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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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