Turn the goddamn light out and leave the keys in the bottom of the empty pool out back. Hop the fence and walk out into the desert for one last time. They’ll never find you out there. The mortgage and the banks and all those fuckers that earmarked all your money before you ever earned it anyway. Tell em they can pound sand. Tell em they can take the house and the car. Tell em they can take the job and all the attachment. The desert is out there and it’s waiting. It’s waiting for you to take that first step into the cold darkness. Fuck em all. Fuck everything. They took and took until they dried you up. Twenty years they cashed your checks. Twenty years and you’re not further ahead. In fact, you’re still behind and it ain’t gonna change. Leave the light on and flush the key down the toilet. The desert is waiting.
09.24.20
Numbness and anxiety and a willingness to shift the behavior away from self-seeking. Books on the nightstand. Rain outside. So many songs about change and thousands in the streets...pushing just to push. Yelling just to yell. Fighting just to fight. Close the eyes. Lie down. Remember the purpose and the byproducts. All is not lost, but everything will eventually disappear. The mirror will deceive. The camera will add another life. You’ll be broken if you don’t stand up. Remember the effort. Make the bed.
09.20.20
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Calm the mind.
Heal the soul.
09.11.20
Sometimes I think of you as an electric blanket and you’re plugged into the wall behind the dark wood that surrounds my water bed. There, behind the tapestry of Bob Marley that hangs from the ceiling, you heat up to heal me in my time of great need. Yep, you’re an electric blanket and I’m thirteen and I have a Tribe Called Quest cd hidden under my headboard because it has adult language. All the way back then before the house changed hands. In the old neighborhood. You old electric blanket.
08.28.20
I saw a man walking on a bridge. He was being followed by an ambulance driver as several law enforcement personnel approached from every direction.
I imagine he was planning to jump into the river below.
i saw a truck with American flags jammed into the sidewalks of its bed.
I imagine the flags were some extension of their political beliefs.
I saw people burning candles at the space where a person killed themself the other day.
I imagine the exercise was an extension of the stress those that were lighting the candles have been carrying for some time.
I saw a line of cars at the coffee store and it looked a lot like the line that was there yesterday and the day before that and the day before that.
I imagine the line looks the same every day and the line never gets shorter.
I saw myself on a bike and I was smiling.
I imagine my old self would be real pleased to know I saw myself today.
08.14.20
Two nights in a row with some real gnarly dreams.
The first night was sleep paralysis.
Last night was just plain bonkers.
Both were stressful.
08.09.20
Stop avoiding the inevitable because ignoring the things that need to get done doesn’t make the things that need to get done go away.
Avoidance leads to compounded interest and ultimately a net loss, or, at a minimum, a larger mountain to climb.
Pull the bandaid off. Cross the T’s and dot the I’s. If you want to change the world, start off by making your bed.
08.05.20
In the sliver of time that elapses between being hopeful and feeling hopeless you transition from getting by to being absolutely fucked. Maybe next time…
08.02.20
I have three spaces in my brain and they are:
Excitement
Indifference
Depression
After years of looking inward at the ways in which these three spaces hold experiences for me, I have decided it makes the most sense for me to try and move everything that can be moved into the Excitement space.
It’s my life and I get to do that.
But how?
I estimate that the best practice is to take an inventory of the things that regularly occupy my brain and then transfer them to a pros and cons list.
If the pros outweigh the cons, the experience gets moved to the Excitement space.
If the cons outweigh the pros, the experience gets abandoned, whereby eliminating the experiences typically held in the Indifferent or Depression spaces.
Seems legit on paper, but I bet it’s real hard in practice. I suppose that why it’s called a practice and not a perfection.
07.30.20
Twenty years sober. That ain’t no joke.
Two full decades. It’s actually amazing.
07.28.20 pt. 2
Look around at all the city living adventurers in their fancy Subaru’s. I suppose I’m guilty of wearing the same robe, as I drive a tiny little Jeep as a means to see my kids regularly without killing myself buy purchasing fuel over and over. Either way, there are city dwelling adventurer types with Instagram handles and hashtags that validate their willingness to incur revolving monthly debt...which, as I’ve learned, is the enemy of personal freedom...so I find it fascinating that this population of digital outdoor enthusiasts commits over and over again to perpetuating the limited use of natural resources by acquiring more and more outdoorsy things as though the acquisition of said items is some kind of badge of honor that these folks wear to help others identify them as nature loving socialists.
It’s fascinating. It really is.
I should mention that, in addition to owning a tiny little Jeep, I also own an old conversion van that my kids and I converted to a camper. It is a money hole and I’m considering selling it. In fact, if you’d like to buy it, the price is $4500. It has a lot of new parts and it starts every time. It’s actually wonderful, but I haven’t had the time to enjoy it this year with the way bike sales have been skyrocketing.
Anyway...I digress.
The city is amazing and I am consistently amused by the number of folks that look identical to so many other folks in an attempt to establish their identity in a crowd.
Just observations I guess...and a natural byproduct of people living on top of each other with limited access to things like clothes and haircuts and shoes. Not to mention the reality that the manner in which our collective styles trend is ubiquitous, as is our access to the media that promotes it.
On a side note, we think we’re living in some unprecedented and tumultuous times. Maybe that’s because we regularly have access to everyone else’s opinion and while it’s obvious that we cannot seem to look away, we most definitely cannot discern fact from fiction in the threads we consume.
Just remember, opinions are the same as beliefs and beliefs are like assholes; everybody has one and everybody thinks everyone else’s stinks.
07.28.20
A false front. A facade. A presentation of characteristics that lets all onlookers believe that everything is exactly as it should be at any given moment. Every alcoholics uniform. The flying flag of the life-long drug addict. The earmark of the adult child. So good when it lies silently on paper, but an abomination when it all becomes clear that the entire existence is riddled with fear and expectation and assumption. A two-sided coin.
It’s 3:00am and I’m awake. Disrupted from my sleep by a brain full of ideas and worry. Rustled from my slumber by the caffeine consumed in my youth. I’d write back, but I’m disappointed. Let down by the aforementioned. Confused by the paradox. The commute is long. The days are longer and they just get stacked on each other. It can’t always be this way, but for now, in this darkness, I am still upset or up and set or simply just up. Accept. Just words. So much expectation. So much assumption. Ultimately just an ultimatum in disguise. A fire quietly covered under a pristine horse drawn wagon. Wooden wheels and all. Human to human. That’s the only way. If I write it all out I’ll just end up exploding or vomiting or going flat. So much good and so much bad. You’d think it would balance itself, but it really doesn’t.
07.27.20
Dump the words into a blender, turn it on and let it run for a bit. Pour the contents into a glass. Let it rest on the counter. When eight minutes have passed, take the now full glass in your right hand and throw it through the dining room window. Your ribs will break. Your lung will collapse. You’ll be hospitalized a couple of times. It won’t make anything better, but you can try and schedule it away. You can make the appointments and keep the meetings, but it isn’t going to get better because at the end of the day they’re all just words. Words. Words. Words.
07.22.20
Tonight I stood under a street lamp looking for a comet that was hidden behind a house.
Today I drank from a fire hose.
Tomorrow I’ll drive the drive and listen to the music and punch the clock and sit in the driveway.
The days fold into each other. Like cake batter that one time I made myself a birthday treat.
07.21.20
It is never going to get easier. The doorknob will never turn without hesitation. The hill won’t get smaller. Lay in the dark and know that there will never be light. No contrast. Just darkness and solitude. Forty two. Forty fucking two. What a mess. The phone calls and the lecture. The constant shuffling. Put a mask on. It’ll cover the sadness. Nobody knows if there’s a smile under there anyway.
Wristband memories and the lake and swimming all the way across. Piling into the car and taking all afternoon every summer. Innocence. I was your age once. I was your age when I met her. It wasn’t for a couple of years, but when she lied, she lied real hard and changed the course of my life and your life forever and she never asked. She spun it and she manipulated everything to get what she wanted because that’s what addicts do. She’s a cunt and she will be until she dies and if there is any kind of justice in this world she’ll die all by herself. I don’t even use that word, but I can’t spell it big enough for her.
Doesn’t matter. It’s the past and now there are only Tuesday’s that are bookended by other days and it’s all just a big shit show. The world is on fire and everybody hates everybody and it’s all being managed by an asshole in the White House and a bunch of newspapers and talking heads that only concern themselves with posterity and self-preservation. I’d drink it off, but I don’t care to. Wouldn’t change anything anyway. I suppose I have that. Twenty years sober. Could be just a day. That’s all we get anyway.
Broken. Busted. Dusted.
I appreciate you. I love you. You have value.
Rinse. Repeat.
Get up. Just get up. Get up and put your pants on and get back out there and try hard. It’ll get better. It’ll get better and eventually everything won’t be hard. Just get up. Please get up.
07.20.20
I rode my bike down the parkway yesterday morning and there were scores of other folks doing the same. Lots of people out riding their bikes and walking and running and rolling along on roller blades. It was fantastic to see so many active folks, but they were nearly all white. It actually broke my heart and made me feel bad for getting out and enjoying an activity that I enjoy and have had the privilege of enjoying for years.
This country is broken and the city I live in is not an exception.
07.19.20
Ride bikes to old parks and cook tubed meats on a grill. Enjoy the pleasant sounds of classical music in the driveway while the answers to the worlds most difficult puzzles are given without hesitation. Sun Chips and some guacamole. A fresh round of trash pick up. Pound waters like they’re water. Dougs. Dog dishes. Hot hot heat. Solo yolo. Do nice things. Don’t be a weirdo. Watch drag racing. Watch wrestling. Watch watches. Go with god. Go without. Don’t believe the hype. A watched pot never boils...until it does and then there is boiling water in the pot. Like watching grass grow, or paint dry. Build a fence. Make a gate. Mendota. Ride down by the river and crawl across the sandstone. Play sports. Be sporty. Access the on ramp and watch movies. Light up the lights and use the ashtray. Park next to a lake and get that hotel room in Duluth. Hockey games and Wednesday nights. Breakfast in the basement. Write from recall and predict the future. Hindsight. Blind spot. Set the wheels up tubeless. Get the kids to their kid things. Be kind. Be generous. Walk. Run. Sit on the bench by the river. Take in all the things that can be. Buster Scruggs. Ballads and a Flaming Lips t-shirt. Bananas. Bandannas. Water bottles, a seatpost and some old gloves. I’m tired.
07.17.20
Forty seven seltzer drinks all stuffed to the rim with enough alcohol to absolve infection. Broken washing machines lined up to rinse and repeat the dozens of wet blankets left behind by the woman that stomped out your heart. You are an island. Surrounded by water and one thousand years of tears. You are the tree in the forest that no one hears fall. You are the abandon car on the freeway set ablaze by the millions that march.
Busted porch planks and thick, humid air that saturates your stained and soiled shirts. Greasy knuckles and dirty finger nails from spending too many days behind baths. You are a failure with cracked teeth and popcorn fingers. You beat yourself up for the things you’ve done in your past and can’t forgive yourself for anything long enough to actually get to the present. You’re a sunken canoe in a river of lost causes and abandoned hope.
Eat a stick of dynamite and abstain from attending bonfires. Wash your hair in a lake and catch the rash that lives in the shoreline urine. Bright light ignites your face in what is otherwise darkness and your dog lies on your bed in contempt. Empty food bowls and dirty water. You got it wrong again and you’re bound to finish last. Washed up and forgotten by yourself. A gravel king with no crown and no high back chair to hold court in.
You’ll eat from the trash when the clock strikes midnight and it doesn’t matter how you show up because if you were once a loser, you’ll always be a loser and you’ll never forget those words. Delivered to the door. Delivered to the desk. Books thrown about and you weigh more than you want to. It’s all part of the fun...says the man hiding behind the desk. It’s not surgery. It’s not brain science. It’s just life and you’ll be fine.
07.16.20
I do not enjoy the luxury of an abundance of time and/or space.
I spend the majority of my time (nearly all) in the company of other human beings.
I am tired, I am exhausted and I am sad.
07.12.20
Can I accept you exactly as you are? In this moment? Can I accept your differences as they relate to mine? Can I extend love and compassion to you? Can I look past your hate and animosity with empathy and compassion? Can I do this for you and for all beings?
What is it inside me that condemns? What drives my ego into expectation? What is it about myself that I am disgusted with that drives me to project my own self-loathing onto you?
How can I become a better human that loves and respects all other humans? Is there a line in the sand for that love and respect? Is there some breaking point that I cannot cross? Is it even possible to love everyone without judgement?
What about racists and bigots and people who breathe hate? Is it possible to love them as humans? Is it possible to be empathetic to them and their toolset and their education on the matters of hate? Is it possible to love unanimously? Is it possible to accept all beings for exactly what they are?
In accepting all beings, am I complicit in their negativity and hate? Is it better to combat hate with hate? Is it better to confront violence with violence? Where does the hate end and the love begin?
I am either all in, or I am all out.