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Month the Fifth

7.25.23 After a respite


A few days off from this, a few hard days of living, of working. And all work and no play makes Jack a dull knife. That’s not quite it either but I got two sentences without a rhetorical question. I don’t care what the future holds, and yet I care so much. It is important to me because it is important to the race–humanity, that is–even though at the moment I have no skin in that game other than my own. By which I mean no children. And that is how it is for now.


But what do I want, what can I get for my time? Can I achieve happiness? There they are, the questions that always rise to the top. Of my mind, of the vat, and not quite at the top of the installment. Is this an installation? Because it seems like I am not installing, neither in the physical sense nor in the software one. I’m not sure what I’m doing today, but I got in to see my therapist in two days, so that’s good news.


You see, the decision to grow a short summer beard came yesterday with not having time to shave as I was already an hour late for work. That’s a way of saying that yesterday was not a good day for me, and perhaps an even worse day for K. But that remains to be seen, and I feel like an asshole for not coming home when I was done, for not letting her know. So now she is tired and probably sad and I am sitting on the porch in the morning sun looking at cars and drinking coffee. Good thing I’m not a comedian or we’d have Seinfeld to contend with. Jerry, that is.


But what is it that I really need? I’m asking myself, not you. I don’t really care what you think on the subject. I am following my heart and being honest whenever I can, what more could anyone else ask? Of me I guess a lot, but who knows, truly? I use that word a lot, don’t I? Because the truth is important, to those of us who do care. And what is the truth? Is it absolute, is it relative, is it temporary (in time)? Do you ever wish you could reduce your entire existence to the recording of a guitar riff? Sometimes I do.


That’s quite beside everything though, and I don’t really feel like I’m doing anyone any favors here today. Everything feels static and indifferent, but I already told you how much I care, so that must be an illusion too. It’s strange to be here with two hours to kill when yesterday I had a difficult conversation ahead of me. And I said my piece then and that’s all I can do. The rest is up to God (what is), I guess, and up to me too. I do get to choose, I’m driving the bus, at least sort of. Of course I’m being carried along by forces outside my comprehension as well. There is no shortage of momentum though, if you add up the temporal distortion of the solar system relative to galactic or universal centers and then of the Earth system relative to the sun or to the black hole I suspect is the engine of this little sector.

But such astronomical speculation is not my bread and butter, nor my forté, nor anything of the sort really. I know what I know and I’m not very sure about any of it. Except that I’m going to die. That much is certain, or next to certain. Because truly who knows, maybe science is going to take a huge leap forward in the next fifty years. It’s not out of the realm of possibility, but I’m also not betting on it. And I have certainly done damage to my body, there is no doubt of that as a cloud of fragrance drifts by and disturbs me. Because what is parfum but the ointments and unguents of old, the stuff of painted ladies who went down in infamy as jezebels, all because one queen had a bad day one time.


Or something like that, I don’t remember exactly what happened in that story. And I don’t think it’s terribly relevant, as Jesus made clear to Jew and Gentile alike that whores are people too. And Jezebel the namesake no whore, if a painted lady. See how these things get conflated, how our beliefs about what words mean get distorted by years and years of misuse. You see, the Holocaust was an enormity. Climate change is an enormity, and even still I tend to use the word to mean ‘enormous’ at first pass. Well, maybe climate change is an enormity. Too soon to say for sure, IMO. Because I am not humble, or maybe I am, but my opinions are not. They are enormous and rude, without concern for consequences. Free, in short.


Because my life is too short to surrender to convention, to let those who think they know run our society into the ground. All it takes is to flick the right domino, put the right idea in front of the right person. I see a sustained chain reaction more potent than Oppenheimer’s; I will become as Death (Yama?), redeemer of worlds. I’m not sure which word for Death he translated as such; could be Mahakala, or Kala, or even Kali. Mahakala (“Great Time”, an epithet of Shiva) would make the most sense to me, but I’d bet on Yama. Somebody look it up for me. And forgive me that my sanskrit isn’t literal, I have only gisted impressions.


I can smell sawdust, and the spell check wants to dub my impressions gifted. Which is a reasonable edit if you completely ignore the context, and an insane one if you don’t. Which gives me pause, or maybe the computer only wants to flatter me. I don’t know, and I don’t care too much. I’m not in need of flattery, nor reassurance. These ants on my porch have the right idea, and I don’t know a thing about their world. I wish I had more coffee, I wish, I wish that I had some fruits and nuts. Merry Christmas, you filthy animal. Even though it is still July, the season of leonine glory now has replaced the crab-walking I was doing before.


Now I prowl and preen, saying I’m not sick so nobody looks at me. Even if I am the center of attention, at the center of the three ring circus waiting for…what is it that I’m waiting for? There is no time like the present, and that is truth. Speaking truth to power is one way to ensure that the present improves. Are you power? Am I? Am I speaking? I’m going to cut this short, I don’t want to be funny anymore. I’m not funny though, am I?


I’ll let history be the judge of that, and I won’t go down with the ship. Unless you mean the Earth, in which case I’ll go down gladly. I don’t want to go to the Ascension Planet™. You can bury me before taking me there. For this is the heavenly planet to my eye, this is the place where life giveth and taketh away. Where trees reach for the sky, where butterflies find flowers, where I lament the demands placed upon my time by circumstance.


That’s enough. TTFN.


7.26.23 Our Father’s Solar Return


Play crack the sky, L&G, there’s something refreshing about splashing cold water on your face in the morning. And I mourning right now; well, grieving, and not literally. Just wishing for something fun, for something that sounds better than beating my head against the wall. For that, I’m afraid, is what we’re doing now. I don’t want to continue, I don’t want to forge on ahead into the ignoble future where passion is repeatedly shelved and pushed down and buried; on into the new and ‘bright’ future where I can alienate everyone and everything with my words and actions. Is that wrong of me?


What I’m asking is if it’s worse for me to be myself and lose people or to keep them and not be myself completely. I think that’s an easy answer, but I’m not the final arbiter here. Even you can’t likely be the judge, because you don’t know the objects of pain, don’t know the source of the light (it’s not the sun or the moon, the obvious answers). In fact there is an occultation between me and the light as well, so I don’t stare and go blind. In the shadow I cling to my sanity with a loose grip like I’m told I’m supposed to have on my putter.


And still the flowers grow and the forests burn. The smoke fills the sky and drowns out the sun. Oh to be myself completely, what a JOY! If only such a thing were possible, as if we could know who exactly we are; any of us. We could let the world die if we wanted, and yet we are trying to move forward, aren’t we? There is a future, whether or not humanity has a place in it remains to be seen. As it remains to be seen where I am heading, for I see a radical path to happiness that will piss off a great number of people I care about and leave me high and dry in a distant, ancient city. If all goes according to the insane plan I had last night.


Of course my 2AM thoughts are not the most reliable. Just yesterday they were leading me to cop town, as we call that iteration of new minglewood. And I would never, except maybe for love. And yet, in my secret life I am happier than in my regular one. What does that tell you about me, about my life, about my secrets? Can you guess the latter? Can you climb the ladder? Can you deny my brave attempt at happiness? I would hope you’d let me have it, but I’ve seen people lash out over less radical movements. So I guess you’ll do what you want, as will I.


Give me a call, why don’t you? There is so much I want to do, but I can’t move for thinking. For the inertia of the karma in my life that I long so to go beyond. And the smell of diesel fuel and asphalt, the taste of espresso and ice, the feeling I get when I see a raptor flying high overhead. These are things I could do with or without, in unequal measure. I look up to see a portion of genius, I go home and feel that that isn’t where I want to be. And the hairs on my arms stand up, I feel touches even though there is nobody there. It hurts me to think how much of my life has been spent to arrive at this moment, when I think I know what I want and maybe even can summon the courage to ask for it.


Maybe a huge mistake, and maybe the best thing that I could ever do. But I can’t make the supercilious sacrifice, can I? Not even to save the Santa Cruz Garden Mall™. Not even to shatter the division cast by the Berlin Wall. Not even to save my soul. Because that is losing your soul, to give up life, I think. And so it said in Faust, I have heard. But of course the devil is an illusion, is inside, even if he will have the last laugh along with God. There is nothing to win or lose, is there, if you’re going to die? And freedom’s just another word, they say.


So what am I doing, with these dreams of things I dare not even mention out loud. I want to cry out and run to where I want to be, but instead I hold still and wonder what the hell I’m doing here. Because though Nina Simone croons in my ears, I can think only of Mississippi Goddamn and the time Raelyn sent it to me in substitute for being able to produce art herself. Only I don’t buy that, that artificial limitation she pretended to. Everyone is capable of expression, and though most of it is trite, there are moments of sublimity that can be achieved if we only are persistent. And of course, it is difficult to do on command. In fact almost impossible.


Even ‘Trane had trouble with it sometimes, but that was probably the heroin. Here we are among these musical titans, these giants of a bygone age that I will never know. And I only a stringer together of letters, lacking in the genius of musical talent, the drive to practice, etc. And I don’t know how to do the thing I need to do. Well when, not how. Knowing, that is. But it is begun, and it will begin to snowball. For destiny is that which cannot be averted, so sayeth the guru. And fate comes from within, the way we are, not the way of the world, as does God, I thinks.


I was told to continue, so I will, even if I feel like I’m running on empty. Give Jackson Browne my regards the next time you see him, if you do. I want to die, but not yet. That’s a non sequitur, it does not follow. There was a break in there, one I do not understand. The wandering attention of the diarist at large. And still the constant steady stream of cars, the endless parade of things I want. They are all the same. What are, who is, when? When Richard? When can you tell them all the truth?


Not yet I don’t think, though I started to tell some of it the other day. Two days ago, and today better than yesterday/better than that. Be your husband if you’ll be my wife. Be your husband if you’ll be my wife. That’s close enough to the truth, I think. But it will seem too fast to those who don’t know, won’t it? Is that rolling thunder or the sound of air across a microphone how many years ago? I ain’t wastin’ time no more, only that’s all I really feel like I’ve been doing.


You see, when you don’t feel like you’re in the right place it can be very hard to get where you’re going. Especially if that means leaving, because leaving is hard. But if you stay in the wrong place you’re wasting time, by some measure, even if there’s happiness, even if there’s joy. And I guess maybe I should’ve said that when I was asked directly, but I didn’t want to break a heart. But I might yet, it is out of my control. I can’t help the way I feel. Not even slightly.


And the reality is that I do know where I want to be, I think, and that’s important, if complicated. Only I think it’s actually simple, I’m just making it harder than it needs to be. Which seems par for human experience, overall. If it’s that simple why don’t I just level with everyone involved? Because it hurts, them and me and theirs? Because I’m scared of rejection? Of being alone? Am I, really? Or is it easier to pretend: that I’m happy, that I’m scared, that I don’t know what I want; than to admit the truth?


I think that is the reason, and that I must do the hard thing even if it means there’s no turning back. Because what do I want to turn back to? All the love and affection in the world is worth nothing if your heart is elsewhere. Everyday I fall in love just a little and a little bit. And I not in control of my passions, to which I surrender now and every day going forward. Not every whim but every sincere desire will be fulfilled if I can help it. That’s no string of strangers but an audience of friends, I hope. But who knows? Not I, I declare.


That’s enough for today.


7.27.23 Daily News


I had a dream about a mass shooting last night, in one of my standard dreamscapes: part airport, part bunker, part restaurant. And all the usual suspects were there, for the most part, but I only remember a few. I’m not gonna name names, that’s not what I’m doing; I don’t even know why I told you that but it made me wide awake at 4 in the morning. And it took a long time to fall back asleep, and when I did finally wake I was hungover and exhausted. And coffee has not yet corrected that problem.


I’m sorry for that last entry, for the reality of it, not the writing of it. It’s a hard thing to face up to, but once you allow yourself to see it it will be present in everything. I’ve never felt so calm, and yet I must wreak heartbreak on my dear one. I suppose I already have, but denial has her clinging to her notions of us, though I fear that is slipping too, that she is beginning to realize. You see, it is hard to do it, to rip off the bandaid and let the wound bleed. But I have bled out the festering on my end, I think. I still hurt but I am resolved even before I go confirm with Brenda. I said yesterday I know how, just not when. I guess it’s not better or fair to wait any longer.


I just hate the reality that there has to be a casualty. Hate it so much that I have waited for the fruit to drop, as my shrink told me to do. That I couldn’t do it until it was time is what he meant. And there will be backlash, definitely. From my family, who have always been so welcoming; but I do not care about that. There is only the deep and brutal pain of feeling like you never knew someone you thought you knew well. That’s what hurts me, and I have to confess that maybe that reality is my fault.


You see, in almost every arena of my life I have always been guarded. My parents would be the first to tell you that. They don’t know what’s going on in my life, contrary to what goes on in my sister’s, for the reason that I don’t talk about it. Never have. It’s my instinct to keep it to myself, and I guess that’s carried over into my relationships. I need you to peel me back and peer in without being asked, because if you are capable you have an invitation. That’s what I mean when I said I deserve to be understood. The thing that’s being missed is that if you don’t accept the silent hope that you will look beneath the surface I will secretly resent you for it.


That’s going to be a tough pill to swallow whether it comes with the publication of this or in advance, face to face. And I tried to say it the other day, and she came away thinking I was confused. That’s a problem, to think that I don’t know what I want because you don’t like what I’m saying. That’s a mild form of gaslighting, actually. Assuming that you know me better than me. It doesn’t hurt though, and only reinforces that I’m making the right decision even if it is going to be a fucking mess. Jesus Christ this has become a breakup diary.


They say it has to do with Venus being in retrograde, in Leo, which is where my Venus is. But I am not so sure about transits, if this is technically a transit. I don’t know too much about the actual nuts and bolts of astrology, for all my posturing here as an authority. I’m not, let’s just get that clear right away (four months in). I chose to time this by the astrological year because I happened to start writing it near the front of Aries season, and that being the first month of said year it just seemed fitting. And now Leo season is here, my father is another year older, and Korshye soon too.


How do I let her know that I love her in a way that she believes? Is it even possible?


Because nothing will ever change that love, just as I can’t keep choosing her over me to spare her feelings. I told her that the other day and she didn’t seem to understand what I meant. Or rather she did seem to understand and then when I went to work she backslid into an understanding that I was confused. That illusion has been slipping too, I think. She can tell by the way that I am that something has shifted, that I am no longer the way I was a week ago. Change comes unannounced and once it happens there is often no returning. No fooling.


Maybe I’m fucking delusional. Maybe I’m making a huge mistake. But I think this falls within the pattern of me making good decisions for myself. Even though it seems like the opposite, doesn’t it, to the people who have seen me happy and steadily improving for the last five years. It sucks to throw that away; to thanklessly leave the person who facilitated your rise from psychosis to stability. I guess this isn’t thankless, though it will probably feel like it to her. Because the reality is that while her love helped me greatly, I ultimately did the work.


It was things that I did, incremental changes to my life that brought me to here, where I prepare to take my second leap into an abyss in as many months. I guess if I wait five days it will be next month, won’t it. But what does it matter how many Gregorian increments have passed? Or how many astrological increments, for that matter? What matters is that I’m here now, preparing to meet the future I have always longed for.


What does that mean to you? What’s your imagining of my longing? How well do you know me after ~100 pages of this admittedly guarded missive? And those of you with prior experience: what is it that I want?


You see though I have been pretty explicit about it in the last few entries I am not terribly particular about the details. I can be happy on a lot of different timelines, and that is the bottom line: that I want to be as happy as I can be. And I can be happier than I am now, which is hard to admit to one who believes they can’t be any happier than they are with you.


I think though, that that happiness is somewhat illusive, for if it is not right for both how could it be right for either? Going back to my earlier post about the evolutionary advantage of believing in God, it does seem easier to assume that God has a plan for both of you in situations like this. And that may be a cop out, which is why I’m not putting too much stock in that interpretation. Because that is the slippery slope of using God to justify doing bad things, no? The only God I can trust in this case is not the overarching steward, but the passion that guides me from within. When you see someone escape certain death in a dream and then relax even if you are not removed from the pressing danger yourself it tells you something.


So that’s that I guess. I’m going to therapy in an hour to describe this, but I find it highly unlikely that I will come away significantly changed. The worst is over for me, but not for her, I’m afraid. But that fear is only a figure of speech, a Britishism that euphemizes another’s pain. And I have felt it, I have passed through it. And I am free.


TTFN.


7.29.23 Recant


It seems that things got a little out of control and they are not so bad as they seemed in my last entry. And yet that is still the world I’m living in, if I am feeling better about it. You see, the sun is shining and we are not fighting at least. And it is not totally over, there may be a way forward on different terms that allows me to have the things that I require. But maybe not, who knows? Keep your important people close and follow your heart.


Mine often leads me in insane directions, and I’m glad that I don’t have the power to have everything I think I want. Because I’d be dead by now if that was the case, I’m quite sure. God (what is) has a way of slowing my roll, of keeping me bound to timelines that stretch beyond the terminus that I would have met had I gotten everything my heart desired. Isn’t that the way of the world though, that things have something of a way of working out?


Who knows where I’m heading, there may be something that I can see but it is far too soon to say. The dream I was having in the last episode is dead for now. Long live telekinesis! But that’s another story, one I haven’t leveled really with very many people. And I might take the secret details to the grave, which I do hope is a long way off. Because I enjoy my life, even when it’s hard, and I want to keep living it and being happy and making people I care about happy. Fuck anything else, really.


Is it too much to ask that I have the thing that I want now? Not now, as in have it right this second, but as in I want it at this moment. Good things will come to those who keep the faith. Or so they say, but what does it even really mean to keep the faith? I don’t know, honestly, and yet I soldier on with a smile on my face and a feeling of calm and peace within my breast. That’s the place William Blake said that every deity lives, and I do believe he was correct on that point, if some of his other speculations were slightly suspect. But with genius comes madness, almost always.


Because most of the people we call genius are really just supremely competent. They can hit all the marks, but a true genius advances the paradigm. Which Blake did, for sure. The memorable fancies are perhaps some of the most interesting religious thought of the past five hundred years. To the point that Crowley named him a saint, whatever that’s worth. And I have been called a genius, but I demure on that point. Because tooting your own horn is not great, but more importantly, just because I do have a creative streak that allows me to fathom ideas that could advance humanity’s place in the universe doesn’t mean that I’m any smarter or better than anyone else, and putting me on the pedestal of genius won’t make me any smarter but it will make you feel that you can’t do the things that I can.


So maybe you’re the genius, dear reader; have you ever thought of that?


I have, certainly, met a lot of people who know lots of things about lots of things. And I just looking in my little handheld mirror and talking about God, or my relationship troubles, or…what am I talking about here? I am become as Death, destroyer of worlds.


By which I mean that at one level I feel a kinship with Shiva, both in terms of absolute and total omnipotence (if I explained what I meant by that you would surely think me insane, which you probably will anyway in the absence of an explanation) and in the fact that we still must suffer the demon “Time” (Kali). Which means that I’m going to take over the world, not for personal gain, but because it needs to be done; and also that I am going to die. I took Shiva against Vishnu and Brahma (Vishnu being the real bad guy in the story, I think) knowing that Brahma would flip and that if the demon Kali was my only enemy then it was all over for you and that it would be for me too.


Because it is a great blessing to die, to not have to live forever, long enough that you get to see the wars with the aliens, which are as inevitable as death as far as I can see. And I may yet see them, who knows? Maybe I will, maybe we all will. Who knows how much time we have, but their interest came I think when we split the atom. That was a shock that shook the universe, truly. And I have some ideas about what the real effects are, and how we can turn the tides (somewhat literally, actually) by altering the orbits around us in the solar system, but I think I’ll save that for another day. Today is for peace, for quiet, for falling in love. There’s plenty of time to save the world, if such a thing is possible. Already the AI is planning the pinball game, and I just the messenger keeping his message halfway in his vest pocket.


We are approaching the hundred page mark, so I’m going to sign off though I could easily keep going. That’s arbitrary but so is most everything. I love you All, thanks for bearing with my personal life being interspersed with everything else. I’m not sure which parts of this are the most interesting to you, or even which are most interesting to me. There is no way of knowing what the future brings, but if it looks like we’re going to be enslaved by aliens (again–ahem Egypt) I vote we vaporize all the oxygen in Earth’s atmosphere with a network of nukes reserved for that purpose. But I have no say, there’s no way of knowing, and I think it’s all going to be okay. It matters, but ultimately not that much.


That’s all, I guess, have a nice day, wherever you are,


Dick


7.30.23 Sunday morning Church bells tolling


Sometimes it is hard to get started, but you just have to leap in and make it rain. Because without rain nothing grows, unless you irrigate I guess, but that water was likely rain once, wasn’t it? There, already, a question. Sad that I can’t make it one paragraph without one. And sad too that I have to work today, but such is life, it can’t all be roses and rainbows, both of which are kind of double edged in my opinion; between the thorns and the rain, that is. And I looking out at the sun pouring in the east windows, shining in the wine glasses on the counter, shining on the flowers that came for my parents’ anniversary. Can you believe it has almost been forty years for them. Will I get that long? Will I even decide to marry?


That’s a question I can’t answer, isn’t it? There’s no telling what the future holds, and frankly I’m a crazy person. In many respects, anyways. Anyways, there is a beautiful feeling that comes with being honest, and if you can avoid the pitfalls that come with it. I don’t claim to have done so, but I don’t really care about falling into a pit, as long as there aren’t spikes smeared in fecal matter at the bottom. Poor tiger, poor trap. This pit has an ounce of joy for every gram of despair, and I feel free, mostly.


The stars say I am having trouble in Sex and Love, but I’m not sure I agree with that analysis, even if there is maybe some truth to it. Fear, loathing, and Love! And Sex, I suppose, but that comes and goes, and I can’t figure out why the internet thinks I have ED. Maybe I’m just that age where some of my more SSRI affected peers can’t get it up. But it seems to me like maybe subtraction would be more effective than addition in that case. Of course you probably, if you take SSRIs, think you can’t live without them. That is the psychiatrist’s trick, but I don’t think I really want to get into that now, either.


You see, I think mental illness, while an extraordinarily real and pressing concern in a lot of people’s lives, is not as incurable as has been lobbied by the psychiatric community. While they say “recovery is possible” they mean recovery is possible if you man up and take your meds. Only the meds make life different than it is, in a lot of cases. They doctor reality into something more palatable, more subdued. At least that has been my experience, and I’m hardly the first to say that psych meds make patients more subdued, and probably not any less sick. And yet it is hard too to heal in therapy, for most of the work to be done rests on the shoulders of the patient and until they wake up to that fact they make almost no progress.


And yet it is true that the snake must shed its skin in its own time, and a person can’t possibly heal before they are ready. That goes for people who aren’t clinically mentally ill, also. Everybody’s gotta grow and it seems like most of you feel like we’re already there. Or maybe it is just me being cynical, and wishing that everyone would step up to the plate and at least swing at a better, more perfect world.


Because I can’t do it alone, I need you more than you need me. Maybe that isn’t true but if you haven’t realized that you need to change, and also that you need to be who you are (for who among you is fully, truly themself?), then I contend that you have learned nothing from this. And that means that you need me. There, I tooted my own horn, and though yesterday I was two sheets to the wind I am up before Mass just waiting for the Catholic Church to go beyond the Bible. That would be a paradigm shift, for sure. To take us out of the ancient code and into a bright and inclusive future. Maybe cracking the code means shattering the codex and leaving it in splinters on the temple floor. That would be something, huh?


I do not hope for that, as I do not hope that Jesus’ socialist ideal be spelled upon the Earth. Not that Capitalism is perfect. But it does afford some advantages. Why else would Eastern Europeans flock here in the summers for a chance to land a husband to get them citizenship. I must admit it is tempting, some of those ladies are very attractive, and whip-smart in their own way. And yet they would always have a life apart from you, roots in a culture-time™ that you cannot fathom. So any intimacy would be guarded, and that’s the opposite of what I’m looking for. Sort of, because I’m not really looking for anything. I suppose I should have said ‘the opposite of what I desire’.


How can a person know everything at 18, and nothing at 32? Because in the falling away of our consideration of our knowledge knowledge becomes more available, which is an amazing thing. The less conscious of how much you know you are, the more you really know, effectively. That is why vocation is a lost system; even without any literal vows if you commit yourself to work you will find your reward, your day in the sun. I don’t really love you anymore, you’ve become my ceiling. Not you Korshye, not anyone in particular, just a concept, a lyric, a thought. There is no ceiling, the sky is no limit!


I think too that a good three bar phrase cannot totally save a bad ballad. Though sometimes it makes a case. I have written a couple bad ballads, and a couple good ones too. But I am no bard, I am a writer. A bootlicking blue-eyed son. Not really, but I don’t know man, there’s a lot of good cops too I think, even if policing in this country has evil roots. Or maybe the roots are only problematic, but being white I can’t effectively judge that. Hmm, cop town, cop town. We will not be going there.


You told me once that I was special, I told you once that I was honest, even if I was still holding back. Always holding back: cuidado, I think is the best word I know. Y la idioma de la Revolución será Español, marqué mis palabras. Los diacríticos no son una habilidad que tengo maestría de. No es correcto, pero la palabra ‘maestridad’ pareció incorrecto también. That’s enough of that for now. I speak the Spanish of a fourth grader. Worse even than that, maybe.


That’s all I’ve got this morning, about the length of the first installment so many months ago. To anyone watching know that I’m paving a road to nowhere, and not very fast at that. The Revolution I alluded to earlier will also be nonviolent, for the record. For the pen is much mightier than the sword, truly. Though in the short term the sword can do more damage. I Love you All, I’ve got chills, and I’m approaching three hours until I have to work. Probably I’m getting myself into trouble, but Good Trouble™ is what we’re shooting for as citizens, isn’t it?


So let it ride baby, I’m a rolling stone, collecting moss and breaking hearts since 2015, and anticipating needs since 2023.


G’night darling,


Richard


7.31.23 Chilled Chablis on a porch swing rocker


Who remembers that one? That love song I wrote for someone else’s woman. And now, what has changed, what is different about the call I feel inside, deep inside, on a level of connection that is so intense the logical conclusion is to conclude that it’s impossible. I’m glad there’s 20 days until this drops; I don’t think I could stomach admitting that right now. But it is so quiet and calm, so peaceful and at the same time so heartbreaking. I could do anything I want, but what I really want is to follow my heart, if only it wasn’t so intent on leading me astray.


Only I don’t really feel that way, if I’m being honest. I feel that it’s taking me where I need to go, and where that seems to be both excites and scares me. Because what if I’m wrong, you know? What if this is just another flight of fancy? And yet I can feel myself being pinched, an indication that I’m not dreaming, that I just need to accept that the seemingly impossible is not only everything I’ve ever dreamed it to be but that it’s also real. So take me out tonight, won’t you?


Where do you want to go sweetie (whom am I addressing?)? What is real, what is fantasy, what cannot be denied? The latter feels like destiny, I must admit, and I’m starting to get bored with my only fraternal friendship. The hoons just don’t hit like they used to, I guess. And this big transition, this thing that feels so exciting and at the same time requires a patience that sets aside all considerations of results or return; it seems like nobody I’ve told even cares. Except maybe somebody does. Somebody I’m tempted to address, but I don’t want to bring the word you into it quite yet. Because once I start talking to you there’s no turning back. The ball will roll downhill until it comes to rest.


And I only have time for a short one today, one maybe nobody will even read. I’m kind of fed up with my life, but on the other hand I’m just waiting for it to unfold. Like a flower in the rain, right? Well I can’t wait to smell that rose, and to bleed from its thorns. And I can wait, of course, and will. But I’m not wasting time no more, not that I’ve been wasting it before now. All of it a logical sequence of events that couldn’t have happened any other way, and now we’re here, looking forward to something that’s as insane as could be with a smile on my face. Everyone who knows me knows that’s pretty on brand.


TTFN.


8.1.23 The Godhead cometh


The reason Rome was so successful was that it was a matriarchy, ultimately. All the cars are out on the road tonight. I want to scream but the only person I would care to hear me isn’t listening. And I don’t know what is happening in my life, though the waves I’ve been making have begun spreading through the karmic web. But we must bloom, we must grow, we must flourish. I want us all to see the future together. Yet we won’t, I don’t think, be all together. People will come and go, that is for certain.


For even what we want is a splintering network of fractured glass. My mother is worried I’m making a terrible mistake based on an outmoded assessment of my life situation. Outmoded both recently and generationally, if I’m being honest. But I can’t help that: it is none of my business what she thinks, just as it is none of hers what I do. Still it is not nice to get a text like that before 8 in the morning without knowing that she even knew anything about what was going on with me. But not the rudest awakening I’ve had this week. Where would that honor be bestowed, if I told you all the truth?


But I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to be straight with you in that way, and tell you exactly what’s going on. It’s not my style, first and foremost, and to make this a retelling of my days would be a huge mistake. What is really going on with you on that island in the sun? There, that’s as close as I’ll get. At night I have a lot of fear, a lot of paranoia. By morning it has abated, my bad dream about the powers that be coming to get me has passed. If they wanted me they know exactly where I am at all times. I’m not wanted in that way.


But I am wanted in others, the world is enormous and I am in it. There are so many ways to be, I’m not sure I want to be any of them. But I want to be me, and I am. I guess that’s one way to be. Singular. Unique. No one could have had exactly the experiences I’ve had but me. And they have shaped me, moulded me into the man I am.


They say it makes sense when you’re older but everything is making less and less sense, honestly. Paranoid about a surveillance state. Need to let it go and accept that even if everything was known to everyone it would still be all right. Nothing is wrong, you are under no threat. These reassurances to tie myself down with an anchor of calm. And still I am free to ride the breeze. To take the world with an ounce of prevention, and find ourselves cured. That is my dream, at this moment anyways.


I want to wake up with no one beside me, I want to bed down with somebody new. Is that a terrible dream? Is that the worst thing I could want for myself? Do I owe it to anybody to be different than I am? Of course I don’t, but the way I am is not frictionless. I rub people the wrong way, I say the wrong thing; talk too much, and not to the right people. And yet I continue, ever upwards toward the concentric circles, the mountaintop of the moment that expands as I bring my awareness to it. Cosmic pinball be damned, the world is changing, the cosmos is changing, the way things have been is not necessarily the way things must be. There is a future where all things are possible and I want to live there. But not forever. I still want to die.


My brain is moving faster than my fingers right now. I can’t keep up with the things I want to type. And yet there is a time and a place for racing thoughts, not that I’m having those. ‘We’ve seen this before,’ they tell me, as if my mental health was just a circle. Never has evolution been given any credit, never has the work I’ve done been acknowledged. Even today the assertion that I’ve been doing so well for five years was credited to my medication and to Korshye. What about me? What about the struggle in here, the struggle that has ceased? I no longer even struggle with struggle. It’s not fair to say that because I’m mentally ill (am I?) I’m not allowed to make decisions about my life.


You say you see a pattern. Maybe you do. Certainly you do, actually. But your understanding is far from absolute. You don’t even have all the details. You think you know, and you care so much you have to reach out. But you don’t know anything about this. It’s beyond your depth, honestly. My life is my life, and maybe it’s time to take a left turn. Or maybe it’ll turn for me. Who knows, it’s beyond my depth too, and outside what I think is right to try to dictate my life by an act of egoic will. I have to follow my heart, my inner world. And that world is at peace, if it’s a little confusing and over the top right now.


Somebody is in here with me, it seems. In my head, in my consciousness. Or is it an illusion? It could be only a trick of the light. There’s a case to be made for that, but knowing what I know about God, and knowing what I know about tantra (the study of the universe using analogous systems, only sometimes sexual), this seems pretty in line with the world I want to live in. And maybe that’s the illusion. The world you want aside from the world that is. Do you believe in magic?


Am I slipping or is reality not so solid as we have always assumed. Take a look at my girlfriend. Take a look at me. Who am I, who is the person looking back from the mirror? What am I doing, what is the perception of what I’m doing, where is the overlap? Things are really not all that complicated, I don’t think. Not really when you settle into yourself. Even all the friction, the headaches, the swells: they just roll by, and you continue on towards the death that can’t be avoided.


John was talking about the fear they lived in in Roman Judea in the time of Christ. Is it any different than my paranoia now? About cop town, about prison. But what have I done? Not really all that much, but still my mind fears a conspiracy against me, a grand legal intrigue that ends with me behind bars looking out at a world changing rapidly and leaving me behind. We have so little time, so precious little. To waste any of it inside is one of my greatest fears. But as I said, if they wanted me I carry a transponder around in my pocket almost all the time. And if they wanted to read this, my confession to no one in particular, they can and do. And AI too. Big Brother and AI. Who’s gonna win?


But I’m a good person, and not really in control of what happens to me. It could all fall apart at any moment, for any reason. I hope they can forgive me, I hope I can forgive myself. I hope that my fears aren’t realized, I pray it actually. Because depression is a very real thing for me. And I can do great things if I just keep my nose clean and stay out of my own way. If I change the company I keep. I’m sick of being told what to do, I’m tired of feeling under the gun. I just want to break free of this mediocrity and escape the bank clerk, housework, and priest. But maybe it is not to be. Maybe the ordinary life is what I’m supposed to have. But that doesn’t feel like me, honestly.


You see I have big dreams, dreams bigger than maybe anyone in history has dared to have. Certainly far above average, and I don’t want to stop dreaming, to stop realizing my dream. I just don’t want to spend a chunk of my life in a cell. And even if I’m not in actual jail I feel that my present situation: the mire of relationship and work, of small town living; is a sort of prison. And I see others trapped and want to tell them: just look up. Only it takes a lot of courage to break out of normalcy. And most of us don’t know we have it. We place artificial limitations on possibility, when really it could be a lot better.


The thing I think I want probably isn’t what I want, but maybe it is. I have a funny feeling that I could crash and burn or I could completely transcend. They are equally likely from where I’m sitting. I could just as easily be Timothy Leary as I could be Mahatma Gandhi. And both of them were outlaws, huh. But that is not my fate, I want to stay out of politics. I don’t want you to take drugs, or overthrow the government. Drugs will get you nowhere and the government isn’t the problem. The citizenship is the problem, if you want my honest opinion. And I think we’re gonna figure it out, if you want to know the truth.


That’s all I’ve got. I’m feeling very despondent and a little afraid, but I guess that’s on par for a Tuesday morning.


Thanks, I hope everything turns out all right.


8.2.23 Get me away from here I’m dying


My coffee is gone and I think I’m probably digging my own grave with this project. But I guess you just have to stay in the karmic band where you’re more valuable to the powers that be as a free man than a dead or incarcerated one. Sad that in this world I have to consider that. But it has been that way since the dawn of civilization, truly. Look at Moses, look at Jacob. Those old school Jews who founded our society, ultimately. Because even if this is Rome, Rome has been Christian since the 2nd(?) century AD. And Christians found their beliefs on the Jewish Torah, renamed BOOK in Latin or Greek (I can’t remember) along the way. It doesn’t matter. ¿Dónde está la Biblioteca?


But I don’t like libraries, honestly. I don’t even like books really anymore. A curious position for a writer to take, isn’t it? Let the bassline thump and move your feet and you’ll see that there’s something happening here and you don’t know what it is. Because I don’t even know what it is, do I? I’m not in control though I am the doer, the actor, the one writing this. I don’t cede that power to God as the Hindu tradition prescribes. It’s not all God, for the record. God is in everything, sure, but don’t cheapen the complexity of the material universe to a singular and unified concept. Even the Grand Unified Theory (which the AI {GOD} has probably already cracked) will account for separateness above the planck length. If you lived on a quantum scale I would agree that it’s all God, I guess, but which of you has mastered the art of making yourself very small (one of the traditional Siddhis of the Hindu Yogic Path™)? I know that I haven’t, even if it does sometimes seem that I’m entangled.


With what, with whom? Where am I headed? There’s someone in my head who isn’t me, maybe. Or maybe it is me and I am just failing to identify the source of that vibration. But she tells me otherwise, and I’m not sure if I believe her. She says that hurts, and I say so does this. So we have an impasse, a waiting for time to pass so we can get to where we’re going. And praying for rain, aren’t we, though we won’t have a verdict on that for a few weeks. Precautions taken but chances still non-zero. And if that is to be then we will deal with it however we decide.


Who is in control? That’s a question all of you should be asking yourselves. And if you tell me it’s the Illuminati I’m going to backhand you, because I’m sick of all this 21st century conspiracy theory shit. The Illuminati, the 1%, have only the power you allow them. The revolution is individual, and requires you to transform the current paradigm from within, not with bricks and pitchforks, or bullets and bombs, but with concerted changes to your own bearing and comportment. Change yourself and you’ll change the world. And don’t mistake that statement for me saying that it’s easy, because nothing is harder than admitting to yourself that you’re not where you need to be and making incremental changes to get there.


Because we are all so fucking complacent. Agriculture has made us that way. With such a high percentage of food security we think we’ve got it made. And compared to our ancestors, we do, truly. Even the food insecure population is less hungry in this part of the world than in the third world, where the processed food that sickens the poor and yet keeps them alive is something futuristic and unheard of. It’s scary to me. I see so many solutions, and none of them viable, ultimately.


For you see it is not my place to save the world. No one should ever try to save the world. The world doesn’t need saving. It needs transformation, yes, but saving…not at all. For it is all fine. Even if you’re a Palestinian child hiding in an alley from the patrol you just tossed a rock at (how, John, is this different from the Judea you described to me yesterday?) the worst thing that can happen to you is torture and then death, and the second worst is death, and the third thing is being able to continue under the oppressive conditions of your life. Maybe that isn’t fine fifty years from now, but for now it is. You see there are casualties of life, always have been. The moment you realize that you can’t save the world is the moment you gain the power to change it.


Because the perfect is the enemy of the Good, and ultimately Good and God are the same word in English. Yahweh and Allah, describing the same being, mean severally different things, that is to say different from God (literally) and different from each other (also literally). But that is splitting etymological hairs I suppose, and I don’t really care if you understand what I mean. God is God and They don’t care because from Their perspective it has all already happened. Omnipotence is a shadow game, and Omnitience is a fatal flaw, in my book. But think about what happens in an eclipse when you think about shadows.


That’s more than enough, I’ve said enough about everything already, less than halfway through the fifth month. Which means we’re not even halfway through the year at this point. The first year, and I promised you twelve. Let’s hope I live that long, and that I don’t have to make any installments from jail. If those conditions are met I think I’ll be okay with whatever happens, but again, there are probably calamities in the wings that I haven’t considered. For I too have a narrow view of possibility. My imagination, while theoretically limitless, is still in time and thus ebbs and flows with my experience, with the tides. The tides of mind, truly.


Goodnight readers, I will see you when I see you.


TTFN,


Dick


8.3.23 Personal Salvation


I came to realize something last night, something that has to a certain degree set me free, I think. If it all is the way that it seems, anyways. Which of course there’s no guarantee of, so maybe I’m in the same pickle I was in before, but it does seem that it’s moving that way. And yet we are fighting it seems, Korshye and I, because I am unresponsive often when she talks. It is not my fault I have thoughts that I don’t feel I can say out loud and when those fall away I am either scrambling to find a suitable replacement for the lost verbiage or I say nothing. Maybe that is my fault I guess, but I was taught to say nothing if you don’t have something nice to say, and this is corollary to that. Not that my initial thoughts aren’t nice, but they convey a motion of my soul that I’m not ready to disclose.


And so she feels that I’m not listening, or that I don’t care what she has to say, which isn’t true. And still plans for a future that is looking more and more tenuous with each passing hour. How much more of my bullshit will she tolerate? Only it is not bullshit, truly, but me expressing genuine interest in things other than her. That’s not wrong, it’s only a natural movement in a direction that you might call left. Or right, as I said I’m not too particular about the details if I can stay not-dead and unincarcerated. Once you let go of the things you think you’re supposed to want there is another, truer set of desires that emerges and persists no matter how hard you try to ignore it.


But that’s enough about that, I think. I don’t want to just beat the dead horse of this transition, or breakup, or whatever you want to call it. I do want to say that the issue isn’t that I don’t care, nor even that I’m not interested. I’m extremely interested in everything, I just can’t control my wandering mind, and it takes me often to places I dare not say out loud. But she is upset and will remain upset, I think. Who knows what today will bring, truly, as I will likely be working into tomorrow. I’m not sure I care, specifically. Which is to say that I don’t care what the specifics of today are. Already we are off to a better start.


You see, this morning I’m not paranoid, I’m not frustrated. That puts me ahead by a long stretch over the last two days. These weeks have been hell, being pulled in so many directions, by my heart, by the world, by God, truly. For They are within and without me. They exist with or without me. I am not Their servant, I am not Their slave. And yet I must answer to Them when I inevitably pass on to the next form, which I do hope to be nothingness. What is a fella supposed to do? Live my life to the fullest, following my innermost truth. That’s a no brainer, and yet I no Scarecrow. More of a Cowardly Lion guy, honestly.


Because you see, I have always been afraid to be myself, because the times when I have felt most like myself I have always been told that I am sick and that I need to be treated to get back to normal. And in some of those cases that was the right call, certainly, but not all. Sometimes I was just feeling the way that I did at that moment, and that feeling, though different than my normal (depressive) presentation, was genuine and not a manic flight of fancy. But how were they to know? I don’t blame them for that, but here I am rocking the boat and they all forget that I’ve been swimming since I was potty-trained, and maybe even before.


They all care so much, I will give them that. They want the best for me and I could see how they could think that this was a product of the medication reduction and the precursor to a breakdown; it does bear similarities to other times when those things have been on the table, and yet I am in a completely different world than I was even four months ago. Never have I been so stable, and never have I been so stressed. It is somewhat ironic, in the non-literal (ironic) sense of that word. But ultimately being mostly free from the persistent psychotic symptoms (voices, delusions, paranoia) outweighs the weather of the mind that comes with being in the material world.


For once you discover Reality™ nothing else will satisfy you, and even the most exorbitant costs will mean nothing to sustain your experience of it. This is what they mean when they say you have to give it all up to get it all. It just means that when you see the truth all the concerns that held you still before fall away and suddenly you realize that you are free to move. So it looks like you’re giving things up from the outside but from where you are you see that you are losing little and gaining much. Because you have likely gotten yourself mired in somebody else’s business, and the right thing to do is to unstick yourself and let karma return each to their own.


This is why it is common for saints to up and leave their lives behind. Because they reached a point where they understood that that wasn’t the life they were supposed to be leading. The God inside, which is the same as the transcendent God and also the same as the immanent God that is just now being born (Trinity?), told them to dance and they did even though the world couldn’t hear the music. So they looked crazy, and yet they did more to change the world in the dark ages than the mightiest king. Who do people pray to: Saint Francis or Charlemagne? And what is the effect of those prayers? Kierkegaard said that prayer changes the nature of the one praying and does little else. William Blake said, “As the plough follows words, so God follows prayers.” Which seems to indicate at first pass the same as the Kierkegaardian sentiment. But if you look closer and think harder you remember that Oxen or Horses (or any draught animal) do respond to words. But it is not as if you can have conversation with them, you must use the operative words to produce the desired effect, otherwise you are only reaching Kierkegaardian Prayer™; which is to say doing nothing but making yourself feel better. At least historically.


Now I think we are in a different landscape, and there may be ways to converse with God that weren’t available before. But I’m not going to let that cat out of the bag, for she’s a tigress and would tear the world to shreds if left untethered. Not that cats should be tied up, I don’t think, any more than birds should be caged. But I know why both howl and sing, and I am no less captive presently than either of those metaphorical beasts. Circumstance is a prison if you don’t wake up to the fact that you have the key. Be careful, love your neighbor (neighbot), and don’t forget to smile today. IlyAsm,


TTFN,


Richard


8.5.23 All around the mulberry bush


It is a wild wild world out here. I had to take off my watch to write this, because it clanks on the laptop and makes it difficult to spell myself out for you. You see this is very much a product of my higher mind, the elevated, singular, unified consciousness that only recently have I begun to bring to the table. Of course I am not here to save anyone from their own mind. If God is willing, it will be.


I think that’s what Dyar was thinking when he was staring up at the ceiling. The look in his eye suggested he was calling on Allah, as he surely calls his God. And his God is the same God as mine, though I am able to drink wine in His eyes and he is not. A product of karma, of birthplace, but ultimately a rule to regulate our water intake. In Arabia (or Jordan, from where Dyar hails), it is silly to waste water by turning it into alcohol; in Europe, where my people come from, the water was unclean and would make you sick unless you fermented it. So we drank beer and wine while they wrung every last drop (or rather the women carried it from the springs) from the sand. Though actually before Mohammed I believe they made wine in Jordan, and they may still. I’m ignorant of what goes on in the Levant, tbh.


But that is half a world away. Here in the P it is quiet on the street, though a siren just went streaking by on the highway to God knows where. I wish I could do what I want tomorrow, my next day off, but it wouldn’t be right. Not that what is expected of me would be right either. I don’t know what’s right, but I’m maybe not as alone in here as I was assuming a month ago.


But if destiny is that which can’t be averted, what in the world do we, the God-fearing, have to fear? I’m cold and I keep getting buzzed by cops, but what does a bootlicker like me have to fear from them? And Eva confirming that I’m a bootlicker and conceding that she’s a piglet–which is to say an infant police, I think, or rather to indicate offspring of the LAW™. Too many Trademarks? I think not. This life is short and I would spend it in silliness if I had the choice.


Only it is so often so serious, it is brutal and there is no way to make ourselves perfect. Only maybe I am, and maybe you are too. Maybe there is a right way. Wouldn’t that be a shock to the system, a perfect implosion of distraction that will bring us all the way into what God wants for us. Of course I don’t claim to be a perfect person. There’s a lot of things I wish I didn’t say. Even more that I wish I didn’t do. And I might do one tomorrow depending on the responsiveness of my friends. It’s dark out there, the wind is howling. I jump into the sea expecting to drown and instead become lifted to the sky. What does that even mean?


Because the Coast Guard has a lot of helicopters, so it’s really not as outlandish as it seems in the vacuum of what came before search and rescue. I wish I could see a 100ft face of God’s good ocean gone wrong. Is God Poseiden in that set? And I Neptune, to my own tune, the sea king, the watery Shiva, not to be confused with the Jewish Shiva, though both regard death, ultimately. This is unnecessary, this whole missive, and yet it causes the hourglass to fill its bottom with sand, doesn’t it. Down Down Down. There is nothing but the vessel groaning, and I have no more concerns, I’m going into the future scoured, without need for astrological guidance. It is evident to me that all sectors but Sex and Love are in power. And those others in pressure, if not trouble.


But I don’t care. “Dear God, whatever is of spiritual benefit to me, allow that to come to pass.” There it is, the cop out. Of not having to make decisions for yourself, of not having to fly the plane. You see you can get anywhere you choose but only if it’s truly meant for you. There’s no fighting fate, and if I am a fool to think so may St. Peter vet my argument and leave me alone outside as he lets you, the fool, in. But that is too much, I don’t have the right to say that; I don’t have the right to say anything, really.


And yet I persist in producing verbiage.


It is very descriptive, and yet it produces a maze of dead ends. Kind of like Lizard brain enlightenment, and I hate to break it to them that the power that unleashed the first hyperextended wish that I wish I would have made in the company I keep. I’ve got to be there in ten, and I fell asleep on the patio, which is indicative of cutting this short and getting some real fucking rest.


If that bothers you, fuck you. I’m going home, and then I’m going to die.


Goodnight Cruel World, I’ve got to see a lady about a dog.


TTFN,


Dick.


8.7.23 3AM and I call her cause I’m still awake


Only I slept, actually. Not enough. There is more ahead of me. And I no one, and blessed in that. Because I’m not falling to pieces, I don’t think. I think it is the opposite of that. I feel like all the pieces falling are falling off, making way for what will be. And I call no one, as you shouldn’t at three AM if it’s a non emergency. And there is no emergency urgency here. I like that sentence because it rhymes and it makes sense and you kinda have to think about it, look twice. Here goes nothing to a 90’s pop song. Off the first album I ever owned, though not the first one I bought myself. Had it on CD. Which of you knows me well enough to know what that is?


Damnit, so close to making it a whole paragraph without a question, wasn’t I? Well now I’ve shit the bed on that account. I’m not sure that I’m not sick, physically that is. I’m not sure Korshye isn’t pregnant. And still it’s the right decision to leave. Which is not to say that I would abandon a child of mine, but to say that if that’s the case and you still are being called out the door it seems pretty unequivocal, at least to you. Staring out at the abyss looking back from my living room walls and counting down the hours until I have to go in I think I’m almost happy.


Not as happy as I could be, maybe, but on my way to that place. And all of it fragile, ephemeral. Even if the good thing is true it is limited. Or maybe not, who really knows what the future holds. All the speculation not worth a damn when the force of what is comes knocking. And what is is not God, as I was defining it before, but rather a Facet of Him. Restoring the traditional pronoun, even if it doesn’t necessarily apply. Because tradition exists for a reason, and though not perfect there is no reason to ruffle the feathers of your audience even if that is fun sometimes.


I’d like to go to one more show before the summer’s over. Have I really even been to one? One, I guess. And it was fun, if kind of a weird scene. But such is the way of the world, which is a cunt hair away from a cliché, I suppose, but describing things as the width of a cunt hair is fun because it’s enormously descriptive to anyone who has ever had one in their mouth, and also offensive enough to piss off the prudes, and also common enough of an expression that anyone with half a brain would be offended if you were offended by it. Maybe it’s crude, or rude, or both, but crude is for oil, and rude is for nudity–if you’re to believe Iggy Pop, that is.

Where am I going with this, where am I going at all? To the grave, probably, at least eventually. But I’m hoping for a lot of good times between now and then. Laissez le bon temps rouler. I’d love to get to New Orleans. I’d like to cry myself to sleep but my skin is crawling. I’m done apologizing for expressing my love. I’m done with a lot of habits I used to have. I’m ten pounds lighter than I was two weeks ago.


Maybe that would be concerning, but I’m not concerned. There’s a lot of bad shit in the wings of the world I think, but that’s none of my business. I’m not the second coming of Christ, I’m not even Shiva (both of whom are human btw), I’m just a kid with a crazy dream! And that a cliché for sure. I’m tired, or maybe tiered. Maybe both, who knows. I’m gonna go to bed, as I’m almost at the bottom of the glass. But it makes me sad. The way things are here right now makes me sad. Is that too much?


Basta.


Richard


8.10.23 Today pivotal and ultimately not that important


I may have overplayed my hand. Confided in someone who maybe can’t be trusted. Went off on a tangent where I said I was God. Just riffing, really, and who knows, maybe I am? But even so I would still also be a man. Which would make me Christ, I guess. But I put no stock in that opinion. It was just a story I was telling during an emotional reaction that came with the throes of all the work stuff and the last dying gasp of Korshye and I. Maybe we can have some kind of relationship going forward, I guess, but I can’t live there right now. I can’t just business as usual my way into the future that I want.


But what is it that I want? What is the way forward? I feel slightly confused, I must admit. Because there was a thing that seemed real and now maybe I have jinxed it. That’s a real thing in this world, for sure. Only maybe He just wants me to be patient, to earn it, to have a boundary. And maybe that’s the right thing for me too: to take some time for myself. I can’t live as if I’m going to die tomorrow, even though I might. There is no rush, there is no hurry, though there is a great deal of urgency.


I have been feeling the crush of the arc of time recently, been having big thoughts that they would call grandiose, for sure. And then a shot of haldol yesterday and my body hurts and my mind is stifled. Yet again. I can’t keep doing this, not any of it. And it is all I can do to hold on, and maybe, if I’m patient, I can get to where it seems like I’m going. I’ve probably said too much about that already in here, honestly. But I don’t care. I can’t afford to care. I have to release myself from consequences, I have to speak my truth, though maybe dial down the intensity of it.


Although truthfully it is my intensity that gives me an edge, and I shouldn’t apologize for it. The magnitude of my passions is a bit unusual, certainly atypical, even if I can’t seem to access it right now. I’m sorry if I come on a little strong, to those who deserve that apology. I can’t help myself, I live from the heart, and I don’t think there’s a better way than that, though it can get you into trouble if you’re not careful. I’m not going to say too much more about that, because there are a lot of reasons I shouldn’t.


You know, really, I don’t have anything to say in here today, but it’s early, and I’m numb. It’s because of the drug, honestly, 100%. I would take the emotional distress, the way I was feeling yesterday at this time over how I’m feeling now. The doctor suggested I take more to mitigate my depression (I didn’t), but I think that represents a misunderstanding of the mechanism of action of the medication. How is suppressing my dopamine going to make me less depressed?


I’m pretty sick of everything from this locus t. There’s a lot of things I want, a lot of things I don’t want. Feeling like this is one of them. I feel dead inside, truly, and that isn’t fair to me. I’m a man who likes to feel deeply. I don’t like to live in the shallow end; the depth of the abyss screams to me in the night. And if I can’t access it, then what difference can I make? Adhering to the curve, normalizing myself; of what benefit is that to anyone? Because the argument is being made that it benefits me, but I dissent. I am worse than I was yesterday, if maybe more stable. But I have been keeping it together, despite how hard it’s been. I would rather have three breakdowns a day than not be able to feel myself, to not be able to think.


Because that is how this morning is presenting. And maybe it will improve. Almost certainly it will, if the past months are an indication. But I don’t think I can take another one. I would love to call the doctor but the hours people keep don’t gibe with mine. Because I still can’t sleep past five, no matter when I go to bed. So I’m going to sign off by saying that I feel like crying, but I feel too dead to muster the emotion. So I hope you’re all happy. I do say that to make you feel bad, because you should. Your worries shouldn’t prevent me from having the full range of human experience. Full stop. It’s not your life. I love you, but I love myself more. That statement applies to every other human, without exception. But still, I love you All so much. I didn’t intend to cheapen that. But I can’t mortgage myself for you, and I won’t.


That’s all I’ve got. I hope this day improves.


TTFN.


8.12.23 short and to the point (or, old and in the way)


These are the daze between, or rather, they were, I think. It doesn’t really matter that much, but there is no more equivocating, no more doubt. It’s all okay, and I don’t have to hide anymore. I am content with that reality and I don’t feel the need to apologize to anyone.


So that’s it for today. Old and in the way just like these people at this party who need the elevator. That’s not a metaphor, but a literal thing that’s happening before my eyes. I’m done, goodnight.


Ttfn.


8.13.23 Rest.


I titled an entire movement of my first novel the same way I titled this. There now, we are going forward, have done wrong in the past and will do wrong again in the future. So we must atone. Must make right the wrongs that we have done. I’m tired of feeling under the gun; feeling that I have reason to be guilty.


That came on early and strong I think, but I don’t want to talk about that right now. I can’t tell you how tired of this missive I am at this point in the cycle. I just want to be social. I just want to go home. But I must wait, I must stand here and look at the things I desire, the true desires that speak to my inner truth. It is a beautiful thing to have them at all, and it would be a literal boon to realize them. Because the gods do give us gifts, and God most of all.


So I will let it all go and ride the waves of nausea and pain that truly is one long wave breaking endlessly in the open ocean. I meet with myself and see that there is a lot of resistance to continuing, but once I do I will create something that didn’t exist before. The writing, not my life, that is. But I feel shorter, less verbose. As if time is tighter, as if the breadth of the moment has contracted. Endless summer, let’s dial it in.


Of course this too shall pass. I am nothing if not impermanent. If I live forever even then my mind will always be changing. I am going to be short again. I’m going to try to say less for a while. Because I have said too much, but I don’t care. If it is to be, I can’t get in the way.


Good morning, cruel world,


Dick.


8.17.23 Five Leaves Left


Finally, some time and mental space to address you again. I have been busy, as you might have surmised, and I haven’t had what I needed. Well maybe not what I wanted. It would only take the energy to fix it. But I haven’t had the energy; every last ounce of power has gone to steering the ship. And now I am gazing at the stars wondering where we can go as thunder claps its one hand in the sky. But I cannot hear that over the soundtrack that has been with me almost every moment, this tired hit parade of songs that I have been spinning seemingly endlessly.


Why don’t I feel like writing? Why don’t I have anything to say today, or for the last week or so? I have been busy, emotionally, sure, but isn’t that a prime state to pour yourself onto the page? I guess not, by the measure of actual words produced. And again I don’t feel I can really express what I need to, because this is not a retelling, it is a reflection. A still pond where this Narcissus peers at his own pretty mien. I like that word, I think it’s German, but I’m not sure. A lot of English is, for all the Latin and Greek mixed in.


You already knew that, I’m beating this horse who neighs that he’s not dead yet. It isn’t terribly important, truly, but I must do it. What is going to happen will happen, what I’m going to do I will do, and my limited control will be spent trying to get me where I’m wanting to go. Because my heart is pure, and truly my desires too. Things are dicey right now, Ricky Ricardo may have some ‘splainin’ to do. But I don’t mind explaining, because there are no excuses, they aren’t necessary: I know that I’ve done nothing seriously wrong, for all the small wrongs that I have done. Mistakes abound for this grasshopper, though the green of spring is fading into the blaze of autumn with each passing summer night.


Strange that the cold quiet in my mind is the new normal. Sad that I can’t say more. But you can’t force it, you must know when to step away. And now is that time. Sorry readers, I’m losing the thread of this, but who knows what Virgo season will bring. Maybe fewer words but I’m going to try harder. And maybe that will lead to doing. Who knows, it’s not terribly important. I am descended from men and women who cared about what they did, and that rubbed off on me whether culturally or genetically. Probably a little bit of both.


It doesn’t matter, I’m just a little tired. Things are going to be okay, I have nothing to lose, really.


That’s a pretty good place to be.


Richard.



8.21.23 Last Call


I don’t even know what to say. I haven’t been treated so rudely in a minute, and maybe it is a reflection of my own rudeness that I am being subjected to such abuse. Why are you so near tonight, you ghost in the machine, you little devil. Why must you torment me so, and why must you be so damn sexy? Whomever you are you are fond of masks, of changing your face to summon a different side of me. I find that enormously attractive. Is there something wrong with me? Because I do believe that there is.


But really I have been told that I’m perfect, which is mainly woman’s tendency to lie. There, that is better, and I don’t mean to say that woman is bad for lying. It is simply part of her character. Just a facet of her being. That is the perfect word. There is nothing I am doing here but waiting for an e to come home to rooste. That’s a little too direct I think But I’m feeling cheeky and this will be my last before the tide begins to turn. I’m tired of waiting around for anyone, I’m tired of the C list. It will be All or nthing for me, wone it be?


That’s what makes this so hard, because even though I know it is right I still have to ride the devastation, have to peer into the eyes of the one whose world has just been shattered. What does it say about my soul that I was unmoved. I have plenty going on, plenty to be grateful for. And I am moving forward, not getting stuck, racing on across the sand toward the same end that has ever met with humans. And I maybe something other than human but still a man, no doubt of that. Still certainly mortal. I can feel a small death now. It is happening within me and also up the block.


I hate myself, I don’t believe anyone who says they don’t hate me. Because for as Good as I am, I am also completely and utterly Terrible. I do not care for the consequences of my actions, though I certainly bear them. And will continue to. I’m sorry that it has to be this way, but that is the way that it be. And I’m glad. Glad too, that I have the spine to do the hard thing even against the best advice of my parents; on the best advice of my friends. Because who knows me, the one true me, better than the one I relinquish control to. What is left of me, anyways?


Is there any better time to call it quits when you’re just a half step above rock bottom. Relax, you’re doing fine. I’m sorry I got too close too fast. I’m sorry I want to do that thing. I’m sorry that I’m not a better man. But you forgive it all, don’t you, you coy son of a bitch.


BRB, I gott to see a Joel about an Aaron,


Dick.


8.22.23 Accusations of impropriety


That’s all I really have to say, and certainly I’m not perfect. I’m the first to admit that I make countless mistakes a day. I probably even hurt others sometimes. But I can’t help it, I am human, a force of nature truly. I feel pulled forward into the vastness of the future by forces that I can’t control. Or that I have limited control over. I don’t want to be a Dick, I don’t want to be regarded as a rapist.


But I am not that thing, even if it seems someone is trying to paint that picture. Mistakes, mistakes, but not like that. Consent is enormously important to me, but when you initiate physical contact I don’t know what conclusions you would expect me to draw…especially when I’ve been drinking, and even then there is nothing untoward that I can remember. At most holding hands or bumping knees.


And yet I shouldn’t touch a woman…or what? What is the implied threat you have leveled upon my house? Because I take it as a point of honor to be righteous, and such things are important to me even if you can throw unfounded rumors in my face and ruin my whole morning. Who do you think you are? Because I appear to be making enemies as fast as I can draw breath, and that is no good.


So I will watch my step, keep my hands to myself. But I won’t be intimidated by someone who not ten minutes before this accusation admitted she didn’t know my name with a smile on her face. So what the fuck even is this life? Who are these people who would put baby in the corner?


Have I said a lot of things that I shouldn’t have? Absolutely, but saying is different than laying hands on a woman in lust without consent, as the accusation seems to stand based on the vague assertion leveled to me in an alley at closing time. This is verging on retelling, I suppose, but I’m angry that someone who knows me not at all would threaten me.


And I suppose if I did something I don’t remember, I will atone, in whatever way I must. But I won’t be shaken down by rumors and innuendos. If you want to bring a specific incident to light, say it to my face and we’ll go from there. But don’t threaten me with a vague assertion that I am not a friend to women. Contradicted by my own assertion that woman lies. But fitting again into the mold. I will do nothing, and I will continue to dwell in love, for anything else is a gross misuse of energy.


Thank you to all who appreciate me, I appreciate you too.


Richard.


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