so, here we go. returning swappers, you know the score. if you're in, send me an
email with your address so i can compose a list to send to the rest of
the swappers. if you're new and don't know my email, leave yours in
the comments and i'll get back to you asap. time being of the essence, i'm going to make a command decision and
skip the portion of our program where i ask for input on theme ideas
and choose one for us. this year, the theme is "A Message." consider
your song selections as something you'd like to say to someone in
particular, a group of people in general, or the world at large. or
just put whatever the hell you want to on it. the rules are simple.
put your selection together on disc, put a track listing and reasons
you chose each song on your blog (or send it as a note with the cd if
you're not of the blogger sort) and ship it out to your fellow
swappers in time for Christmas. i'll get you all the addresses of the
swappers involved in this year's piracy as soon as i have them. spread the word, amigos. let's do Shenry proud. ghost
Monday, November 26, 2012
con side r
so, i'm still an artist. i can say that despite the evidence to the contrary. i have projects.
i have commissions i need to be cranking out. the problem is, at least
lately, is that all of my projects have been non commercial, non
saleable little nothings i just want to play with. mostly, i'll admit,
i've been ignoring the paintings because i've been singularly focused
on getting two novels ready to go. so, i've been really considering leaving the teaching profession and
taking a job in a cube. the up side of it is the pay, the ability to
get a raise and bonuses and benefits and do the things in my life that
i day dream about now, but can't even remotely afford. the downside, i imagine, will be the lack of time to create, which is
pretty much what i do all day every day now. i've been doing this so
long now, that my needs to create, to draw and paint and sculpt are
just simply met by going to work and tinkering. it's part of my job
description after all. and i love that. i really do. i've been barely making ends meet for too many years now, seen too
many of my dreams die, that i can't justify not reaching for a brass
ring when i see it. i see glimpses of future, and the realization that
i need to seriously start thinking about it has settled over me. my
question is, will the need to create drive me to do so in my down time
when i'm not at work, soccer games, baseball practices, whathaveyou,
or will it be something that i put on the back burner that will
eventually die from neglect? because that would be a crying shame. ghost
i have commissions i need to be cranking out. the problem is, at least
lately, is that all of my projects have been non commercial, non
saleable little nothings i just want to play with. mostly, i'll admit,
i've been ignoring the paintings because i've been singularly focused
on getting two novels ready to go. so, i've been really considering leaving the teaching profession and
taking a job in a cube. the up side of it is the pay, the ability to
get a raise and bonuses and benefits and do the things in my life that
i day dream about now, but can't even remotely afford. the downside, i imagine, will be the lack of time to create, which is
pretty much what i do all day every day now. i've been doing this so
long now, that my needs to create, to draw and paint and sculpt are
just simply met by going to work and tinkering. it's part of my job
description after all. and i love that. i really do. i've been barely making ends meet for too many years now, seen too
many of my dreams die, that i can't justify not reaching for a brass
ring when i see it. i see glimpses of future, and the realization that
i need to seriously start thinking about it has settled over me. my
question is, will the need to create drive me to do so in my down time
when i'm not at work, soccer games, baseball practices, whathaveyou,
or will it be something that i put on the back burner that will
eventually die from neglect? because that would be a crying shame. ghost
Friday, November 16, 2012
assignment
next week is thanksgiving break here. that's right, a whole week to
decompress and enjoy some time with my kids, maybe with my family, and
if i'm lucky maybe i'll even get invited to someone's turkey dinner.
we'll see. but, i'm already thinking of the project i'm going to assign to my art
1 kids when we get back. i thought of this the other day, and i'm kind
of excited about it. i'm going to do one also because i've never
tried it, and that's the kinda stuff that gets my motor going. the assignment will be to do a self portrait without using their
physical characteristics to represent themselves. yes, it sounds difficult and will require some upper level thinking a
lot of them will resist. i'm having trouble coming up with ideas
myself, and i rarely lack those. so my question to you all is, if i
had assigned this to you, what sort of imagery would you use to
represent yourself in a self portrait where you can't draw you? if you're a creative type and doodle something up, email it to me. c'mon. i'll show you mine if you show me yours. ghost
decompress and enjoy some time with my kids, maybe with my family, and
if i'm lucky maybe i'll even get invited to someone's turkey dinner.
we'll see. but, i'm already thinking of the project i'm going to assign to my art
1 kids when we get back. i thought of this the other day, and i'm kind
of excited about it. i'm going to do one also because i've never
tried it, and that's the kinda stuff that gets my motor going. the assignment will be to do a self portrait without using their
physical characteristics to represent themselves. yes, it sounds difficult and will require some upper level thinking a
lot of them will resist. i'm having trouble coming up with ideas
myself, and i rarely lack those. so my question to you all is, if i
had assigned this to you, what sort of imagery would you use to
represent yourself in a self portrait where you can't draw you? if you're a creative type and doodle something up, email it to me. c'mon. i'll show you mine if you show me yours. ghost
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
life and living
there have been a series of suicides both in the town where i teach
and our football rivals down the road the last couple of years. these
struck me, not because someone killed themselves. i understand how
things can become too heavy a load to carry. trust me, i do. these
struck me because they were all highschoolers. they haven't had time
to accumulate a load so heavy that they think their best option is
death. they shouldn't have accumulated that sorta load anyway. and i
wish that they could have seen that life is a trip, one we just can't
tell where it's gonna lead.
lunch the other day because the boy who died was the cousin of a
couple of our students. the idea that there's gotta be something that
flips the switch, a chemical imbalance, or something, that sends
someone over that cliff came up. we've all been down. i know i have. i've
been down where i thought the best way up and out of the pain was
death. but that's all it ever was, just a thought. i never took
action. i never set a plan to off myself into motion. i remember reading an essay of Camus's in The Myth of Sisyphus in
which he stated that people decide to commit suicide once a trigger
happens in their world. someone makes an offhand remark, the bus is
late, something small and seemingly insignificant happens, and
suddenly the person believes at that point that life is not worth the
trouble. i found that very profound. it's not despair or desperation
that does it, but sheer apathy. i remember finding a connection between that and stories i read of the
holocaust. the people the survivors knew wouldn't make it were the
ones who had given up on trying to groom themselves in some way, of
not caring about how dirty they were. they had given up on the little
things. maybe it's the little things that matter most. maybe hope is not some
grand gesture from the universe we all seem to want when we're clawing
our way from the bottom of a pit. maybe instead it's a good cup of
coffee, reading a well written book, someone saying, "thank you," when
you hold the door open for them, my children taking my hand when we
cross a street. that's what has helped me overcome despair, helped me
keep on, has let me fall asleep at night with the soot of the day
fresh on my skin to remind me of the little victories that have made
survival a life. and what is good, phaedrus,
and what is not good...
need we ask anyone to tell us these things?
(from zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance) indeed. if i could give you a gift today, i'd have you let the good bolster
you, and have the bad make you stronger for having endured it. ghost
Monday, November 12, 2012
perhaps...
i think i have always attributed all too human characteristics to my
God. perhaps that's why i judge myself so harshly. i demand a lot from
people. i guess i've always thought God must also, and i am all too
painfully aware of my short comings as a human being. this weekend, i had a lot of fun with my kids, and there were several
times where i just caught myself looking at them, watching whatever it
was they were doing. Tank's reaction when he catches me staring is a
shrug and "what?" Pixie always gives me the biggest sweetest smile.
Dimples gives me an exaggerated wink. she is going to be a little
heart breaker. it is in these moments i wish i could impress on them
just how much i love them, so that they could carry that assurance
with them like a shield into everything they will experience in their
lives. but i cannot. they have no concept of infinity. their small beautiful minds are
incapable of comprehending what love is like on that scale. instead, i
tell them repeatedly, probably to the point of annoyance. "do you know i love you?" i say. "yes, daddy. i didn't forget." they'll answer. or "yes, you told us already." and i smile and they go on about their little business. and i watch
them play and learn and grow. and yesterday i thought, maybe, perhaps, just possibly, God loves us,
loves me, the same way. sure, my kids can push my buttons, and yes, i
see in them some characteristics and personality traits developing
that i don't particularly care for, but i love them so d*mn much it's
hard to breathe sometimes when they're not with me. i know that is
part of them growing and learning and living. i know i did not always
behave the way my father would have wished. and i begin to wonder if
this big infinite God i've always imagined, always feared, feels the
same way about me. i wonder if despite my tendency to push God's
buttons, if he looks at me from time to time while i'm playing,
growing, learning, and smiles the way i do when i look at my kids. dealing with infinity, i can't comprehend His love, His wisdom. all i
can do is trust it, and that's called faith, ladies and gents. i have
been trying to forgive myself, hoping that He could forgive me. i
wonder if all my worry has been futile. i know i cannot understand
God's love or his plans for me. but i'd like just once to catch him staring at me and smiling. ghost
God. perhaps that's why i judge myself so harshly. i demand a lot from
people. i guess i've always thought God must also, and i am all too
painfully aware of my short comings as a human being. this weekend, i had a lot of fun with my kids, and there were several
times where i just caught myself looking at them, watching whatever it
was they were doing. Tank's reaction when he catches me staring is a
shrug and "what?" Pixie always gives me the biggest sweetest smile.
Dimples gives me an exaggerated wink. she is going to be a little
heart breaker. it is in these moments i wish i could impress on them
just how much i love them, so that they could carry that assurance
with them like a shield into everything they will experience in their
lives. but i cannot. they have no concept of infinity. their small beautiful minds are
incapable of comprehending what love is like on that scale. instead, i
tell them repeatedly, probably to the point of annoyance. "do you know i love you?" i say. "yes, daddy. i didn't forget." they'll answer. or "yes, you told us already." and i smile and they go on about their little business. and i watch
them play and learn and grow. and yesterday i thought, maybe, perhaps, just possibly, God loves us,
loves me, the same way. sure, my kids can push my buttons, and yes, i
see in them some characteristics and personality traits developing
that i don't particularly care for, but i love them so d*mn much it's
hard to breathe sometimes when they're not with me. i know that is
part of them growing and learning and living. i know i did not always
behave the way my father would have wished. and i begin to wonder if
this big infinite God i've always imagined, always feared, feels the
same way about me. i wonder if despite my tendency to push God's
buttons, if he looks at me from time to time while i'm playing,
growing, learning, and smiles the way i do when i look at my kids. dealing with infinity, i can't comprehend His love, His wisdom. all i
can do is trust it, and that's called faith, ladies and gents. i have
been trying to forgive myself, hoping that He could forgive me. i
wonder if all my worry has been futile. i know i cannot understand
God's love or his plans for me. but i'd like just once to catch him staring at me and smiling. ghost
Friday, November 9, 2012
down shift
maybe i wasn't meant for anything big. and maybe i shouldn't want to be anything big. perhaps i'd be best served if i were something more simple, something like a lamp. i think my kids would be much better served by my being a lamp to light their way, than a devestating fire. and i gotta tell you, if you didn't already know, those kids of mine are everything to me. whatever choices i make, they are always made with those three and how it will effect them in mind.
and if that's the case, i pray someday i'll find peace in my life. i can still smile, after all, and no, it's not a maniacle grin. i can still laugh, and it's not some evil cackle.
i dream of going to my grave loved. i mean comepletely and undeniably loved. i want to be genuinely missed by the people in my life. i want to be the kind of father that my kids are proud to have called their dad.
i suppose the dream, basically, is that i want to die, and have people, some people anyway, to believe their lives were better for my having been part of them.
it's raining gently here, and there is a slight shiver that good things are still to come. i hope i'm right. not all things are right in my world, but i find from time to time a few previously rough edges have smoothed out.
peace trickles in.
ghost
Thursday, November 8, 2012
4th gear
when i was a kid i was the loner.
not much has changed. i've had many people tell me they were drawn to me because of that loner persona, that the mystery of me was something they just had to solve. let me just say, it's not at all the romantic character people seem drawn to. it's lonely. it's hard.
i'm ok being alone, though.
until the storms of my life roll in anyway. then, i'm in turmoil, not because of the storm itself, but because there's no one to reign me in, no one to check my reactions with, no one to curb my impulses to strike back. there's no one to tell me i'm doing the right thing, or that i'm messing it all up. no one to call me on my stubborness, to tell me i'm being unreasonable. i've got my brother and father of course, but they have their own lives and different perspectives on mine so something gets lost in translation.
there's no one in my life to encourage me. there's no one i can look at and get a nod of affirmation. those of you with a partner, don't take that for granted, because that's invaluable.
i am often stubborn, and quick to assume someone is trying to screw me over, or take something from me. i'd like to say i'm better than that, that i can rise above it, but the truth is, i don't trust many people anymore. i don't trust my own instincts sometimes. it's hard to show someone my belly when all i expect is to get kicked again.
what i'm trying to say is, i have come to realize i am still a loner, and i'm ok alone. but i was a better man with a woman backing me.
ghost
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
3rd gear
ever feel like you were maybe destined for something remarkable? i'm a grinder by nature, taking each day as it comes and navigating through their mine fields without much thought about tomorrow or those tomorrows that follow it. still, i have this feeling that i'm supposed to be more, to be something bigger.
i can't imagine what. i want to be a bonafide writer. i haven't found the door i need to unlock to make that happen yet, but i keep working, keep creating, keep searching. i am not opposed to kicking in a door either.
i've often said, i write for me, i tell the story i want to hear and if it never amounts to anything, then i'll still be satisfied with the work i've put into it. i'll admit, that's only a partial truth. i can tell you, i still tell the story i want to hear, but i want to tell it to everyone. i want the book deal. i want the whole thing.
the question is, is that the bigger thing i feel i'm destined for?
dreaming can be a dangerous thing. i wonder if part of what holds me back, from finding that door, is that i pull the reigns on my dreams lest my delusions of grandeur overtake me.
ghost
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
2nd gear
sometimes i feel like i am horribly alone. i know i am not. there are people around me. my kids. my father. my brother. i have a friend or two. and even if they don't fully understand, so what? who fully understands anyone else? who really is in perfect sync with another person? there is a wall every person erects and lets few cross, and my walls are taller and harder than even i'd like. they're as much a prison as they are a defensive measure.
that's really all there is to it.
ghost
Monday, November 5, 2012
1st gear
sometimes i feel like so much has been stripped from me, taken from me without my consent, that i cannot afford to compromise anymore. change comes and i stand my ground even when sometimes it would be best if i retreated to higher ground. there are times, of course, where standing firm is exactly what is needed, but it is my default action.
i realize most of my time, the time in my head, not necessarily the time i am occupying in this world, is spent searching for a sort of peace. i don't know what it looks like, so i'm not sure i know what i'm looking for. if i ever knew it, it's been so long that i have forgotten its features.
ghost
Thursday, November 1, 2012
mildly mannering
yes, that love thy neighbor thing has been on my to-do list, but
everything has just been so crazy. you know? i am maybe too aware of the tiniest little things i say and do. i keep
my mouth shut instead of saying something out of petty annoyance, or
selfish spite. i am too aware of the things i do even when i am
completely alone. i do not trust my own motivations. i do not always immediately
understand my initial feelings. so i say nothing, lest i cause
unwarranted damage. this, of course, is only with people i care about. with strangers and
enemies i take more of a shoot first, ask questions later approach. while i like to consider this self restraint a courtesy to my loved
ones, it has more than often been an invitation for some of those
loved ones to take advantage of me. and i'm the fool because i let
them. by not trusting my initial instincts, feelings, insight, i have
allowed them to take advantage of me. no one to blame but myself. being me, i have always judged myself much more harshly than i do
others and probably much more than they do me. i beat myself up over
the smallest things. i always have. i am not the tallest, most fit
guy. my attitude toward certain things can be classified as strictly
negative. i am not the best housekeeper by far. i kill myself over
these sort of things. i have been invalidated by certain people and
abandoned for these sort of things. it is a secret fear of mine, that i will be judged by my God for these
sort of things when this life is all over. i really hope i'm wrong. i
hope that when i'm judged, He takes into account instead every scrap
of paper i picked up and tossed in the garbage, the quarters i gave my
kids to give to the homeless and those fake santas that hang around
outside walmart during the holidays ringing those forsaken bells. i
hope He thinks of the tiny little things i did when i didn't think of
myself first. i hope i have those credits in the bank balance of my
soul. come to think of it, i'd like to judge myself by those standards. i'd
like someone to judge me by those standards. i imagine a lot of people would say, "but those are nothing." my answer would be, "but those are everything." ghost
everything has just been so crazy. you know? i am maybe too aware of the tiniest little things i say and do. i keep
my mouth shut instead of saying something out of petty annoyance, or
selfish spite. i am too aware of the things i do even when i am
completely alone. i do not trust my own motivations. i do not always immediately
understand my initial feelings. so i say nothing, lest i cause
unwarranted damage. this, of course, is only with people i care about. with strangers and
enemies i take more of a shoot first, ask questions later approach. while i like to consider this self restraint a courtesy to my loved
ones, it has more than often been an invitation for some of those
loved ones to take advantage of me. and i'm the fool because i let
them. by not trusting my initial instincts, feelings, insight, i have
allowed them to take advantage of me. no one to blame but myself. being me, i have always judged myself much more harshly than i do
others and probably much more than they do me. i beat myself up over
the smallest things. i always have. i am not the tallest, most fit
guy. my attitude toward certain things can be classified as strictly
negative. i am not the best housekeeper by far. i kill myself over
these sort of things. i have been invalidated by certain people and
abandoned for these sort of things. it is a secret fear of mine, that i will be judged by my God for these
sort of things when this life is all over. i really hope i'm wrong. i
hope that when i'm judged, He takes into account instead every scrap
of paper i picked up and tossed in the garbage, the quarters i gave my
kids to give to the homeless and those fake santas that hang around
outside walmart during the holidays ringing those forsaken bells. i
hope He thinks of the tiny little things i did when i didn't think of
myself first. i hope i have those credits in the bank balance of my
soul. come to think of it, i'd like to judge myself by those standards. i'd
like someone to judge me by those standards. i imagine a lot of people would say, "but those are nothing." my answer would be, "but those are everything." ghost
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
i'm like the karate kid
a good number of people have said to me in the past, "maybe you're
supposed to be learning something from all of this," or something of
the like. and i'll be honest, it irritated the h*ll outta me. i didn't
tell them to shut the h*ll up because, really, they were trying to
help. but that's just some b.s. we shovel on people to help them try
to make some sense of the stuff that goes on in our lives that we
can't possibly understand. i just nodded and moved on, a little bit
more bitter for having endured the conversation. but, maybe... maybe i have learned something. and all the people who said that to me
were actually on to something after all. so, taking a step back and some internal inventory, i think what i've
learned is this. you get on a plane that is supposed to go to hawaii,
but instead lands in siberia. you can either learn to enjoy siberia or
be forever bitter that you didn't land in hawaii. i'll be honest, there's not a lot to explore here in siberia, but i'm
kinda enjoying the quiet. i'd be lying if i said i wouldn't like a
hand to hold from time to time though. ghost
supposed to be learning something from all of this," or something of
the like. and i'll be honest, it irritated the h*ll outta me. i didn't
tell them to shut the h*ll up because, really, they were trying to
help. but that's just some b.s. we shovel on people to help them try
to make some sense of the stuff that goes on in our lives that we
can't possibly understand. i just nodded and moved on, a little bit
more bitter for having endured the conversation. but, maybe... maybe i have learned something. and all the people who said that to me
were actually on to something after all. so, taking a step back and some internal inventory, i think what i've
learned is this. you get on a plane that is supposed to go to hawaii,
but instead lands in siberia. you can either learn to enjoy siberia or
be forever bitter that you didn't land in hawaii. i'll be honest, there's not a lot to explore here in siberia, but i'm
kinda enjoying the quiet. i'd be lying if i said i wouldn't like a
hand to hold from time to time though. ghost
Monday, October 29, 2012
haunt, the recurring dream
i dream and dream again, whereupon i am lost in some wilderness.
sometimes it's figurative wilderness. sometimes it's actual
wilderness. i get the sense it is of my own making. it often starts with a slap to the face, and i open my eyes to shadowy
figures back lit by orange light. they beat me relentlessly, asking
questions, demanding answers in a language i do not understand. other
times i am touched by fire and i open my eyes to those same shadowy
figures wielding glowing brands. sometimes i escape them, and become a wanderer in a world i do not
understand. i walk in strange places wondering how to get home, back
to something that makes sense. then the shadow men descend upon me
again, screaming about my pride, and beating me down into a perfect
kneel. they tell me i should be thankful for it, thankful for the suffering,
the boredom, the terror. but i am not thankful. i wake angry and full of hate. ghost
sometimes it's figurative wilderness. sometimes it's actual
wilderness. i get the sense it is of my own making. it often starts with a slap to the face, and i open my eyes to shadowy
figures back lit by orange light. they beat me relentlessly, asking
questions, demanding answers in a language i do not understand. other
times i am touched by fire and i open my eyes to those same shadowy
figures wielding glowing brands. sometimes i escape them, and become a wanderer in a world i do not
understand. i walk in strange places wondering how to get home, back
to something that makes sense. then the shadow men descend upon me
again, screaming about my pride, and beating me down into a perfect
kneel. they tell me i should be thankful for it, thankful for the suffering,
the boredom, the terror. but i am not thankful. i wake angry and full of hate. ghost
Friday, October 26, 2012
there are consequences for spitting
so. yesterday, my son, my Tiny Tank had a note sent home with him. this
only happens when he's misbehaved. he did not give it to me though. he
left it with his grandmother who had picked him up from school. later,
his momma came over after work and we were getting geared up for
soccer practice. apparently his grandmother had informed her of the
note and she pulled him aside for a little talk. i eavesdropped of
course. as she talked to him, i learned that he had punched a classmate while
they were both playing in the recess center. turns out, the kid spit
in his face, not once, but twice. i held my tongue as she gently
talked to him about not hitting other kids because we're in this
together and i would never want to undercut her authority, but the
issue continued to gnaw at me. afterwards, we went to practice, then
out to dinner as a family and had a good evening. i would never say anything in front of Tank, of course, but i sent a
text this morning because had someone spit on me, i don't care if it's
a man, a woman, or a child, i'm punching them in the head, and that i
didn't expect my son to put up with that nonsense either. i was amused
that my son reacted the same way i would. i also wanted she and i to
be on the same page where stuff like this is concerned. i hoped it
wouldn't start a fight but i felt strongly that i should say something
about it. i was bullied relentlessly as a kid and i'll be d*mned
before i let my son endure that. her response was, "it's hard being a parent. you want to teach them
that violence isn't necessarily the answer, that you can't just punch
everything that offends you, but i would have punched a b!tch for
spitting on me too." turns out i didn't need to be concerned at all. we're on the same page here. i see a lot of legislation protecting people from bullying and even
more against those who would retaliate against bullies. as a result i
think we're raising up a generation who have never developed the
ability to deal with bullies, who do not stand up for themselves, who
depend on someone else to protect them. and i hate it. where i come
from, there are consequences for acting a fool. i can't keep you from
spitting on me, but i'll d*mn sure make you wish you hadn't. and while
i know some of you are thinking violence doesn't solve anything, i
disagree. bullying became less of an issue once those who bullied me
understood there was a good chance i wasn't going to play victim, that
i was in fact going to do my level best to knock out their teeth. call me neanderthal. call me a redneck. i don't care. this is how i
am, and i don't expect my son or daughters to be any different.
ghost
only happens when he's misbehaved. he did not give it to me though. he
left it with his grandmother who had picked him up from school. later,
his momma came over after work and we were getting geared up for
soccer practice. apparently his grandmother had informed her of the
note and she pulled him aside for a little talk. i eavesdropped of
course. as she talked to him, i learned that he had punched a classmate while
they were both playing in the recess center. turns out, the kid spit
in his face, not once, but twice. i held my tongue as she gently
talked to him about not hitting other kids because we're in this
together and i would never want to undercut her authority, but the
issue continued to gnaw at me. afterwards, we went to practice, then
out to dinner as a family and had a good evening. i would never say anything in front of Tank, of course, but i sent a
text this morning because had someone spit on me, i don't care if it's
a man, a woman, or a child, i'm punching them in the head, and that i
didn't expect my son to put up with that nonsense either. i was amused
that my son reacted the same way i would. i also wanted she and i to
be on the same page where stuff like this is concerned. i hoped it
wouldn't start a fight but i felt strongly that i should say something
about it. i was bullied relentlessly as a kid and i'll be d*mned
before i let my son endure that. her response was, "it's hard being a parent. you want to teach them
that violence isn't necessarily the answer, that you can't just punch
everything that offends you, but i would have punched a b!tch for
spitting on me too." turns out i didn't need to be concerned at all. we're on the same page here. i see a lot of legislation protecting people from bullying and even
more against those who would retaliate against bullies. as a result i
think we're raising up a generation who have never developed the
ability to deal with bullies, who do not stand up for themselves, who
depend on someone else to protect them. and i hate it. where i come
from, there are consequences for acting a fool. i can't keep you from
spitting on me, but i'll d*mn sure make you wish you hadn't. and while
i know some of you are thinking violence doesn't solve anything, i
disagree. bullying became less of an issue once those who bullied me
understood there was a good chance i wasn't going to play victim, that
i was in fact going to do my level best to knock out their teeth. call me neanderthal. call me a redneck. i don't care. this is how i
am, and i don't expect my son or daughters to be any different.
ghost
Thursday, October 25, 2012
luster lacking
Someone asked me the other day what i wanted from this life. i did not
have an answer, but Pops taught me that when fired upon to return the
fire, so i asked the same of Someone. she said she wanted a parade.
she offered no reason. no context. she just wanted a parade in her
honor. there are times, like today, when i just want quiet. the last thing
i'd ever want is to be the centerpiece for cheering people on either
side of me, waving their hands and blowing kisses. although, now that
i consider it, being good and properly kissed wouldn't hurt my
feelings. it's been a while now. i think maybe perhaps i'd like something much more simple, something i
think has eluded me for the most part. understanding. maybe that goes
deeper though, deeper than just what this one man is seeking. maybe
that's part of the human condition, if we look at it closely. we all
want that, i think, even the most eccentric or mad among us. we want
someone to say, "i understand," and for that to be true. ghost
have an answer, but Pops taught me that when fired upon to return the
fire, so i asked the same of Someone. she said she wanted a parade.
she offered no reason. no context. she just wanted a parade in her
honor. there are times, like today, when i just want quiet. the last thing
i'd ever want is to be the centerpiece for cheering people on either
side of me, waving their hands and blowing kisses. although, now that
i consider it, being good and properly kissed wouldn't hurt my
feelings. it's been a while now. i think maybe perhaps i'd like something much more simple, something i
think has eluded me for the most part. understanding. maybe that goes
deeper though, deeper than just what this one man is seeking. maybe
that's part of the human condition, if we look at it closely. we all
want that, i think, even the most eccentric or mad among us. we want
someone to say, "i understand," and for that to be true. ghost
Friday, October 19, 2012
quintessence
i like learning new words. not that this is a new word. i'm sure it's
been around for decades or centuries. i've heard it before, but i only
recently learned its meaning. like two minutes ago. what is the quintessence of you? that's what i want to know today. i asked myself this question as
well. not keen on being pinned down or labeled, (at least that's what
i tell myself when i'm feeling angsty) i wonder if i truly understand
myself well enough to answer this one. then i thought that was a cop
out. we all have a sense of ourselves, somewhere, sometimes buried
down so far we don't recognize it for what it is, but most likely it's
there. i'd be willing to bet also, that there is, somewhere in my life, in
time, one moment in history which captures me, which is me in the
quintessence, that one eventmomenthappening that is the most perfect
embodiment of me. is there one moment in your life that you consider
the pure and concentrated essence of you? i have a hard time coming up
with one. maybe there are more than one. i keep getting sidetracked by
the idea that perhaps the one moment i'd consider truly me is not the
moment someone else would see as the truest me. maybe my truest moment
hasn't happened yet. now, there's something to consider. i blame this all on having mixed far too much sugar and creamer in my
coffee. mmm coffee. i bow my head before my first sip, praying a
little thank you for coffee. i need it today. perhaps THAT'S me. caffeinated. so, hello. how do you do? ghost
been around for decades or centuries. i've heard it before, but i only
recently learned its meaning. like two minutes ago. what is the quintessence of you? that's what i want to know today. i asked myself this question as
well. not keen on being pinned down or labeled, (at least that's what
i tell myself when i'm feeling angsty) i wonder if i truly understand
myself well enough to answer this one. then i thought that was a cop
out. we all have a sense of ourselves, somewhere, sometimes buried
down so far we don't recognize it for what it is, but most likely it's
there. i'd be willing to bet also, that there is, somewhere in my life, in
time, one moment in history which captures me, which is me in the
quintessence, that one eventmomenthappening that is the most perfect
embodiment of me. is there one moment in your life that you consider
the pure and concentrated essence of you? i have a hard time coming up
with one. maybe there are more than one. i keep getting sidetracked by
the idea that perhaps the one moment i'd consider truly me is not the
moment someone else would see as the truest me. maybe my truest moment
hasn't happened yet. now, there's something to consider. i blame this all on having mixed far too much sugar and creamer in my
coffee. mmm coffee. i bow my head before my first sip, praying a
little thank you for coffee. i need it today. perhaps THAT'S me. caffeinated. so, hello. how do you do? ghost
Thursday, October 18, 2012
come, pale dawn
there are always many forces at work in anyone you might run into.
each of us is pulled in several directions at once at all times. this
is life. this is responsibility. i forget who said it, but madness is thinking about too many things at
once or thinking of one thing too much. i think we're all walking that
line most of the time. maybe i'm wrong. someone asked me the other day, "what is to become of me?" i thought
it an odd question at the time. i've never really considered what is
to become of me. sure, i've wondered about the futures of my children,
but i've no real fantasy about my own. what will become of any of us? i believe there is a plan. i also believe it will remain a mystery
until it is meant to be revealed to us. after that, i imagine it will
be as simple as day. dawn approaches. let the dew cling to my bare feet. let the chill refresh me. ghost
each of us is pulled in several directions at once at all times. this
is life. this is responsibility. i forget who said it, but madness is thinking about too many things at
once or thinking of one thing too much. i think we're all walking that
line most of the time. maybe i'm wrong. someone asked me the other day, "what is to become of me?" i thought
it an odd question at the time. i've never really considered what is
to become of me. sure, i've wondered about the futures of my children,
but i've no real fantasy about my own. what will become of any of us? i believe there is a plan. i also believe it will remain a mystery
until it is meant to be revealed to us. after that, i imagine it will
be as simple as day. dawn approaches. let the dew cling to my bare feet. let the chill refresh me. ghost
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
recovery?
i think a danger of spending a lot of time alone is when i am around
people it's a real effort to have a conversation. lately, be it a date
or hanging out with the boys on a sunday night playing cards, it
mostly feels like i'm grasping at straws to find something, anything,
which will push the conversation forward. i was trying to explain this to The Golden Boy the other day. i have
stopped "dating," if that's what you wanna call it. i haven't been
enjoying myself. it seems like work i don't particularly enjoy.
perhaps i just havent found the woman who gets my motor going, the one
who fires my blood. i haven't found the person who excites my mind.
maybe i'm broken and that kind of zing is all behind me now. i don't
know. i do know that most of the time i'm around others, i'm forcing
myself to speak. it's like i've become too comfortable with silence. i mean, sure, the
kids are always around, but i keep most of my thoughts to myself,
because really, they aren't conversationalists just yet and the ideas
i have, they won't understand. is it possible to have become so used
to talking to little pictures in my head or thinking at people in my
mind, that when i'm around real people, i forget how to voice those
thoughts? sigh. ghost
people it's a real effort to have a conversation. lately, be it a date
or hanging out with the boys on a sunday night playing cards, it
mostly feels like i'm grasping at straws to find something, anything,
which will push the conversation forward. i was trying to explain this to The Golden Boy the other day. i have
stopped "dating," if that's what you wanna call it. i haven't been
enjoying myself. it seems like work i don't particularly enjoy.
perhaps i just havent found the woman who gets my motor going, the one
who fires my blood. i haven't found the person who excites my mind.
maybe i'm broken and that kind of zing is all behind me now. i don't
know. i do know that most of the time i'm around others, i'm forcing
myself to speak. it's like i've become too comfortable with silence. i mean, sure, the
kids are always around, but i keep most of my thoughts to myself,
because really, they aren't conversationalists just yet and the ideas
i have, they won't understand. is it possible to have become so used
to talking to little pictures in my head or thinking at people in my
mind, that when i'm around real people, i forget how to voice those
thoughts? sigh. ghost
Monday, October 15, 2012
staying afloat is looking less and less likely
i dreamed last night. i dream every time i sleep. last night's dealt
with crickets. and time. does anyone out there truly understand the concept of time? can you
grasp it? what is it? it is too strange a thing for me perhaps.
strange, like infinity... say a man saw himself in the future, or that future man contacted his
past self. he gave himself some information that he would not have had
otherwise. in this case, he instructs himself to build a time machine.
now, i consider that information he wouldn't have had otherwise. so
the question is, where did it come from? i've known lots of people, and i believe our minds are capable of a
great many things, but i wonder if anyone is intelligent enough to
imagine some of the things we've created. being who i am, i
immediately attribute it to the will of God. i think we must, from
time to time, tap into the place where God has written all the good
poetry, painted all the pretty paintings, solved primal physics, and
proved all the intricate theorems. etc etc etc ad nauseum. and i figure time is described therein, scribbled on the back of some
big cosmic bubble gum wrapper. ghost
with crickets. and time. does anyone out there truly understand the concept of time? can you
grasp it? what is it? it is too strange a thing for me perhaps.
strange, like infinity... say a man saw himself in the future, or that future man contacted his
past self. he gave himself some information that he would not have had
otherwise. in this case, he instructs himself to build a time machine.
now, i consider that information he wouldn't have had otherwise. so
the question is, where did it come from? i've known lots of people, and i believe our minds are capable of a
great many things, but i wonder if anyone is intelligent enough to
imagine some of the things we've created. being who i am, i
immediately attribute it to the will of God. i think we must, from
time to time, tap into the place where God has written all the good
poetry, painted all the pretty paintings, solved primal physics, and
proved all the intricate theorems. etc etc etc ad nauseum. and i figure time is described therein, scribbled on the back of some
big cosmic bubble gum wrapper. ghost
Friday, October 12, 2012
stripes
A photograph is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you the less you know.
-Diane Arbus, 1923-1971
happy friday, people.
ghost
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
through six
"i love rachel, but screw rachel's challenge."-g.s. "hey, on a scale from one to ten, how old is your girlfriend?"-j.t. "rape becomes a whole lot easier on opposite day."-m.b.
"when is opposite day?"-ghost
"today."-m.b.
"in that case, you're not an a$$hole."-ghost
"i see what you did there."-j.s. "no, i wouldn't go out with you. you come off as very rapey."-b.h. "emma stone and emma watson need to get together and have a baby."-l.h.
"you do know how procreation works, right?"-ghost "it's bad enough that you describe me as a sun f*cking..."-maddi
"easy now."-the asian
"let's tap the breaks on that."-ghost
"i can't believe i just did that."-maddi
"why are you crying?"-j.t.
"i'm just so shocked."-maddi
"you and me both."-ghost
"i meant to say fun sucking."-maddi
"yeah, well, you failed miserably."-ghost
"look how red her face is."-m.b. "do you want to see my painting? of course you do. it's over there on
the table."-b.h.
"you did the play boy bunny? you did porn? in my class?"-ghost
"it happens."-k.a.
"porn happens?"-ghost
"yes, it ruined my computer."-b.h. "tip, why are we at school today? everyone else is out."-h.b.
"well, i can't speak for you, whitey, but my people have no love for
chris columbus. he was a fraud and a liar. how's he gonna say, 'i
discovered this land,' when we were already living here? uh, no,
dude."-ghost
"i never really thought of it like that."-t.m.
"to tell the truth, we had more respect for the vikings. at least with
them, you knew it was rape and pillage. when you saw their boats
coming up, you knew what they were about. there was none of this let's
act friendly then screw over the natives nonsense."-ghost
"why can't you be a normal person, tip?"-a.m. ghost
"when is opposite day?"-ghost
"today."-m.b.
"in that case, you're not an a$$hole."-ghost
"i see what you did there."-j.s. "no, i wouldn't go out with you. you come off as very rapey."-b.h. "emma stone and emma watson need to get together and have a baby."-l.h.
"you do know how procreation works, right?"-ghost "it's bad enough that you describe me as a sun f*cking..."-maddi
"easy now."-the asian
"let's tap the breaks on that."-ghost
"i can't believe i just did that."-maddi
"why are you crying?"-j.t.
"i'm just so shocked."-maddi
"you and me both."-ghost
"i meant to say fun sucking."-maddi
"yeah, well, you failed miserably."-ghost
"look how red her face is."-m.b. "do you want to see my painting? of course you do. it's over there on
the table."-b.h.
"you did the play boy bunny? you did porn? in my class?"-ghost
"it happens."-k.a.
"porn happens?"-ghost
"yes, it ruined my computer."-b.h. "tip, why are we at school today? everyone else is out."-h.b.
"well, i can't speak for you, whitey, but my people have no love for
chris columbus. he was a fraud and a liar. how's he gonna say, 'i
discovered this land,' when we were already living here? uh, no,
dude."-ghost
"i never really thought of it like that."-t.m.
"to tell the truth, we had more respect for the vikings. at least with
them, you knew it was rape and pillage. when you saw their boats
coming up, you knew what they were about. there was none of this let's
act friendly then screw over the natives nonsense."-ghost
"why can't you be a normal person, tip?"-a.m. ghost
Thursday, October 4, 2012
con side r
"what people think of you is none of your business."-sister spikey mace often times people around me make observations about me that kinda
take me by surprise, be it other teachers, students, family, what have
you. i suppose it's because whatever it is they are saying, insult or
compliment is something i just don't see. it makes me question my
ideas of self. am i blind to certain things about myself? it's no
secret i'm introspective to a fault. just because there are things
about myself i won't admit publicly, i like to believe i at least
acknowledge they are there if even i work to make sure i'm the only
one who knows. what sort of world would this be if we could look through an other's
eyes, to hear with an other's ears? how dissimilar would our self view
look to that which we would see if we could see ourselves through
someone else? it's not a new question, but no one knows the answer.
sometimes i am frustrated by our finiteness. the conversation came up in class yesterday, so i, sensing an
opportunity, picked up the ball and ran with it. i told them no one
had an answer, but they each had a brain and could imagine. i said we
could all also work on how we are to one other. it is a small thing,
but perhaps a saving grace. some said they did not know if they could
look past their prejudices. i told them at the very least someone
could say they tried. i asked what does it say about them if you don't
even have that? you have a heart. you can care. one student asked me, why should i care? what's in it for me? i should
look out for number one, after all, he said. he knows a little about
my life. i am friends with his family. you try to treat people well
and they still hurt you, tip. where did being a good man get you?
nobody cares about me, he said. why should i care about them? i told
him i couldn't control how others acted, only how i chose to conduct
myself, how i reacted to others. it was a good discussion and i hope i
got through to someone. i think it would surprise us, maybe even shock us, if we were to see
ourselves through the eyes of those close to us. i think there are few
people out of the billions in the world who understand just how loved
they truly are, how much we mean to people. i know i probably would.
and if we were all to see us, just for a minute, out of the eyes of
those close to us, i think we wouldn't find a dry eye in the house.
ghost
take me by surprise, be it other teachers, students, family, what have
you. i suppose it's because whatever it is they are saying, insult or
compliment is something i just don't see. it makes me question my
ideas of self. am i blind to certain things about myself? it's no
secret i'm introspective to a fault. just because there are things
about myself i won't admit publicly, i like to believe i at least
acknowledge they are there if even i work to make sure i'm the only
one who knows. what sort of world would this be if we could look through an other's
eyes, to hear with an other's ears? how dissimilar would our self view
look to that which we would see if we could see ourselves through
someone else? it's not a new question, but no one knows the answer.
sometimes i am frustrated by our finiteness. the conversation came up in class yesterday, so i, sensing an
opportunity, picked up the ball and ran with it. i told them no one
had an answer, but they each had a brain and could imagine. i said we
could all also work on how we are to one other. it is a small thing,
but perhaps a saving grace. some said they did not know if they could
look past their prejudices. i told them at the very least someone
could say they tried. i asked what does it say about them if you don't
even have that? you have a heart. you can care. one student asked me, why should i care? what's in it for me? i should
look out for number one, after all, he said. he knows a little about
my life. i am friends with his family. you try to treat people well
and they still hurt you, tip. where did being a good man get you?
nobody cares about me, he said. why should i care about them? i told
him i couldn't control how others acted, only how i chose to conduct
myself, how i reacted to others. it was a good discussion and i hope i
got through to someone. i think it would surprise us, maybe even shock us, if we were to see
ourselves through the eyes of those close to us. i think there are few
people out of the billions in the world who understand just how loved
they truly are, how much we mean to people. i know i probably would.
and if we were all to see us, just for a minute, out of the eyes of
those close to us, i think we wouldn't find a dry eye in the house.
ghost
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
philophobia
i am locked lips and a flightless raven heart, all defensive and
slippery while you seek to engrave kiss mes under empty stars. between
you and me, i fear your teeth, and your tongue, and your honesty. i
don't trust your sex when my skin is begging, 'touch me.' don't touch me. don't you f*cking touch me. i am not soft. there is a war raging in my head, in my lungs, in my mouth on the tip
of my tongue, mutely screaming through the smokey ruins of my frayed
heartstrings and crumbled structure. i am not soft. i am lust, and war, and (finally) self regard. i am
sin, crooked and misshapen. a kind of rough poetry yet to be
proofread. still, you want to claim my guarded ghost eyes and don't
understand why i'm so elusive. the truth is, neither do i. "do you want to come over?" yes. i do. but i won't. ghost
slippery while you seek to engrave kiss mes under empty stars. between
you and me, i fear your teeth, and your tongue, and your honesty. i
don't trust your sex when my skin is begging, 'touch me.' don't touch me. don't you f*cking touch me. i am not soft. there is a war raging in my head, in my lungs, in my mouth on the tip
of my tongue, mutely screaming through the smokey ruins of my frayed
heartstrings and crumbled structure. i am not soft. i am lust, and war, and (finally) self regard. i am
sin, crooked and misshapen. a kind of rough poetry yet to be
proofread. still, you want to claim my guarded ghost eyes and don't
understand why i'm so elusive. the truth is, neither do i. "do you want to come over?" yes. i do. but i won't. ghost
Monday, October 1, 2012
1 bit + 1 piece
everything but the air is against me, and sometimes, i think it's my
fault. after all, it's me that continually fights a million umbilical
cords trying to reach me. it's my fault i've become so intimate with
the space between fifty thousand stars. solo. theme. a soloist on a solo list. if you know what i mean. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- in The Dreaming last night, i met you again, all in black sheets and
soft light. for once i wasn't needed. no demands pulled me this way or
that vying for my time, for my attention. that was reserved for your
calves, for your inner thigh, for that place where your leg meets your
belly. you asked me why beautiful and i didn't answer. upon waking i realized that's four nights running we've met and i
ached with what felt like loss.
ghost
fault. after all, it's me that continually fights a million umbilical
cords trying to reach me. it's my fault i've become so intimate with
the space between fifty thousand stars. solo. theme. a soloist on a solo list. if you know what i mean. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- in The Dreaming last night, i met you again, all in black sheets and
soft light. for once i wasn't needed. no demands pulled me this way or
that vying for my time, for my attention. that was reserved for your
calves, for your inner thigh, for that place where your leg meets your
belly. you asked me why beautiful and i didn't answer. upon waking i realized that's four nights running we've met and i
ached with what felt like loss.
ghost
Friday, September 28, 2012
hypocrite
so the other day i was coaching Pixie's team of small girls, passing
on some of my accumulated soccer knowledge. Tank, meanwhile, was
exploring the surrounding woodlands as little boys are wont to do.
during his adventure he happened upon a discarded pen that was still
very much alive. my son shares my love of pens so he was excited by
the possibilities it represented. after practice was over, i walked
one little girl over to where her father was coaching another team and
made sure he knew she was there. safety first and all that. Tank was telling me all about this pen he had found for the entire
length of the walk. i told him to rest at the benches while i
delivered the little girl so that it would only be i who interrupted
the practice. when i returned, he was drawing on the bench. "see, daddy?" he said. "it's still alive and kicking."
"i do see, but we can't be drawing on public property, sugar man," i
replied immediately feeling the hypocrisy of what i was saying. i gave him a short speech about how drawing on public property was
vandalism and how that was wrong, all the while cringing because i
have been known to enhance public spaces in my time here on earth, and
even though i have stopped tagging buildings and asphalt with spray
paint and have gone a little more legit, the old inclinations are
still in me struggling to get out. there was no heart in what i was
saying, and i stopped trying to make my point far before i would have
had i agreed with what i was saying. for the record, i do believe that vandalism is wrong. i don't agree
that all graffiti is vandalism. one part of me is all about the law
and order. another part of me wants to paint the world. i struggle
against this dichotomy all the time. sometimes law and order wins the
day. other times my guerrilla tendencies have their way. when we say we will die for our children, often we're not just talking
about a physical death. sometimes it's sacrificing our dreams,
desires, and who we are for their benefit.
ghost
on some of my accumulated soccer knowledge. Tank, meanwhile, was
exploring the surrounding woodlands as little boys are wont to do.
during his adventure he happened upon a discarded pen that was still
very much alive. my son shares my love of pens so he was excited by
the possibilities it represented. after practice was over, i walked
one little girl over to where her father was coaching another team and
made sure he knew she was there. safety first and all that. Tank was telling me all about this pen he had found for the entire
length of the walk. i told him to rest at the benches while i
delivered the little girl so that it would only be i who interrupted
the practice. when i returned, he was drawing on the bench. "see, daddy?" he said. "it's still alive and kicking."
"i do see, but we can't be drawing on public property, sugar man," i
replied immediately feeling the hypocrisy of what i was saying. i gave him a short speech about how drawing on public property was
vandalism and how that was wrong, all the while cringing because i
have been known to enhance public spaces in my time here on earth, and
even though i have stopped tagging buildings and asphalt with spray
paint and have gone a little more legit, the old inclinations are
still in me struggling to get out. there was no heart in what i was
saying, and i stopped trying to make my point far before i would have
had i agreed with what i was saying. for the record, i do believe that vandalism is wrong. i don't agree
that all graffiti is vandalism. one part of me is all about the law
and order. another part of me wants to paint the world. i struggle
against this dichotomy all the time. sometimes law and order wins the
day. other times my guerrilla tendencies have their way. when we say we will die for our children, often we're not just talking
about a physical death. sometimes it's sacrificing our dreams,
desires, and who we are for their benefit.
ghost
Thursday, September 27, 2012
201
i have often imagined, in the wake of my existence, in the
afterthought of the major happenings of my life, that these hands of
mine are barbed wires, snagging and scarring everything they touch.
how else to make sense of all that has happened? there's been quite a
bit of destruction, the causes of which i have not always been able to
identify. as is my modus operandi, i blame myself. everything has
always been my own shortcomings sabotaging the situation. but, perhaps, my hands are not barbed wire at all. perhaps i'm simply
a man without skin, and everything i see touches me. i am not taking the blame for your poor or in decisions anymore. i
will no longer apologize for standing still, standing strong in your
whirl wind trend chase. you play the part of the weathervain if it
suits you, and i'll play the part of windowless tower. we can
coexist. at least as long as it takes for you to destroy yourself.
ghost
afterthought of the major happenings of my life, that these hands of
mine are barbed wires, snagging and scarring everything they touch.
how else to make sense of all that has happened? there's been quite a
bit of destruction, the causes of which i have not always been able to
identify. as is my modus operandi, i blame myself. everything has
always been my own shortcomings sabotaging the situation. but, perhaps, my hands are not barbed wire at all. perhaps i'm simply
a man without skin, and everything i see touches me. i am not taking the blame for your poor or in decisions anymore. i
will no longer apologize for standing still, standing strong in your
whirl wind trend chase. you play the part of the weathervain if it
suits you, and i'll play the part of windowless tower. we can
coexist. at least as long as it takes for you to destroy yourself.
ghost
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
the one that got away
she gave him a mix tape. she had spent hours picking each song,
carefully listening, digesting, interpreting each lyrics, each word,
each syllable. her original list had been cut from thirty to just
eleven. eleven perfect songs to tell him how she felt about him, how
she had fallen for him, how she wanted to be with him and only him.
she had used their words to reveal her very heart. he made her one, also. the only song on it was, ???american woman." at least it was original Guess Who version and not the Lenny Kravitz
remake. that showed he cared. that was something anyway.
ghost
carefully listening, digesting, interpreting each lyrics, each word,
each syllable. her original list had been cut from thirty to just
eleven. eleven perfect songs to tell him how she felt about him, how
she had fallen for him, how she wanted to be with him and only him.
she had used their words to reveal her very heart. he made her one, also. the only song on it was, ???american woman." at least it was original Guess Who version and not the Lenny Kravitz
remake. that showed he cared. that was something anyway.
ghost
Monday, September 24, 2012
am i?
what is normal? i hear people describe things as normal, but i don't have the foggiest
notion what is considered the norm by which to compare things,
happenings, feelings, whatever. i know what i've been told, i
understand the archetype of normal, but i'm not seeing much evidence
of it around me. and who decided whatever the definition of normal is was the standard
by which we should all compare everything else? i know the first
argument made is the life experience is unique to each of us, that
there is no normal, but i feel like it's like cliches or stereotypes.
there's truth to them and obviously enough people were living normal
lives that that template became widely accepted as the status quo. but. i don't know anyone, besides maybe the Golden Boy, who is living what
i'd consider the normal life i've always been told we should aspire
to. and while i'm as proud as i can be of and for him, i realize i
will never have this ideal normal. then, i begin to wonder if i was meant for normal. i don't need much excitement anymore. a jedi craves not these things,
but i am sometimes intensely lonely. there's no reason for this. just thinking out loud, as it were. ghost
notion what is considered the norm by which to compare things,
happenings, feelings, whatever. i know what i've been told, i
understand the archetype of normal, but i'm not seeing much evidence
of it around me. and who decided whatever the definition of normal is was the standard
by which we should all compare everything else? i know the first
argument made is the life experience is unique to each of us, that
there is no normal, but i feel like it's like cliches or stereotypes.
there's truth to them and obviously enough people were living normal
lives that that template became widely accepted as the status quo. but. i don't know anyone, besides maybe the Golden Boy, who is living what
i'd consider the normal life i've always been told we should aspire
to. and while i'm as proud as i can be of and for him, i realize i
will never have this ideal normal. then, i begin to wonder if i was meant for normal. i don't need much excitement anymore. a jedi craves not these things,
but i am sometimes intensely lonely. there's no reason for this. just thinking out loud, as it were. ghost
Friday, September 21, 2012
works
"plans are only good intentions unless they immediately degenerate
into hard works."-peter drucker what is a dream then, if it is not followed by a plan? that's what i
need. a plan. or perhaps more accurately, a map. i'm at a loss as to
just how i should proceed. yesterday i started the steps toward another novel publication. it's
been a year and a half since the last one and it feels good to be
working toward it again. oh, i'm always writing, crafting, and i've
finished three novels in that time, but there's something different,
something more exciting when the novel is written and you begin the
fine tunings, the detailed clean up of hastily scribbled dialogue.
it's a different piece than the creative writing part of the process.
the writing is always happening, so much so that i sometimes become
jaded to the magic of it. this part is more rare, and i enjoy it like
i do the occasional first kiss. (side note: it's been a long damn time since i had a first kiss. in
case you were wondering) it's like the first real glimpse and reward of what you've spent a
year writing. there's another moment when you hold the printed
manuscript in your hand for the first time, and then the colossal
pride and sense of accomplishment when you finally hold the bound and
printed novel with your name in bold letters across the cover and
spine. but, that takes me back to the plan. i keep writing and producing, but
i'm not sure how to proceed, how to turn this thing i love to do into
a way to make a living. i don't know. maybe it's just a matter of me
keeping on keeping on and searching for an opening or an opportunity.
like when the Colonel asks Rambo in First Blood part II, "how will you
live?" Rambo answers, "day by day." a little cheesy, i give you that,
but it's how i roll. but then, you knew that already.
ghost
into hard works."-peter drucker what is a dream then, if it is not followed by a plan? that's what i
need. a plan. or perhaps more accurately, a map. i'm at a loss as to
just how i should proceed. yesterday i started the steps toward another novel publication. it's
been a year and a half since the last one and it feels good to be
working toward it again. oh, i'm always writing, crafting, and i've
finished three novels in that time, but there's something different,
something more exciting when the novel is written and you begin the
fine tunings, the detailed clean up of hastily scribbled dialogue.
it's a different piece than the creative writing part of the process.
the writing is always happening, so much so that i sometimes become
jaded to the magic of it. this part is more rare, and i enjoy it like
i do the occasional first kiss. (side note: it's been a long damn time since i had a first kiss. in
case you were wondering) it's like the first real glimpse and reward of what you've spent a
year writing. there's another moment when you hold the printed
manuscript in your hand for the first time, and then the colossal
pride and sense of accomplishment when you finally hold the bound and
printed novel with your name in bold letters across the cover and
spine. but, that takes me back to the plan. i keep writing and producing, but
i'm not sure how to proceed, how to turn this thing i love to do into
a way to make a living. i don't know. maybe it's just a matter of me
keeping on keeping on and searching for an opening or an opportunity.
like when the Colonel asks Rambo in First Blood part II, "how will you
live?" Rambo answers, "day by day." a little cheesy, i give you that,
but it's how i roll. but then, you knew that already.
ghost
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
present ly
i am wandering, my footsteps falling into focus out there.
i am alone, but walk where others have set their staffs and wondered.
i ask, "how can one be found if one is never lost?" they laugh. i walk on. ghost
i am alone, but walk where others have set their staffs and wondered.
i ask, "how can one be found if one is never lost?" they laugh. i walk on. ghost
Monday, September 17, 2012
dump
"you remember too much," she said to me recently. "why hold onto so much?" "how do i put it down?" i wonder.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
meaningless, i
there must be reasons, right? why we suffer? why we dream? lately, i feel like i'm walking where there is no meaning, no why. the
easiest an best answer is, of course, my kids. always my kids. but
they are my entire world, and i know that is dangerous. it seems like
the time away from them is spent waiting for the next time with them.
there is little production, very little life outside of my time with
them. when i'm with them i am busy building their wings, wings that will
take them away from me, away to lives of their own, and i will be left
with memories. what will i do then? what will i do when they no
longer need me and the time between visits become interminably long?
my father sings Cats in The Cradle to me often when we speak. i know
that my kids will be too busy with their own lives and households at
some point, and that i will fight for time with them. i know my turn
to sing will come. i would like to think by then perhaps someone will have found me
worthy and lovable and if i have become little more than my kids'
safety net, at least this someone and i can focus on chasing whatever
dreams we've managed to hang onto through all of our years. but. that seems sometimes like some delusion, like some distant wish. i just don't know what i'm doing. ghost
easiest an best answer is, of course, my kids. always my kids. but
they are my entire world, and i know that is dangerous. it seems like
the time away from them is spent waiting for the next time with them.
there is little production, very little life outside of my time with
them. when i'm with them i am busy building their wings, wings that will
take them away from me, away to lives of their own, and i will be left
with memories. what will i do then? what will i do when they no
longer need me and the time between visits become interminably long?
my father sings Cats in The Cradle to me often when we speak. i know
that my kids will be too busy with their own lives and households at
some point, and that i will fight for time with them. i know my turn
to sing will come. i would like to think by then perhaps someone will have found me
worthy and lovable and if i have become little more than my kids'
safety net, at least this someone and i can focus on chasing whatever
dreams we've managed to hang onto through all of our years. but. that seems sometimes like some delusion, like some distant wish. i just don't know what i'm doing. ghost
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
dream writing 2-perspective makes parallel lines meet
dear pretty girl with the name i never knew,
the sky was static. grizzled. blue. stretching down to lines of the tree and power variety. we cuddled on someone's couch though we both knew it wouldn'tcouldn'tshouldn't last. i understand now why you denied me false idols and stuffed my head with real life. fairy tales taught me nothing.
but.
our hearts snared on phone lines and there isn't a point in a death wish because everyone ends up alone in the end. i know why you told me "i'll only hurt you too," because i am a boy with brown eyes that only see wolves in words. tears and fatigue only leave lost friends anyways. i supposed it was for the best, but i miss you already. it tasted like a scalpel or a brick wall against my throat, and i felt like i was chewing on concrete when i told you, "it's okay."
swallowing cinder blocks. stuffing steel into my skin.
i woke and wondered where had you gone.
broken thoughts.
unrepaired.
wide awake now. i abandon months to notebooks and find i am claustrophobic when it comes to my future.
regrets collected. i am just an afterthought. a feeling, like a wish on a dead star and the feeling of gritted teeth and my fingers crossed until they break settle on me.
you're someone else. i am too. but i want to be the boy you held in our dreaming.
ghost
Monday, September 10, 2012
age old question
"all i'm saying is, i've known you for, what? a year? but i don't feel like i know anything about you," she said. "you keep everyone at arm's length and disappear like a ninja when i try to slip your rather formidable defenses. is that why they call you ghost? i mean, who are you?"
this made me think of a recent conversation with The Mez, and of course, i couldn't sleep. it seems i've spent most of my life trying to answer that question. not for anyone else, mind you, but for myself. i thought i knew for a while, but it turned out that was mostly a lie.
i think it doesn't matter who i am.
i think maybe it only matters who i am to you.
i can tell you i have met king arthur and albert einstein and jimi hendrix. i can tell you i have stood toe to toe with satan, been on my knees before Jesus, and cried out to God. i have been damned. i have been saved. i have seen hell and glimpsed the possibilities of heaven.
i can tell you i have run through the forests of r'lyeh ad escaped cthulhu's clutches. i have walked alone, run beside some, and carried others still.
i have discovered that the treasure is never what you'd expect.
but i can't tell you who i am to you.
ghost
Friday, September 7, 2012
pulling back the veil
every so often i am struck by the epic stupidity of the people around me. i'm not talking about my family or my kids or my ex wives or anything like that. i'm talking generally about the folk i share this great green all of wonder with. i do not have a specific example in mind right now, but i am shocked by both their displays of it, and my tendency to forget that people are, by and large, pretty f*cking dumb. that happens more often than i'd like to admit. and i always wonder how i let myself believe they aren't.
i'm no genius. i'll be the first to admit it, though i doubt i'd beat any of you rushing to agree with that assessment. i consider myself pretty level headed and stable, and i guess i just assume everyone else is kinda working on a similar level. that's the only way i can justify my continued forgetfulness of our shortcomings as a species here on planet earth.
people and the decisions they make are beyond my understanding. i understand point of view, but for the love of God, there is right, there is wrong, there is what is best and what is going to lead to disaster. i suppose the discipline to make the decision even at the cost of our own comfort is what trips people up.
why are we so selfish?
every so often i get a sense of just how utterly out of control we all are, and the thousands of choices we make daily we owe much to chance and circumstance. i'm starting to believe what my dad calls free will is merely a fragile strand of faith.
ghost
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
a story
a sparrow fell in the forest. no one was around. it did make a sound,
though no one heard it but the sparrow itself. the sound was the last
thing it heard. it lay on the ground, decomposed, and seeds fell where
its body had been. in time, a great tree rose from where the seeds had fallen. slowly.
steadily. the tree never knew from where it came, yet the sound of the
fallen sparrow was remembered thereby, merely a whisper of a ghost in
its great limbs.
ghost
though no one heard it but the sparrow itself. the sound was the last
thing it heard. it lay on the ground, decomposed, and seeds fell where
its body had been. in time, a great tree rose from where the seeds had fallen. slowly.
steadily. the tree never knew from where it came, yet the sound of the
fallen sparrow was remembered thereby, merely a whisper of a ghost in
its great limbs.
ghost
Monday, September 3, 2012
Friday, August 31, 2012
upon waking, i scribble furiously
after particularly vivid dreams i often wake and am unable to fall
back to sleep. my mind just keeps turning them over. i have made it a
habit for a few years to write them down as quickly as possible. i
offer up last nights most vivid coalescence.
thistle caught a twined, melodic Toe, but even the smithy's anvil's
weight could not bear the circumstance. happening a lark wherein the
meager chances roost, Calamity joined a quaint but able Minstrel. Toe,
unlike the music played, tapped a rhythm forgotten by Fingers. when lively a poor, undeserving, smiling child met with dark treasure,
Toe's mind lit a sound, seething thought. sharing with the Minstrel
this unkempt notion, Minstrel sang of the bluest dawn. nothing barring
this crafty charm, the two collected the child, dark, lit by the shy
magenta cast of the sky.
sometimes, i think i should not write after a rendezvous with rum. ghost
back to sleep. my mind just keeps turning them over. i have made it a
habit for a few years to write them down as quickly as possible. i
offer up last nights most vivid coalescence.
thistle caught a twined, melodic Toe, but even the smithy's anvil's
weight could not bear the circumstance. happening a lark wherein the
meager chances roost, Calamity joined a quaint but able Minstrel. Toe,
unlike the music played, tapped a rhythm forgotten by Fingers. when lively a poor, undeserving, smiling child met with dark treasure,
Toe's mind lit a sound, seething thought. sharing with the Minstrel
this unkempt notion, Minstrel sang of the bluest dawn. nothing barring
this crafty charm, the two collected the child, dark, lit by the shy
magenta cast of the sky.
sometimes, i think i should not write after a rendezvous with rum. ghost
Thursday, August 30, 2012
four days deep
i'm back from summer time, and i'm finding everything is strange in
this very familiar place. it's a different vibe, entirely different
from what i've known the last few years here. maybe my head was in a
different space when i left last june. i don't know. i'm trying new
things this year, but i feel as if the past is somehow applying
pressure to this present. i'm not sure how to explain it, really. you know, the past isn't anything like cobwebs. it's like duct tape.
it's not pretty and, man, does it stick. i keep telling myself to give it a couple of weeks. it'll feel more
comfortable once we're back in the swing of it, i'm sure of it. until
it does though, i'm sitting in the same space i've occupied for the
last dozen years in a stranger frame of mind. i keep expecting my mind
to operate as it did, but how did it operate? it's a memory based
solely on context. i wish i felt more solid. let me not waver. let me press on, because i really am ok. it's just
this place, this seat from where i am writing this. shadows linger. ghost
this very familiar place. it's a different vibe, entirely different
from what i've known the last few years here. maybe my head was in a
different space when i left last june. i don't know. i'm trying new
things this year, but i feel as if the past is somehow applying
pressure to this present. i'm not sure how to explain it, really. you know, the past isn't anything like cobwebs. it's like duct tape.
it's not pretty and, man, does it stick. i keep telling myself to give it a couple of weeks. it'll feel more
comfortable once we're back in the swing of it, i'm sure of it. until
it does though, i'm sitting in the same space i've occupied for the
last dozen years in a stranger frame of mind. i keep expecting my mind
to operate as it did, but how did it operate? it's a memory based
solely on context. i wish i felt more solid. let me not waver. let me press on, because i really am ok. it's just
this place, this seat from where i am writing this. shadows linger. ghost
Monday, August 27, 2012
first day
today is my first day back for the new school year. it is of course a
roller coaster ride emotionally. they always are. this is my
thirteenth first day of school and just like all the others, i
couldn't sleep a wink last night. but, this isn't about that. this is for my baby boy, my tiny Tank who is growing big and strong
and reminds me so much of me, it's almost scary. today is his first
day of school in a big public school. he is as excited as i am anxious
for him. he's still my baby to this day. he's five now, and like all
parents, i wonder where it went. my little guy. he was so sick saturday night. he began complaining of
a belly ache around 7:30. he began projectile vomiting shortly after
that. i spent that evening holding him, this little chunk of solid
muscle because he hurt and he couldn't get comfortable enough to fall
asleep. when he finally did, i sat beside his bed with a vomit bucket
because this thing came in waves. he fell asleep for an hour, then
started moaning as it built to the point of puke again. he was still
only semi conscious when he vomited and he, with eyes closed and arms
outstretched, said, "daddy." i picked him up and he snuggled against
me, tiny arms finding their way between mine, head against my chest.
"daddy's got you, little buddy." and there i sat for hour after hour. as he starts kindergarten, i know it's not his first school
experience. we've had in in day school for two years. but this is
public school, with much bigger and older kids roaming the same halls.
and as excited as i am for him, a big part of me wishes i was nearby
to pick him up and tell him, "daddy's got you, little buddy." i guess it's every parent's worry. but he's a good boy. strong and
smart and mine. I have so many good things to count.
ghost
roller coaster ride emotionally. they always are. this is my
thirteenth first day of school and just like all the others, i
couldn't sleep a wink last night. but, this isn't about that. this is for my baby boy, my tiny Tank who is growing big and strong
and reminds me so much of me, it's almost scary. today is his first
day of school in a big public school. he is as excited as i am anxious
for him. he's still my baby to this day. he's five now, and like all
parents, i wonder where it went. my little guy. he was so sick saturday night. he began complaining of
a belly ache around 7:30. he began projectile vomiting shortly after
that. i spent that evening holding him, this little chunk of solid
muscle because he hurt and he couldn't get comfortable enough to fall
asleep. when he finally did, i sat beside his bed with a vomit bucket
because this thing came in waves. he fell asleep for an hour, then
started moaning as it built to the point of puke again. he was still
only semi conscious when he vomited and he, with eyes closed and arms
outstretched, said, "daddy." i picked him up and he snuggled against
me, tiny arms finding their way between mine, head against my chest.
"daddy's got you, little buddy." and there i sat for hour after hour. as he starts kindergarten, i know it's not his first school
experience. we've had in in day school for two years. but this is
public school, with much bigger and older kids roaming the same halls.
and as excited as i am for him, a big part of me wishes i was nearby
to pick him up and tell him, "daddy's got you, little buddy." i guess it's every parent's worry. but he's a good boy. strong and
smart and mine. I have so many good things to count.
ghost
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Late night games
Life is like Tetris. Do something good, and it disappears. But our mistakes, they accumulate. In the end, they reach the ceiling and then it's game over.
Ghost
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Almost back
The summer heat has been oppressive, as Texas summers usually are. Originally I had every intention of completing any number of little projects this summer. Instead, I've taken a break from all things creative. I've read books, more this summer than in the last three years combined. I've absorbed movies and stories. And I feel refreshed. I feel ready to produce magic.
School starts tomorrow. Be patient with me, dear ones. I'm coming home.
Ghost
Thursday, August 9, 2012
closer to home
often, we dream of distant stars. i have done my share of wishing on
those balls of gas. i know you have too. but now, i find i enjoy the warmth and the light of candles.
ghost
those balls of gas. i know you have too. but now, i find i enjoy the warmth and the light of candles.
ghost
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
coming close
the kids are not here, and i find myself wandering from room to room
as if i'm going to find them playing with all too familiar mischief in
their eyes. i find often that i am lost when they are away. do you
think i'll ever get used to this? will it ever not suck? three plus
years and i still ache. the power was out earlier in the afternoon. a sudden and violent rain
storm blew through and made a mess of the works. it's in and out now,
the power, not the storm, and it's too damn hot to sleep. i go for a
drive instead. at least the a/c in the truck is on. i still feel
sticky though. august in texas. f*ck humidity. it's two thirty in the morning. i've got a sonic cup full of sweet
tea, a head full of static, and the world feels vaguely unreal, made
of a dark purple cotton candy i'm not sure i should eat. like sickly
treats offered up by some sketchy character trying to lure me into his
van. come on, Alexis Krauss. take me away from myself for a while. again. ghost
as if i'm going to find them playing with all too familiar mischief in
their eyes. i find often that i am lost when they are away. do you
think i'll ever get used to this? will it ever not suck? three plus
years and i still ache. the power was out earlier in the afternoon. a sudden and violent rain
storm blew through and made a mess of the works. it's in and out now,
the power, not the storm, and it's too damn hot to sleep. i go for a
drive instead. at least the a/c in the truck is on. i still feel
sticky though. august in texas. f*ck humidity. it's two thirty in the morning. i've got a sonic cup full of sweet
tea, a head full of static, and the world feels vaguely unreal, made
of a dark purple cotton candy i'm not sure i should eat. like sickly
treats offered up by some sketchy character trying to lure me into his
van. come on, Alexis Krauss. take me away from myself for a while. again. ghost
Friday, August 3, 2012
Thursday, July 26, 2012
i'm not dead
not yet, anyway. i apologize for my lack of regular posting this summer. the truth is,
i just haven't spent any time on my computer. school starts back
soon, and then i promise to get back to our regular scheduled
programming. i love you all, and i'll see you soon. ghost
i just haven't spent any time on my computer. school starts back
soon, and then i promise to get back to our regular scheduled
programming. i love you all, and i'll see you soon. ghost
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
complimentary
"...your mellow, stubborn, kind, argumentative ways are familiar to
me. that's all I'm saying." that's such an odd combination of adjectives. but i took it as a compliment. it is nice when someone knows you. it makes me feel a little less alone.
ghost
me. that's all I'm saying." that's such an odd combination of adjectives. but i took it as a compliment. it is nice when someone knows you. it makes me feel a little less alone.
ghost
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Label this, mofo
I've had to fill out quite a bit of paperwork this last week, and every one of them asked for my marital status. Single. Divorced. Married.
I feel a sense of shame when I answer these questions, like I've failed somehow. Shame is quickly replaced by a sense of anger.
Why the f*ck does my marital status matter to a chiropractor?
I'm sick of all you're labels, man. You don't know me.
Ghost
Monday, July 2, 2012
A measuring post
I wrote a post a few weeks ago, the one I posted just after returning from Florida. I realize now that i might have painted amy in a negative light. And that certainly was not my intent. I meant that as a measuring post of how far I've come in the last three years, from the very pits of hell and despair to a point where Amy and I could spend a vacation together with the kids and not only be civil but also have a damn good time.
She and I are different people, and obviously we weren't looking in the same direction in our life together. But we've become friends again, and we do spend a large amount of time together doing the things parents do with their kids.
What I'm trying to say is, I love and appreciate each of you who have watched and read about my journey back from despair, offered encouragement and insight, and helped make a very lonely and lost boy feel like maybe he wasn't too alone to carry on a little farther. But I'd be remiss if I didn't say also that Amy has been very thoughtful in her dealings with me. She has never made me jump through hoops to spend time with the kids, and has genuinely made efforts to ease the burden our split caused.
In my pain I have felt otherwise, I have in fact, hated her. I have felt betrayed and used and lied to, but it's been a long time and I've worked hard to let it go.
And it's time. It's time to put all the negativity in the ground and walk away from it. It's time to stop wondering why I wasn't good enough or just what I did wrong. Because, whatever the reasons, it doesn't matter anymore. My heart was broken, shattered, but I'm alright now.
And she and I are doing the best we can to raise our kids in a stress free(at least where she and I are concerned) environment. We don't fight, we don't argue. If there's an issue, we talk it out. And really, that's so much better than what I've had in the past with my other ex, and heaven compared to some of the b.s. I've heard from others about their relationships with their exes.
I'm rather proud of how we've managed to make it work.
My, just look how much I've grown, how much I've changed in the last three years.
Ghost
Monday, June 25, 2012
i plead guilty, your honor.
i, and sister spikey mace would probably agree, might be the person who torments himself the most in this world. i have always held myself to a certain standard, an impossible standard i formed as a young boy from lessons taught me in sunday school. and in failing to live up to those standards, i've lashed out at God and heaped hatred upon myself. we're talking a lifetime of self loathing here, folks.
but, i've been considering this a lot this summer, now that my mind isn't being pulled a million different directions at once. and i think, maybe, just maybe, i should cut God, and myself, a break. when He stepped back from what He had created and saw that it was good, He meant it.
i still don't believe i'm worthy, but i am what i am, and i'm so damned tired of feeling like i need to apologize for it.
ghost
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
deep down trauma hound
i've taken a bit of time from the constant striving to create and string together coherent thoughts for you all. in the mean time, i've been reading through several notebooks i've filled up over the last three years. some of the things i wrote in them became posts here on ghostspace. the rest is a journey through a deep cavern i consider madness now that my head and heart are in a better place.
as i'm reading, the feeling that i have missed something settles over me. within these pages there is so much evidence of strange creations that burst forth from my despair. i suppose some of them still roam the corridors of my mind. perhaps most of them do, and i've only grown accustomed to their snarling presence. it also feels like time stood still, all that while. and now that i've woken from the pit, i find the world has mysteriously aged. i find i've grown older. i don't know why this surprises me. time passes slowly in the pit.
good things did happen there, though, deep in that hole. perhaps i matured these last years. i looked deeper into myself than i ever cared to, discovered things i never wanted to know. tonight i am burning these notebooks in the grill on the back porch.
as i do, i wonder now if i would have done anything about these last three years differently.
ghost
Friday, June 15, 2012
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
plowed
"say a prayer for me. say a prayer for me. i'm buried by the sound of a world of human wreckage."-sponge
i'm going through some stuff right now. i don't really know what it is or how to explain it without sounding like some little emo b!tch. it's the last couple of days of school, and they are proving to be as useless as jack's ruptured spleen. clean up is underway and my head is elsewhere. the students have also already checked out. it's time for summer.
anyway, as of saturday, i'll be florida bound for a bit. that means maybe i'll get my head straight with some hangin' with my kids on a beach in paradise therapy. it also means i won't be posting for a little while.
when i don't have a painting or sculpture to work on, or in this case, when i don't have time to start one before the school year ends, i catch myself in sketch sessions, just letting my mind wander, letting wierdness sprout wherever it may. yesterday morning when i walked into my classroom, i saw one from the day before and i threw it into a box like a hundred times before. and then an idea struck me. i literally have hundreds of these things at the house and here at school. and really, they're nothing alone, but all together i think they're quite interesting and tell a story unlike a regular collection of paintings or drawings ever could. i like when people show me their sketch books. it's like i'm getting a glimpse at the inner workings of their minds. i recently sent shenry a sketchbook i'd been working on for five years, a sketchbook he had sent me when it was still a virgin. he told me he felt like he had a piece of my soul. i liked that idea. with that in mind, here's ghostspace.
ghost
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