Morning. Birds. Coffee. A dog in the yard. Sunday. Memories and thoughts that lend themselves to good feelings. Time. Wandering mind. A Coleman ice pack. A rusty wrench. A bottle opener shaped like a fish. Plastic chairs and an outdoors rug. Slippers that make winter bearable. Hot sauce and an empty soda bottle. Work lingers. A rush to buy bicycles. Cedar shingles and a treehouse project that makes the dog shake. I remember eating yogurt in the parking lot and I sometimes get sad knowing it didn’t work out. Forward. Virus. Two coolers and a battery charger. Shovels and old mail ruined by the rain. Just keep spending because it’ll surely make everything feel better.
04.23.20
There’s a place right down by the waters edge where all they play is the best music ever, twenty-four hours a day and all they serve is Grandpa’s potato salad. The air around the place smells like incense and all the people you used to know are just hanging out and waiting to laugh about something. In the mornings it’s mostly foggy, but by noon most of the low hanging clouds have lifted and the sun comes out. It’s never too hot and it’s never too cold and nobody ever gets tired, but everybody always seems to sleep when they need to. It’s a real miracle sort of place where you’re always welcome and you can always alternate between drinking real cold water and real cold Cokes. Someday, I’m gonna make it there and I’m just going to ride bikes and sleep in the van and drink black coffee and smoke cigarettes. It’s gonna be real neat.
04.22.20
The sun is up and it’s going to be a perfect midwestern day. Low wind and warm temps. Bikes will be ridden. Smiles will be had. On some level it’s safe to assume that things will be weird and someone, if not many someone’s, will have an opinion about what is currently unfolding in this nation and feel compelled to share their ideas. It will make them feel better to be heard. Hear them. Do not judge them because their opinion may vary from yours. You got this. Just listen and wish them well.
04.21.20 pt. 2
Circles are squares with four dead ends. Rights are lefts and all the lies you ever told me are just jokes that high school kids tell each other in the lunch room. Don’t trip. That didn’t last long. Fall hard though. Fall over every crack and smash into the sidewalk and get your teeth rebuilt by the family dentist. It’ll all work itself out in Florida or Arizona or some other popular Midwestern getaway space. Whatever. Onward and only ever forward. Spend no time in the mirror because that will only ever show you what’s behind you. In fact, it won’t ever show you what’s ahead. Go.
04.21.20
Tonight I smashed a pizza. I fed my feelings and it felt real good to stuff piece after piece into my wide open pie hole and treat it like exactly that. Tonight I let my jaw unhinge itself and become a garbage disposal for far too much sodium and cholesterol. In fact, for a few fine moments this evening my mouth was just a giant hole in the ground where thousands of underpaid workers shoveled tons and tons and tons of bread and cheese and sauce onto a pile that not one of them was ever able to see with their natural eyes. Even now, as I lay here in this glutinous wake, just feet from where I, just moments ago, let loose the cannons of my intestines, I can still see them all feverishly shoveling scoop after scoop and hurling what was to be my momentary savior into the abyss below. Sweat pouring out from underneath their wide brimmed hats, down to their brows and further into their soaked shirts and stained pants. I can still hear the abrasive sound of their shovels striking into the cheese and the pepperoni. I can still smell the steaming heap as it just laid there waiting, ever so patiently, to end up in my belly. Oh the food. Oh the agony. Oh the feelings...
04.20.20
PAUSE
04.19.20
Four years ago I had a few accounts open on social media. At the time I offered anyone that was interested a handcrafted letter with no obligation. The idea was that I would send a letter to anyone that wanted one with the hopes that they would find some joy in receiving some random selection of words. If I remember correctly there were a few folks that made requests. To keep things brief, I can tell you that I dropped the ball and never sent one…until today.
Recently, someone reached out and asked where their letter was. Feeling the full weight of having stood them up back in 2016, I obliged and sent the following:
(Their name went here),
We hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits. These are interesting times we are currently living in and it’s safe to say that would likely go without saying, but it seems appropriate to reference it anyway because that’s how letters work. Typically, there’s a greeting and then some nonsense about the recipients state of being and then a whole bunch of stuff in the middle that revolves around some kind of story. It’s letter stuff and it’s been the same since forever. This one, however, is probably the same, but there’s a small part of us that wants to believe otherwise.
The middle. This is the substance part. This is the part where we talk about how deserted the highways were today during our drive to and from the great north woods because the roads truly were empty. Not completely empty, but mostly empty because nearly everyone had been told to stay home. Except us. We had essential business to tend to, as we were delivering bikes to children stranded at an abandoned resort with their mother and her fiancé. The trip up and back was not eventful and the visit with the kids was nice, but simultaneously real weird because we don’t really know the fiancé and we definitely don’t know the fiancé’s parents who actually own the property. We went regardless and made the best of it.
And that leads us to choices. Oh the choices we’ve made...
That’s probably enough about choices. It can be a raw subject sometimes and we usually do a great job of covering up the sorrow with stupid jokes and dirty one liners, but the truth is we still suffer in the space that is our solitude and this pandemic seems to have the whole thing flaming up like a bunch of gas rags in a dumpster.
It’s a real party and we’re doing our best to try and keep it fun.
We hope you enjoyed this letter even though it was four years late.
Signed,
Us (At the time I almost exclusively used “we” instead of “I”)
04.17.20 pt. 2
Forty two donuts and a gallon of sugary drinks. A monster car with some kind of monster engine driven by a some kind of young man who like to smoke joints.
Garbage on the sidewalk.
Kids on scooters that like dogs.
Lies my kindergarten teacher told me.
A friend once ruined my hat and I punched him in the face. There were anger issues in and around the warming house that winter and they all got resolved. No need to be alarmed.
Are you aware that one cannot purchase anything in the way of ham salad in New York City? Tuna salad, yes. Ham salad, no. There are, however, amazing pickles there. Truly.
Whatever you do, don’t talk about work. It isn’t worth it. Just leave work at work and move along. It’s best for everyone.
Spend time listening to classic hip hop. It’s worth every second.
Also, that time in Montana was wonderful. It really was.
04.17.20
Morning coffee and a little bit of fear and the dog wandering through the yard like some kind of four legged zombie. The sun rises silently between the houses and the rusty wrench rests without sound on the four season table. This is the driveway. This is where everyday starts and it’s important to me because it’s familiar and it’s home…which is the first time I’ve referred to it as such since I got here. That’s a big one. Home.
For years I have felt homeless. Today I do not and there is likely significance in that and while I’d love to sit in it for a while and discover the deeper meaning, I have come to learn that the meaning is not what is important because the meaning attaches itself to a timeline that exists outside of just this present moment. Now is all I have and the things that exist around me are only what they are at the time that I experience them and then the moment passes and new things appear and then more moments pass and perhaps I find myself in the presence of the same things I once did. Everything is movement. Everything is transient. Everything is simply just everything and for now, I am home.
What a morning! The world seemingly on fire in nearly every way around me and here I am in this driveway feeling content. The fear and the influence of others and the paranoia and everything that lends itself to being awful is exactly that, awful. And it exists. It is all real and there is death and famine and poverty and a million plagues and disparity and anguish and yet here, in this one solitary moment there is peace because there is an awareness within me that acknowledges everything as it is inside of me and out.
It might not translate into a concept that can easily be digested, and I am not writing these things so that can happen. Rather, I am writing these things because these thoughts and ideas exist inside my mind and if I don’t get them out they will live in there and fester and transform into other things that I cannot interpret and I’ll end up wondering who I am and why I exist at all. It’s a slippery slope when I keep the words in and I suppose if there is any takeaway from this at all it is this:
Get your words out in whatever format feels right to you; speak them, write them, sing them, paint them. Whatever you need to do, get the words out of your brain and into the world.
This kind of communication, this kind of fundamental transmission will likely open the locked doors and the shuttered windows and the empty, cavernous hallways of your mind to new words and then the cycle can be repeated. It’s an exercise and it’s what I’ve found to work for me. Take it if you like it. Leave it if you don’t.
04.15.20 pt. 3
Oh what a walk can do…
I got home from work in a real foul mood, as was evidenced in the last post, and I should clarify that this room still smells like barf and that’s pretty gross. Actually, right now it smells like vomit and Nag Champa because I lit a stick of incense before I left to take the dog for a walk thinking it would improve the atmosphere while we were gone, but as it turns out it only added a fragrant aroma to an otherwise horrible scent. It happens.
I digress. The walk. To the river and back. Easy. Except for the part where some guy was effectively dragging his overweight pit bull behind, or alongside, or however the whole thing was situated in relationship to his bike while he was dragging his blue tennis shoe along the pavement to slow the whole rolling ball of flaming garbage to a more respectable pace. It was definitely something and it could only be one-upped by the family that was casually cruising through the neighborhood in their clapped-out late model mini van with their pit bull standing with its front legs on the dashboard and it’s face essentially pressed against the front window. The humanity outdoors tonight was magic.
That was the first three blocks.
Things calmed down for a bit after that.
As the walk continued, University Avenue was crossed and then the railroad tracks. The neighborhood was silent. No cars. No people. This was likely the case because the temperature here currently is well below freezing and everyone is staying inside because of an executive order signed by the Governor of this great state. It made for a pleasant stroll either way and eventually led to the halfway point, the parking lot behind the Sample Room and the sunset.
The river below was moving quickly and the wind coming in from the north was brisk, but the gentle pink and orange and yellow hues above the ever-majestic Northern Metals pile of disgusting was worth every step and while the dog wouldn’t stop pulling on the leash, the setting ball of fire served as a kind reminder that tomorrow is a new day. It was something to put in my pocket.
A cigarette was smoked and laughs were had…and then we saw her. Or them. Or whomever. Across the parking lot, back in the direction of the house, walked a human of some kind and they weren’t wearing any pants and while I’m not ever going to tell anyone what they can and cannot do, there seems to be a general lack of critical thinking in the air these days and I’m concerned about the welfare of the working class in some of the neighborhoods in Minneapolis. It’s fucking cold outside and while pants are not a foolproof way to stay warm, they do serve as a real goddamn good place to start. Sheesh.
Regardless, none of the aforementioned things are the ticket to rewriting what was an otherwise awful day of human operation for me. The big winner, the golden ticket as it was, was going into the local bodega to grab some smokes before heading back to the campsite. Until just recently there has been a fully functioning tobacco store directly adjacent to this fine purveyor of foil bagged chips and sugary sodas. Today, the tobacco store was boarded up and closed because they hadn’t qualified as essential in this stunning time of Coronavirus. The dice were rolled and one of us went in to inquire as to whether or not a couple of packs of cigarettes could be acquired in lieu of purchasing chips and soda and that’s when something miraculous happened.
Upon being asked about the cigarettes, the young man behind the counter eyeballed the curious and said, “Yeah. Just go through that door in the back.”
That door. That wonderful doorway to the holy land.
When Dan finally came out, he explained what had happened to me and I couldn’t resist. I simply couldn’t resist…so I went in.
At the counter I asked for cigarettes. I was eyeballed similarly and sent to the door. I obliged and when I walked through I saw a dimly lit space that looked exactly like the tobacco store that I had just recently come to know and love. I walked in. Behind the counter was the same lovely woman who had helped me just days ago. Without asking she grabbed what she knew I wanted and we went through the same process we had before. I paid, thanked her and walked out through the same door through which I had entered. I was smiling. Things had shifted. My day had turned around. It was incredible and it was all because of the mesmerizing tenacity of the local tobacconist. What a fucking day. A real party.
04.15.20 pt. 2
Not today. Maybe some other day, but not today. It’s just not gonna work. Apathetic irrelevance. I’m not in a bad mood, I simply don’t care and I don’t care in that Nihilist sort of way except it’s magnified and it’s awful and it feels terrible and I don’t care and I don’t want to. About anything. The dog is barfing and I haven’t seen the kids and everyone is getting there stimulus checks and I’m not because I haven’t done my taxes because I get fucked on my taxes because of the choices I’ve made and I’m over it today. Maybe tomorrow will be different, but for today I’m not interested. I’m tired and my teeth are cracked and the dentist’s office exists in some fairy tale land where nothing costs money. Fuck it. Fuck today. Fuck the whole thing. And to be clear, I’m not interested in pity or sympathy because I don’t give a fuck about that either. Not today. It’s just not gonna work and I get to do that because I’m 42 years old and I get to do whatever I want and today I want to not give a fuck because this room smells like barf and the dog is probably dying and I just don’t care.
04.15.20
Suffering is universal. Pain is individual.
We all suffer. It is a generic term for feeling pain and enduring hardship. It is universal in that it exists.
Pain, on the other hand, is specific and different to each person that experiences it.
If a push the tines of a fork into my forearm, I will feel pain from it and the pain I feel will likely be interpreted differently than if you were to do the same thing to your arm. It is this that establishes pain as an individual experience.
Suffering is different. In the same scenario, we both feel discomfort from the tines being pushed against our skin. The discomfort we feel is suffering.
Both of these, suffering and pain, are choices. It is possible to get our minds into a place where we separate our thoughts from the physical experience of the fork being pushed into the arm, whereby we would feel no discomfort and no pain. It is a choice we can make on both accounts.
It is my belief, however, that each and everyone of us is subject to feeling discomfort at some point and subsequently will experience suffering in our lives. As for the pain, that is entirely up to all of us as individuals. For some pain may be excruciating. For others, what I would consider pain might be experienced as pleasure. Therefore, the pain in this world is not universal.
04.14.20 pt. 2
Arguing is useless. Inherently it puts one against another, often with the intent of conversion. It disallows balance in its action and only occasionally reveals compromise as an outcome. It encourages judgement and contempt. Arguing is useless.
04.14.20
Get up at 3:00am and check the work email. Roll over and respond in eleven parts. Double check for spelling. Triple check. Send. Reread and find the error. Skipped an ‘R’. Not a huge deal and shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone reading this. Now I’m awake though and it’s still dark outside and somehow it’s still winter and I’m still isolated from my family. It’s not like they sleep in my bed and I don’t really ever see them at 3:00am, but the reality still lingers that I can’t see them because of distancing and isolation. It’s odd that it’s mandated now because I feel like I’ve been self-isolating for years because I’m some kind of urban hermit. This winter though. Not ending. Temps in the teens and it’s April and the little green shoots are shooting up. It should be warmer. It could be warmer. It could be. I could also not have this cough if I didn’t smoke so many cigarettes and then I probably wouldn’t think I have this virus every time, but the cessation hasn’t happened yet because the cigarettes falsely resolve the stress that’s manifested by my own worry and my own anxiety and it’s all just a crutch that I don’t really need but secretly just want because I enjoy it even though I fully acknowledge it’s kinda gross. That plus words and the National playing just above my head is the real time play by play. Covered up in a wool blanket with pillows covered in little anchors. Nothing but darkness around me. And a dog that snores. I didn’t even light the incense for this version. Conference call in five hours. Can somebody throw me a life preserver? I don’t think I’m drowning, but I sure would like to get off this boat ride.
04.13.20
I finally came to terms with doing my taxes and got upended by missing paperwork and incorrect software. Instead I stress ate an entire pizza and smashed a can of Coke like it was water at the end of some desert pilgrimage. There will be another day for taxes and the unconstitutional burping that is currently underway will subside and make way for the grotesque remorse that is sure to follow. In the meantime I will hang my head low in honor of all those that have overeaten pizza before me and make sure to make some semblance of the sign of the cross as I lay my head down tonight in the unlikely event that the veins and arteries that service my heart don’t explode with the recent addition of copious amounts of cholesterol and sodium. Actually, I have no idea how veins and arteries explode, but it seems to make sense since all the mobster movies that exist tell the story of the overweight gunslinger meeting his demise after consuming some sort of Italian fare. It could happen and because it happened in the movies it must be true. Regardless, I’m siting here and writing this on the toilet in a room in a house in Minneapolis and laughing about how ridiculous it must be for you, the reader, to have made it this far. Bookended, at each knee, by a skateboard and an open door, I’m just sitting here waiting for some level of relaxation and comfort knowing that neither will arrive until I have moved myself to the bed and assumed a fully horizontal position. Then, and only then, will I be able to take the deep, deep breaths of meditation and some kind of awkward, sideways prayer that will hopefully leave me resting humbly at the feet of the part time piece of toast known as Jesus.
It’s a real goddamn party here tonight.
04.12.20
I was once a firm believer in the idea that everything that happened, happened for a reason.
As I get older and spend more time examining my own existence and awareness and critical thinking, I am leaning further toward the idea that everything just simply happens. Without reason. Without cause. Without effect.
Everything just is.
It is not a belief. Rather, it is an acknowledgment. As such, it is a tool that allows me to stay present to the things immediately around me.
04.11.20
I remember the strip club in Boston. I remember smoking a cigar on the wall of the harbor. I remember sushi in Los Angeles and the time I walked across the border to Tijuana. I remember the pizza buffet in Red Lodge. I remember stumbling into a doorway in Paris in the rain and waking up to find sunshine. I remember buying corned beef in British Columbia and getting stranded in the middle of nowhere. I remember crying in Columbus Circle and what it felt like to see the sun rising up over Central Park for the first time. I remember drinking whiskey around a giant fire. I remember throwing up off the bike riding up the hill out of the valley. I remember the lonely drives back to Atlanta. I remember baseball in the Spring. I remember thinking I was invincible. I remember realizing I wasn’t. I remember the simplistic innocence of my Chevette. I remember nachos in the cafeteria. I remember sleeping in the park and then again the desert. I remember meeting Leo. I remember the antlers in Jackson Hole. I remember the mall in Seattle. I remember the ferry in Seattle. I remember that glass of water in Versailles and the many beers that followed. I remember seeing myself on television for the first time. I remember the feeling of feeling important. I remember realizing the arrogance in that. I remember the cookies and coffee. I remember snowboarding. I remember the bench seat in the van and the grand dreams I had there. I remember the baseball cards and the Walkman. I remember the quarter pipe. I remember the empty pool in Holbrook. I remember the Holland Tunnel. I remember Holland. I remember the Detroit airport and the Kansas City airport. I remember Memphis and St. Louis and Las Vegas. I remember the trip from LA to New York. I remember West Virginia in a blizzard. I remember Amarillo and Albuquerque. I remember the dog statue and the walks around Santa Fe. I remember getting sober. I remember getting married. I remember getting divorced. I remember Alaska and Montana and Idaho. I remember going door to door. I remember losing the phone in Chicago only to go back and find it. I remember sleeping in the truck. I remember riding a bike for the first time. I remember my first cigarette. I remember my first kiss. I remember shop class. I remember fighting on the bus. I remember wanting to graduate. I remember college. I remember the Grand Canyon and New Orleans. I remember Deer Creek and Alpine Valley. I remember Cleveland. I remember, but sometimes I forget.
04.10.20
Tuesday is Tuesday. New albums and broken glass and a cat vase that never had a chance. Walk into the wind. Stoke the coals with some paper from the bag of charcoal and cook up two slabs of cow. The peppers and the mushrooms and the onions won’t make it to the stomach because of all the protein, but a nap thereafter makes perfect sense. Get some. Have one. Drink from the firehose. Take a picture by the river and share it with all your followers. Hiding in plain sight. Wandering in to two days off like its some kind of vacation afforded only to the wealthy. Donuts. Cowboy movies and shows about human tragedy. This is now. That was then. Filterless filters. Lost in the tall grass. Haven’t driven in days and it all feels natural. Normal. Blah. Blah. Blah. No more politics or a choice between to ancient old white guys? You pick. It’ll be a hot mess when either one of these old fuckers takes the wheel or keeps the wheel. The world has enough old white men making decisions for all. Can we just be done now?
04.06.20
Be positive. The past is gone and it isn’t coming back in any other form than experiences to reference as you come across new things. It’ll haunt you if you haven’t made peace with it.
Be positive. Smile at people. Practice kindness. Life is too short to be angry and nobody gives a shit about your opinion anyway.
Be positive. They’re gone. They’re never coming back. Stay right here in the present and just be. Positive.
04.05.20 pt. 2
Only dead men are free and it is our fear that keeps us chained. April fifth was a Sunday and it has no siblings. There is no twin. This one stands alone in time and shall forever be marked by the words and the background music and the river up and down. Not even the lights were on for this trip. There was no howling. Only tears shed for the humanity and poetry and the delivery of the message. Listen with both ears and lie down in the canoe for it shall take you to the mirror and the spirits beyond. Cedar boughs. A tiny framed picture. He who talks loud say nothing. Nobody.