Suffer no soul to be without its companion...

So for the past few days I’ve been embroiled in a bit of a flame war with a friend of mine that is very intelligent, albeit not nearly as well versed in the ways of the world as I feel someone of his years (28) should be. Because of this handicap, he, and several other likeminded individuals who suffer from similar prejudices that have arisen from his sheltered history, have taken it upon themselves to assert their religious ideation toward people who would seek to make a life with someone of the same sex. Now I know that the whole gay and lesbian thing is a touchy subject and will continue to be a contentious issue for a long time, but I think where the flaw in our handling has been made is that we’re fighting this battle in a courtroom and in the public arena of policy and law, instead of leaving something like to where it should be decided, at the dinner table and at the discretion of each individual family.

My parents, for all their flaws and shortcomings, instilled no sense of prejudice and bigotry in me. I may not find myself attracted to or enamored with women of a certain ethnicity or heritage but that doesn’t mean I look at them with any less respect. I have argued the points with him and his followers at great length, pushing the limits of what Facebook is capable of handling in a single comment or even multiple comments at once, and I noticed two things. The first thing that came to mind is that the responses offered by these close minded zealots in condemnation of my claims that the LBGT community should be left to their own devices and allowed to pursue the same freedoms, rights, and dissemination of information the same as any other group in this country, is that their arguments are grounded in a religious ideology that teaches sin, but they don’t use their dogma itself to support their claim, using the fear and paranoia of less enlightened periods in time or the burden that such a thing would put upon the average tax payer and having the legitimizing of an alternative lifestyle shoved down the throats of our youth. As anyone with half a brain cell that doesn’t belong to the church of L. Ron Hubbard can attest, it’s absolute hyperbole. The entire issue is just a dog and pony show to distract the mass populace from the fact that dollar has become insolvent, the recession is still here and growing in some areas, our country is now owned by China, and our law makers and policy writers have become supremely ineffective, so much so that defaults and inaction has led to a breakdown of civil and state governments in some parts of the world. So in the words of Bill Hicks, “Go back to bed, America. Your government has figured out how it all transpired. Go back to bed, America. Your government is in control again. Here. Here's American Gladiators. Watch this, shut up. Go back to bed, America. Here is American Gladiators. Here is 56 channels of it! Watch these pituitary retards bang their fucking skulls together and congratulate you on living in the land of freedom. Here you go, America! You are free to do as we tell you! You are free to do what we tell you!”

Now I’m not going to bring that fight here for a number of reasons, chief among them, the Asylum is my baby, I’ve used it and abused it as I’ve chosen and those of you who haven’t left are reminded with the archives of how that journey’s gone. This place is about thought and discussion true enough, but I want discourse motivated by actual thought, not doctrine or dogma. I don’t push beliefs, I try to get you thinking, disagree with me? Say something! Nikki, thank you for offering dissidence in the past, your voice has been welcomed and I respect you for your arguments and your disagreement, same for you Aurora. You are free to comment as you see fit, but the one thing I won’t allow in this Asylum, as long as I’m the one standing on the phone book pontificating, is the overt presence or use of a bigoted Christian God to make an argument or support discussion. He doesn’t want me in his house, I don’t want him in mine.

The second thing that struck me is how fervently I’ve been fighting these ostriches and arguing my points to make them see that no rapid dissolution of their grand land and the Leave It To Beaver image of our country they still cling to, is going to come out of the masses accepting that some people just love people of the same sex. There will be no second coming, no catastrophe, no chaos or mass murder (Charles Manson is still safely behind bars), the only thing that will happen is that within the next thirty or so years, these men and women will no longer be targeted or persecuted en masse because of their sexual habits and orientations. Fear is the language of hate, and hate allows one to be prejudiced and insecure, to hide behind scripture and religion to validate oppression and injustice. Human beings fear what they don’t understand, always has been and probably always will be. We’re incredible creatures, capable of remarkable things, but we’re still really fucking stupid. It’s only been four hundred years since the Salem witch trials, and less than one hundred years since a one balled gay Austrian named Adolf Hitler convinced an entire country that if they killed Jews, gays, Soviets, the infirm, the elderly, and the handicapped their lives would get better. I ask you, how far have we come since then? I look at it this way, this entire topic of discussion is really nothing more than smoke and mirrors to incite idealistic talks and keep the middle class warring with itself over something that less than 1% really have taken the time to understand or make an attempt to accept (I’ve got a two cousins that are/were gay [one decided he was straight], and a former uncle who’s now an aunt, I accept them, I love them, they’re people I respect and I wish them nothing but the best in their lives and their pursuits), while the rich make off with what little actual wealth this country has left. But beyond that, there’s a truth, something I have been preaching and I still fervently believe, the pursuit of love, the endeavor of finding happiness and acceptance in the arms of another is one of the noblest things one can do. I feel a kinship with these people, not because I have similar sexual proclivities or anything like that, but because these people, these men and women are invariably brave. I spent 4 years toiling, struggling, and fighting, giving all of myself to validate a love that everyone else told me I was nuts for believing in. I laid it all on the line and I left myself open time and again, but I never gave up, hell I know it’ll incite fury in a few of you, but I still look at my phone with baited breath every day after work, hoping and wishing for it to ring. I fought for my love, and I would go on fighting, I would go on battling. These brave men and women do the same, they face down scores of people that decry and insult them for their pursuits, they endure taunts and slurs, injury and embarrassment, setback and hardship, all to find acceptance and companionship with someone that truly makes them happy. It’s a wonderfully beautiful thing to know that with all of the intolerance and disdain in the world, there are still some that are willing to fight for what really matters.

This realization prompted me to think about how we love, and how we show it. I’ve got a friend that has been detailing to me, woefully, over the past couple weeks how much she hates herself for playing with her boyfriend like a yo-yo. She cares for him deeply, feels the connection and will admit to me that she’s in love with him but can’t bring herself to say it to him. The entire thing got me thinking about my history. I love Nicole, but despite my memory, I can’t remember where I was, what I was doing, or when I first told her I loved her. I know exactly where I was when I first called her my girlfriend, but that one moment, that single instant when I laid my heart bare and said those three little words with full force and conviction, I can’t for the life of me put together even a framework of what circumstances of situation was in play when they first passed my lips into her ears. But it’s all been food for thought, something for my brain to chew on and really try to piece together. Why is everyone so afraid? If you love someone, part of that means knowing them well enough to know they’re not going to laugh at you for being honest and sharing your feelings. I remember Nicole telling me that some of the most treasured things I own now; she bought for me in an effort to get me to like her. I smile to myself at that memory because deep down I know she didn’t have to, I already liked her, I fell in love with her after a little more than a month but it was some time later before I bared myself enough to utter the words. We all do it, we try to get someone’s attention, endeavor to make them show interest and affection, and we do it in different ways, but how many of us are able or ready to really commit when the time comes to do it? Why are so many afraid of love and happiness? Further, why is some love and happiness encouraged while others are disparaged? I think it comes down to method of expression. We’re afraid of doing it wrong. The media, the Christian Coalition, Jerry Falwell, and even the evangelical bible thumpers that come to our doors try to make us behave and believe certain things in certain ways. We become indoctrinated to believe that there is a wrong way to love, a wrong way to be happy, so we live in fear of making a mistake and do nothing. We linger forever on the precipice, never mustering the courage to take the plunge. I have to be honest though, I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way to love someone. You either do, or you don’t. Nicole lived in fear that she wasn’t good enough, that she couldn’t make me happy, that she wouldn’t be enough for me, she would cease to stimulate me mentally or emotionally, but I think that loving someone, as deeply as I love her, or even half as much, means knowing and relaying reasonable and agreeable expectations on that person; being willing to compromise, instead of reaching for the stars, aim for just one, the right one. Being with the right person is far better than being with multiple people, and being able to stand naked, emotionally bare, and feel secure in the knowledge that the person looking upon you sees you and it changes nothing, that’s connection. So while I know this has been a bit repetitive of many recent posts, and even covered very familiar ground in what is no doubt becoming a bit hackneyed, I ask you, look inside yourselves, and ask, do I have the courage to follow my heart, to pick up the phone and tell that special person that I love them, without condition or concession, explanation or justification, do I love them enough not just to say it, but to show it, and to let them love me back? Ask yourself that question and if the answer is yes, and that person is already with you, show them you care, thank them for being so wonderful and recognize how lucky you are that you both chose love over fear. If that person is away, near or far, away or close, know that true love will never die, two souls interconnected will never sever or disappear, and only by embracing and pursuing love, by being willing to endure all challenges, all headaches, all traumas, all heartache, suffering through it all and coming out the other side and never feeling regret can you truly know that the love you find is meant to be. Bravery is a virtue too often overlooked in favor of humility or kindness, but it is perhaps the only one that matters when it comes to connecting with another human being so that you both can enjoy and experience something so infinitely beautiful that words defy its description.

Clarity within the maelstrom...

Okay, so I know I’ve been flooding things out a bit heavily the last week or so, and I apologize for the deluge. I’m doing my best to keep things from getting too melancholy or negative. I would like to take this opportunity to clarify a few things though. First and foremost, I am not angry or bitter. I don’t hate her, I don’t fault her, I wish her no ill will, and I would hope that I can begin to do a better job of conveying that. I do still love her very deeply, and I would still go to the darkest pit of hell and trade my soul for hers, if it meant that she was given one more day to enjoy life. My conviction and commitment was not contingent on her being around, it transcends all things and binds tighter that any bond you can fathom. I still love her very deeply; some part of me will always be right where I’ve always been, right here waiting, with open arms and a happy smile for her to come to me. I don’t wish to paint her as a villain or a terrible person, she is not, and any indication I’ve given to the contrary is an error on my part. I wish her the best, the utmost happiness, and the highest fulfillment of her life. I do not begrudge her choice or her decision, I’m not happy about it, but in the end, if she didn’t want to be with me and I forced her into it, what kind of life would I have? I’d have spent the entirety of my existence with her struggling to just break even and appease her for having chosen me when her heart wanted to be elsewhere. I know this is brief but I should have something a bit more substantial later on. Stay tuned kids!

Just Enough to Love You...

Really not my style to just post songs, but right now I think this best sums up a lot of things:

Push me out from the darkness
To a sky that's colored blue
Somewhere someone's finding happiness
While I'm still here so hung up on you

Nothing is real
And I want you to know
That I'm not alright
When you tear open my chest
I'll try not to flinch
Won't make promises
You taught me that I'm still losing what's left out
My self-esteem
And I'm still watching the slow fading of all my daydreams

The hardest things to say are the words that mean the most
So I'll bite my tongue til it bleeds and I doubt you'll even know
The easiest thing to fake's a feeling to fool someone else
And I've been tricked for so long by you that I spent these last few months in my own hell

A failed apology
A day too late but now I see
That all you really want's to see me dangle neck first from a tree
But what would you need me for
You've got friends galore
And all you'll ever be to me's a stupid lying excuse for a person

I could call
But I know that you won't be there to pick up the phone
You don't have time for me
I could call but I know you won't get the phone
Don't have time for me

I hate myself
For loving you like this
I hate myself for hating myself
Just enough to love you
Just enough to love you

The power of love...(Or, Huey Lewis almost got it right)

So here I sit, having finally acknowledged the full extent of the negative that I was fighting to keep on the fringe. I recognized the power of anger and chose to turn it into something positive, determined not to let it consume or debilitate me.  Regrettably, in being so staunch in my resolve, I had allowed a number of things to pass without incident. I’d offer up details but at this point I’m still trying to sort everything out. I apologize my friends, but expect an increase in the number of cryptic messages coming from yours truly in the coming weeks. For those that are curious, feel free to approach me directly (those that are worthy have the means) and I’ll be happy to provide honest, direct, and full answers to any questions you pose. Here though…well it’s too open, too exposed and I’m still sorting through a great number of things. I’ve given in to easily to trying to offer up insight and refuge for too many, being the heart and emotional anchor for the masses when they can’t bring themselves to seek the enlightenment they so wantonly devour from me. I know this is beginning to verge on sounding bitter or militant, and that’s why I’m fighting so hard right now to handle this all in the right way. I don’t want to let all of this affect me in that way, I don’t want to be that person. I am stronger than that, and I’ve grown beyond that. There is no justice or benefit for me harboring the negative or dwelling on it. I had something beautiful and I watched it die. I watched fear and a profound lack of conviction destroy something that could have absolutely grand and incredible. I’ve belabored that point enough, I think even I’m getting tired of hearing it. She was a coward, and she let fear make her choice, not love. There I’m done, the final word on that point for a while.

Even rereading that last sentence leaves me with a bitter metallic taste in my mouth, because I’m still giving in to the animosity and the vitriol of something that I cannot allow to influence me. I thought holding on was the test of my resolve, but coming out of this unscathed and without severe or irreparable psychological damage/trauma is going to be the real test of just how strong my psyche really is. I’ve conquered suicide attempts, endured bullying, survived mistreatment, subjugation, oppression, public humiliation, and even having to defend my heart’s desire against a thousand naysayers with little more than a base understanding of the people involved, and the only test that matters is what I choose to do now. How I choose to be, who I choose to be, from here out. I can only fathom it’s a matter of time before things swing back and the pendulum reaches back the other way. Deep down both of us knew exactly what was and has always been meant to be. I provide excitement, fulfillment, compassion, near infinite understanding, and an unwavering commitment to a vision I hope to see come to fruition. I’ve no doubt or delusion that I’m alone in holding these views and this uncompromising dedication, but the man that ended up my better…I’ll never meet him to actually tell him how lucky he is, how wonderful a woman he has, and how strong the ties that bind her to him really are. While it is incredibly easy for me, or even most of you, to vilify and bash her, not one of you came to her defense a few months back, and what’s more is that not a one of you ever actually met her. She is not a bad person, never was, and truthfully never could be. Misguided and lost in the fear of her own choices, guided by the best of intentions and too afraid to move, it is low self-esteem, a misunderstood value of self, and her own insecurities that propelled her to the finality she optioned. Fear of being alone, of not having someone to come to her defense, and when she found that in me, someone with unquestioned and unflinching tenacity to always provide the best and spare her all harm and pain, it got her thinking about who she was as a person and what she deserved. The answers to those questions required reflection on the fundamentals tenets of what makes you, you. No one likes being thrust under the microscope like that and especially when you’re doing it in the hopes of seeing someone that is worthy of such selfless behavior.

But who among us, who among all of you, can say that you’ve not chosen fear when it was the less daunting option? She’s not a bad person, and I will not commit libel or engage in endless insult slinging. She is a wonderful person and had things worked out, I’d have been very lucky to have her. Despite the proclivities of most of you to see only the pain she caused (partially my fault for only reaching out to deal with that pain), she is a phenomenal human being. I think perhaps if I were to engage to any semblance of “revenge” it would simply be to shake the man’s hand and convey, through weighted words and veiled references, just how lucky he is and how much he should appreciate the love he has. In the end, for all the impossible I did, for all the mountains I moved, for all the stars I brought down from the sky, for all the demons I slayed, for the infinite understanding and acceptance I offered, for all of the miracles I performed, it simply was not enough to make me more appealing than the love she’d already found. In that regard it is nothing to be angry about or to seek any kind of malicious revenge; rather it’s something to be celebrated. I dared to fathom a depth of love that few can begin to comprehend, and in that I pitted it against the kind of love that you get married for. I lost. I’m not defeated, I’m renewed, I know what I’m capable of, I know that I can love and be loved and that there are still beautiful people in this world, inside and out, and to wallow in the hurt, in the heartache; to let rule the hollow emptiness of the love I’ve had to swallow down and “forget”, it’s a disservice to the incredible things I did, it’s a slap in the face to the genuine and unconditional love I found, and it’s make a lie out of every declaration of wanting her to be happy. I did want her to be happy, and not just with me. I do want her to be happy. I don’t know if she’s reading, if she’ll ever stumble through here and find this, but since it’s my page and I can remain uncensored, let me say this, if ever a more perfect and beautiful love exists in this universe, let it be known, I came first. I set the bar for unconditional acceptance and understanding. I, a mere mortal, a man of limited means and borne of a sordid past, put forth a lifetime’s worth of energy, passion, and love to declare my love, and I will never deny, decry, or abhor those feelings. If ever the pendulum does swing back in my favor, if ever that love is seen fit by the fates to be requited, I will accept it, with graciousness and never stop appreciating every day that passes from that day to my last, as I am reminded, by something as simple as her smile, just how unequivocally lucky and blessed I would be. My love has not gone, my choice has not changed, but the clock ticks by once more, and with it too, does my affection. If the hands of fate see fit to bring her back to me so be it, and if it is to serve as a reminder what a driven man can accomplish, there is no fault in that either. I only pray that every night he holds her, he knows and appreciates, fully and completely, just exactly what he has and never stops thanking the powers that be for such a precious gift.

Dare to dwell where Fear is afraid to tread...

Semblance of self, understanding of the id, ego, and super ego; there are many names for knowing the true name of oneself and having accomplished a seemingly impossible task in today’s culture. We are expected to want more, to go beyond, and to crave what we do not have, to never be content, to constantly covet and seek out something just beyond the horizon. While this type of behavior is what drove us as a species to seek out safer refuge, to map the globe, to build the greatest inventions, and even compelled the most celebrated romantics to achieve the heights of their highest success, it has gone from being something beautiful and noble to something twisted and ugly. Altruism, doing what must be done or should be done for the sake of seeing good done in the world, is an all but lost concept, diluted and sullied by a consumer culture that reeks a bit too closely of something Huxley proposed with Brave New World. There is no nobility of self because no one takes the time to see themselves, they see only the blemishes, the loss of something they undervalued when they had it, and look toward the shimmering sky, a canvas awash with dreams and personal fulfillment if only one is willing to trade away the things that really matter.

Smoke because it’s glamorous, be skinny because that’s beauty, have big breasts or a big butt and you’ll be attractive, be selfish and self-serving or a total spoiled bitch and people will think you’re cute, wear what everyone else does, buy, consume, thinking is a weakness…the rhetoric is a bit less ham handed but the message is still just as clear. Everyone sees it. I’m sure there is hardly anyone that can’t see the forest for the tress and stare with minimal effort at how callous and useless the entire consumer culture has become, and yet we press on, apathy allowing the infernal machine to continue its work, heedless of the loss of something so precious. My sense of self is something even I take for granted, but for reasons I think are wholly different than most others. I know who I am. I am in a constant state of change, endlessly evolving, always adapting and accepting. I am not who I was and I am not, now, who I shall be, but I am still me. The sum of the parts is merely the result, not the full construction, the assembly of something so intricate and beautiful as a life, it is something takes, quite literally, a lifetime. There is a complex and worthwhile tapestry of experiences and moments that weave together in a mind bending fashion and they serve to create the person you see. I would not be who I am if not for who I was. This is something I accept, and it has taken me quite a long time to recognize the truth within such a thing.

For the majority, they are constantly looking toward what might be, what they hope for, or what they plan on happening. The family the can have, the children they’ll bring into the world, the car they want to buy, the house they want to live in, the relationship they want to cultivate, the career they hope to pursue, even the clothes they want to wear and the food they want to eat. The dichotomy of this is that most of these people are endless spouting self-affirmations about reveling and enjoying the present. You’ve seen them all, “The past is history, the future’s a mystery, to enjoy the present because it’s a gift”, I mean there are countless others, and I’m not decrying the words as being without merit, but they undercut the intrinsic meaning being espoused by those that seek only to escape the current circumstances of their lives. Unhappy in relationships, miserable at a dead end job, lacking the resolve to even try to better their lives, and it is fear that holds them back. It is fear of rejection, fear of failure, fear of asking too much, of being too brazen, of stepping over too many lines, of being beyond the scope of understanding for another that keeps them contained, wrapped in a blanket of anxiety and shadows, whimpering to the nameless forces of defeat and oppression for release from the bonds that they created themselves.

Without realizing it, more often than not we become the products of compromise and fear. We’re taught early on that not fitting in is something to be feared. So grade school is all about having the same lunch box, the same clothes, the same after school activities, and even the same backpack, shoes, pencils, and notebooks as the majority, to be any different is to be outcast. Middle school revolves around constructing identity, and sadly that is too often shaped by misunderstanding. A need to rebel leads to chopped hair or longer than normal, violent arguments, harsh words, music with hollow messages, and mauled, altered, name brand, or unique clothing being used to designate and inform how we see ourselves. High school is…well I imagine it’s about solidifying the person you’ve chosen to be with the gradual acceptance of personal responsibility. I say I imagine it because for me there were three things that I don’t think occurred for me during high school. One, I wasn’t there. I was removed from my peers in my freshman due to a misunderstanding and my proclivities being too far out in the ballpark of my creation. My refusal to fit in and accept what they prescribed I should be fostered further discontent and in my opinion allowed for a malfeasance to breed within those in the power structure. Second, I never had a girlfriend or even got laid in high school. I was a graduate before I had my first sexual experience and it was only a couple of months before that, I laid eyes on a naked woman for my own benefit and stimulation without it being through a television. The third and perhaps most fundamental of all the things that didn’t happen to me during high school is that I didn’t find out who I was. I knew. I had cultivated my persona, become the person I wanted to be, in need of some fine tuning perhaps, but I had no want or will to be anyone other than I wanted to be and I didn’t need the gradual acceptance of personal responsibility. I became my father by the time I was in the seventh grade and I had no gradual or piecemeal program of increased accountability to myself because I had been forced to accept it all years before. My home life was less than ideal and to most of you I’ve relayed the stories of psychotic breaks, verbal and physical abuse, and even the borderline unapologetic emotional neglect that I endured, so I won’t traverse the same material again, but my point is that I was not in need of an identity. I had resolved to become my father but do so in a way where I got all the benefits and made none of the mistakes.

Now most of us become out parents in one form or another. We assimilate little things that we barely notice. A proclivity for our parent’s brand of coffee, cigarettes, alcohol, perfume, clothing, cars, political leanings, outlook on society and family, all of it is informed by our parent’s example to varying degrees. It is an endless cycle that continues ad infinitum since time immemorial. But what happens when the pattern is broken? What is the outcome when we or our parents are left to quite literally create themselves? Well in my case, that is exactly what happened. My father had to build, piece by piece, who he wanted to be. His father is still alive, and he’s a wonderful man, but he is not the most emotionally expressive person and in all the years I’ve been alive I’ve yet to actually hear him tell me he loves me, a trifle in the grand scheme and by no means do I mean to say that my life would have been made in any way markedly different from such a pronouncement, but for the purposes of my point, my father was given a role model but little guidance on how to actually become or emulate his father. To that end my father is the culmination of the highest hopes and intellect, brought down by ill fortune and miscalculated gambles. So in becoming my father I was attempting to recognize what could have made him successful and what had been the highest detriment. I resolved to live as free of vice as I could, seeing a dependency on chemical substances to be a major burden that would hold even the strongest back. It is in this that the genesis of who I am now was spawned.

So if we have the role models of who we will eventually become, who will influence us the most, how do we go about defining our individuality? For most of us we pick and choose from media and other sources and splice it all together in a ramshackle way of producing an identity. We glean quotes from movies, we take ideas from magazines, jokes from television, music from the people we want to be more like and we present ourselves to the world as the combination of our best efforts. The only thing any of us lacks is depth. We don’t understand why we find something funny, why we like what we like, or even why we seek to be the people we attempt to be. It’s all a finely greased machine that is embedded in us from our infancy, behave a certain way and people will like you. The only flaw in that logic is that the people you want to like you are just as two dimensional and vapid as you are. I know that no one likes to think of the people they care about, or even themselves as being anything less than spectacular and unique snowflakes, and I don’t mean to decry or belittle anyone personal sense of self-worth. Rather I want you all to recognize what it is that gives you intrinsic worth. What makes you the spectacular person you are? It is only through questioning that we can come to understand anything.

It’s been said that I’m fearless, devoid of pause or terror. I think there might be truth in that but only in one simple thing. It is an important and popular fact (to quote Douglas Adams) that humanity fears what it does not understand. We all do it. Sky diving, bungee jumping, pig wrestling, cave diving, things that go bump in the night, even our own behaviors, it can all be terrifying. I seek to understand it all. And here’s another point in the current paradigm of our culture and society where a breakdown occurs. At some point in the past thirty years or so, it became an implied expectation that with the advent of cable television, the internet, and different mediums of radio (if Nikola Tesla could see things now, huh?) we no longer had the onus of understanding anything ourselves, someone else was doing it for us. The bogeymen had been found out and no longer lurked in the dark corners of the room between the dresser and the closet. So with that precept in mind, we have become the most jaded and uninspired we have ever been, relegating true understanding to the annals of pursuits best left to others, and no real compulsion to do anything to change it. We have the utmost information at our fingertips, in a way like never before in human history, and the majority of us retain slivers and pieces of anything if we retain anything at all, so any understanding is fragmented and shoddy at best. Enter my oddity and my propensity to actually retain everything, to really come to a full and informed comprehension of everything, and I have no fear. I don’t rely on someone else to have my answer, to protect me from the things I don’t know, I seek out to find my own answers, and in that I am made mighty enough to face down any dragon, slay any beast, go toe to toe with any demon. I am made invincible by the sheer veracity with which I seek information. I am who I have chosen to be, both now and at all points in every possible future. I made my decisions, I owned my choices, and I alone am the only guilty party if blame for any of it is to be given. Hopefully we can all begin to understand ourselves a bit more, to really recognize the good within us, the things that make us the unique and wonderful people we all are, and from that understanding begin to feel real love and actually put forth a bit of that emotion toward the ones we truly treasure.

Inner fire burns white hot...

The choices we make, the actions we take, the decisions we own, they all come down to our own conviction and the exercising of personal will. But what happens when the thinks we think we know we’re incapable of validating and the consequences of choice are just too far flung to fathom, too daunting to contemplate, and too terrifying to really try to comprehend. For me, I’ve never shown fear, I have always owned my decisions, I’ve made my choices and stuck by them without ever flinching. Sure there have been times where I’ve wanted to take something back, to do something over again and try for a better outcome, but I’ve always been blessed with an abundance of personal conviction. My resolve is unwavering in almost every instance. It’s this that I’ve taken for granted. Now in keeping with the idea that in order to attain closure on this whole thing and move beyond it, I have to understand it, I feel it pertinent to at least posit, what if I was not so resolute? What if my conviction was in question? Or if my choices were something I couldn’t necessarily believe in?

It’s a token thing that I don’t spend much time second guessing myself, rather I acknowledge mistake or error when it happens and attempt to atone and correct the situation. It’s a no brainer response, and it’s something I don’t question, but while for me it’s a tried and true response, and for the majority of you guys it’s something that you aspire to, what has allowed me to be so undaunted, so resolute, and so unquestioning of my own motivations? I know it seems nonsensical but it’s a valid question. I barreled along for four years without ever flinching or even pausing to consider another choice. But I forget that for so many others, her included, and even the majority of you, that kind of commitment is something unheard of. So that being said, it’s worth at least considering two major points, what endows me with the ability to make a decision and stick to it, heedless of the personal cost. The other thing to consider is, if my resolve is something unique to me from experience, upbringing, or is instead something indelible, well am I the anomaly that should seek to change?

I know this is a lot of questions and not much in the way of a formal argument toward a point. I also know that those of you who have been along for the ride this far or even those who got off and came back along the way, I should be decrying her and doing nothing at all to put myself in her shoes. Well, I’ve made my decision here that I’m not going to wallow in anger or pity, or doubt. It’s unproductive and it does nothing to help me heal or understand. It’s negative emotion that becomes nothing more than added weight and keeps me from doing more. There again, a simple affirmation of conviction that takes less than a second and I’m not even slightly inclined to consider another course of action. So what is it that lets me do it?

I certainly do not completely understand the universe, my role in it, or anything of that nature. Nor have I come to fully understand the intricacies of every situation. I’m not clairvoyant, psychic, or in touch with anyone on the other side. And I do have fears, no phobias per se, but I do have fears. So why am I so capable of having such unwavering conviction? I’m really hoping you guys can give me answers to this. I stand in the face of adversity time and again and I always manage to stay the course and arrive at exactly where I want to be.

So let’s just put together a scenario for sake of argument. So the choice is life changing, something that completely alters the day to day of existence. The results are far reaching, affect a good number of people and their reactions are expected to be along certain lines at the outset, but it’s hard to tell whether their own hubris and prejudice will win out over their wanting me to be happy. Okay let’s put names and faces to it all. Let’s say that I was considering getting back together with her and it could actually work out. She’s single and asking me to be with her. So if I decide to be with her, I invoke the ire of so many who have vilified her, I suffer the slings and arrows of others who say I’m throwing away something beautiful and it won’t be worth the sacrifice. No for me, it’s a no brainer, I make my choice and stick with it. But for sake of argument let’s say I’m not so resolute, not so self-assured…I think that’s it. Nosce te ipsum. I know myself, inside and out, I know what I’m capable of and what makes me tick and it is precisely that fact and understanding of myself that allows me to do what I do. I see my flaws, my faults, my shortcomings, and I embrace them, I don’t necessarily flaunt or laud them, but I accept and work to resolve them. I am comfortable with myself and who I am. My strength and resolve is culled from my innate understanding of who I am and what I’m willing to do. I am unafraid because I know that no matter what I do, I do it with the full understanding that I remain unchanged and unaffected unless I choose to let it be otherwise. Unfortunately that nifty little epiphany has given way to another question of why am I so comfortable with myself and my own skin when so many others are so ill at ease? Meh, an argument for another day, this is circular enough and I think I’ve raised more questions than I’ve answered. 

The good left unsaid...

Finality, it’s a word with a singular meaning yet somehow I manage to give it nuance. I’m not sure at what point in my life or my existence it was decided that the extraordinary would become the norm but somehow or another I consistently find myself in situations that defy the laws of reality and seem to be more like something out of a movie with clever writing and an all too appreciable protagonist. Don’t get me wrong here, I’m not complaining or even lamenting this, hell I like it, it’s always something I can manage, it makes for great stories, and in the end if it makes it here (I’m terribly sorry for all but abandoning you guys) hopefully it makes for a good read.

I’ve been playing Madness Returns all week as well as re-reading the books in an effort to make them my own and keep from having a sour taste in my mouth following the excision of a monumentally, almost integral, part of my life. Y’know that whole thing about how certain music you just can’t listen to following a break up? Well for me it goes to an almost, and I’ll admit it’s unhealthy, virulent extreme. TV shows, books, movies, restaurants, clothing, even jokes and quotes get relegated there. Because of my astuteness for details and my near flawless ability for total recall…well it becomes very hard for me to break associations to things once they’ve been made.

Please don’t misunderstand this entry to suggest that I’m struggling under the labors of just being able to listen to Tool or enjoy House. In truth, Tool is, and always will be, mine. I got into Maynard’s catalog around 2003 with A Perfect Circle and songs like Judith, Weak and Powerless, The Noose, Blue, The Outsider, and Passive. I can remember going to see Constantine with friends and knowing every word to Passive as it played in the film. I fell headlong into Tool following a long and somewhat less well documented pursuit from 2006. The Tool song "Right in Two" provided the initial impetus for my long suffering novel. At that point in time it was less a love story and more a supernatural action adventure with little grounding in anything real. But I really began to experience the band, the music, their message, their catalog, and the emotion evoking power following a chance listening of Pushit while stuck playing the same damn video game ad infinitum for a paltry sum of money. The song had a message, unclear and a bit muddied to me upon the first dozen or so listens, but as I resolved to just provide white noise outside of the game’s insipid soundtrack, my attention continually focused on the lyrics and I began to relate and apply the song’s story of disparity within a relationship and the lengths to which the singer is willing to ignore it in the hopes of making the relationship work. The gap between them and how the constant pushing and shoving from the other forces the singer to see it, the continual challenge of keeping them from disappearing despite having to face that chasm, the incessant feeling of being alive when they touch and when the singer is shoved again and again, the codependency of it all but having to acknowledge that the gap is there, and the constant entreaty from the singer to keep from being pushed over the edge, knowing it will be the end of them. I began to relate to that, to see how much I was pushed, again and again, over and over, seemingly without end but I managed to side step falling into the gap. I never hit the breaking point as the singer of the song does, I was strong enough to keep from throwing it all away. The days wore on and I began to relate to more songs, Schism, Parabol/Parabola, H., Stinkfist, I could list the majority of their work but you guys already know I’m kind of a fanatic. But the point is that I chose Tool as a means to relate, to cope, to achieve catharsis I just couldn’t get otherwise. It’s kind of occurred to be recently and I know you will all disagree so I’m curious to hear your arguments, but I really suck as communicating my own feelings. I can argue points, convey thoughts, pontificate and even explain things quite well but when it comes to really putting emotion and not just words to paper…well it’s kind of a rare thing.

As great as most would profess me to be at expressing myself, I have to admit, if for no other reason than just for my own benefit, when it really matters, I’m terrible at it. I could say the most beautiful things, I could paint the greatest and most enjoyable and lovely pictures with my words, but I couldn’t ever work up enough courage to really say what was on my mind. I would stare her in the face and decry her for being so closed, so stoic and inscrutable, and yet in trying to get her to open up, I began to shut down. I would close up and lose my ability to really say what I felt or what I meant, saving it until I could do so here, in a venue where it didn’t matter, where she would never see, and where it would end up having no bearing on the only thing it should have affected: us. In that regard I failed. I’m more than willing to admit that and I know that the majority of you will come the aid of my ego and my practice of expression. I can already see the comments, “You’re a master at self-expression, she just didn’t understand you. Stop beating yourself up and know that she wasn’t worth your time.” Well do me a favor guys, stow the comment, because you’re wrong. I can be eloquent, pithy, succinct (it’s rare but it does happen) and flawlessly expressive here because while I do most often write these in a single sitting and most often as a single stream of consciousness, I do still have the ability to pause for a moment and rephrase something without it ever actually seeing daylight prior. In a conversation, her standing right in front of me, I’m scrabbling with utter recklessness to collect and convey my thoughts as quickly as I can because I knew that every visit was timed, governed by an ethereal clock of sorts that could only be pushed so far. For anyone who’s ever had a long distance relationship or something of the sort, you know that things gets lost in translation when you’re trying earnestly to get everything out before the bell tolls. Such is the case for this, as beautiful as it was, I did, on more than one occasion, fall terribly and achingly short of getting everything out in the time allotted and more often than not for all the eloquence she thought it possessed, it really came down to terribly ham handed commentary being given on a rudimentary and slapped together analysis of things. I did my best, don’t get me wrong, but it was nowhere near what I would have liked it to be.

I know I’ve come a long way from finality and the nuances of it to the point I’ve made above, but you should all be accustomed to it. I’m trying to sort things out, to make the picture clear in my own head and hopefully save myself some arguments and needless battling. So I’ll put thought to text and see if I can make the picture a bit less muddied for my own benefit. Hope you guys are enjoying that I’m back, even in the state that I’ve returned to you in. Hopefully someone comments and lets me know there’s life out there.