Thursday, September 21, 2017

How Life Works (It Shouldn't Be This Way)

Got some thoughts crawling around in my skull.

Emotions and thoughts. A combo deal. Two for $9.99

Life is a bizarre and unforgiving little animal.

You get yourself married up and that is a pretty cool deal. Bump into this person you pledge to spend the rest of your life with. A term, by the way, that is a lot deeper and has a lot more meaning when you are 63 than when you are 24.

The marriage thing is fun, though - a new life. First apartment, and you got yourself a motorcycle, the wife drives a gorgeous and wicked Trans Am.

Then there is the first house and then...........................first kid.

Holy shit - a kid. What a change. What euphoria.

Things are moving forward. Your life is ever changing.

Second kid. The connections grow solid and emotions run deep. Emotions you never had before but feel exactly right.

Second house. 100 miles north in a pristine and bucolic setting.

You know you are doing the right things. You feel good.

The kids keep you occupied and entertained for 20 years or so and you are appreciative of the intense love they inspire in you.

They move out.

Now it is the two of you. And the cats.

Life settles into a dull hum. You don't have enough money to make your life interesting; can't travel, can't buy expensive toys - you become complacent.

You get bored; you wonder what the hell the point of this is.

Then the docs find a tumor in your wife's head. And, just for good measure and within a week - she is diagnosed with breast cancer.

You are in the hospital. They are prepping your wife for a mastectomy. They have to insert dye into her breast so they can check her lymph nodes during surgery. They warn her it will hurt.

She moans loudly during the first injection as she squeezes your hand. They have to do it two more times.

The second time she screams. She fucking screams in pain and all you can do is hold her hand. She screams so loudly the attendant who monitored her during the fucking four hour wait for surgery rushes into the room to try and comfort her.

You do not even remember how she reacted to the third shot.

5 and 1/2 hours later the surgery is done. Everything went well.

4 hours after that you are heading home. After seeing your wife in recovery, after seeing her transported into her room, after dialing up The Sox on TV and watching it with her as she fades in and out.

You go home. Alone. The cats say hi. You sit down with some food and a beer.

You realize that the love for your wife, the love that lay dormant for so long, or at least it felt that way, has come raging back.

With a vengeance.

Suddenly you understand what this whole marriage thing is about. The weight of it. The value of it.

The amazing fact of sharing a life together for 39 years.

And counting.

Now you wait. Wait for her to fully heal so they can then remove the tumor from her head.

Your guts are twisted into a vicious little knot; your heart aches.

And none of that means anything.

Because she is the one who is truly suffering. The one who has had her life turned upside down, the one forced to let go of her dignity as she is poked and prodded. She is the one forced to confront things no human being should ever have to confront.

The physical nature of it all. And the thoughts.

She is a warrior. That is to her benefit. She is a fighter and a positive thinker.

You have to keep moving forward. Together. To get through this thing and come out the other side.

Changed. With a completely different perspective.

Just like that.

Uncharacteristically, you suspect you will have the strength to help her through this.

And the love.

Thursday, August 31, 2017

Something To Think About

In Italian:

un uomo con un sacco di chiavi ha molto da nascondere
Translated: A man who has a lot of keys has a lot to hide.

Roll The Dice


Roll The Dice
if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
otherwise, don’t even start.

if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
this could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.

go all the way.
it could mean not eating for 3 or 4 days.
it could mean freezing on a
park bench.
it could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
mockery,
isolation.
isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
and you’ll do it
despite rejection and the worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.

if you’re going to try,
go all the way.
there is no other feeling like
that.
you will be alone with the gods
and the nights will flame with
fire.

do it, do it, do it.
do it.

all the way
all the way.

you will ride life straight to
perfect laughter, its
the only good fight
there is.

Charles Bukowski

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Why I Sing The Blues

"Why I Sing The Blues". Written by B.B. King and he sings the shit out of it.

It comes directly from his soul, baby.

"I've laid in a ghetto flat, cold and numb, I heard the rats tell the bedbugs to give the roaches some"

That's hard, man. That is really hard.

"Now Father Time is catching up with me, gone is my youth, I look in the mirror every day, and let it tell me the truth"

Carol and I are proactive about that shit. We covered every mirror in the house in black crepe.

Why I Love The Blues

The lyrics, baby.

Came across a song titled "Your Funeral, My Trial".

Written by Nick Cave of Nick Cave and The Bad Seed.

Is that not the greatest lyric in the entire history of recorded music?

Yes it is - don't you dare go up against me on this. If you do I will have to believe you are still pining away for the return of Donny Osmond.

Obviously the song is about how his woman done him wrong. Here's a taste:

"here I am, little lamb, let all the bells in whoredom ring, all the crooked bitches that she was, mongers of pain saw the moon become a fang, your funeral, my trial, your funeral, my trial, your funeral, my trial."

I live for this shit.

(Editor's Note: I have a CD by Nick Cave and The Bad Seed called "Murder Ballads". Every song on it deals with death.)

This CD should be a part of every record collection in America.

Period.

Small Enough To Fit

Rockin' my way into Concord this morning digging on the blues when the following lyrics slapped my face:

"I'm sorry that I looked your way, didn't know what I was getting in to,
and everything I had to lose, to get small enough to fit in your life."

From "Mama Can't Help You" by Doyle Bramhall II.

It's those last two sentiments that really rocked me.

"and everything I had to lose to get small enough to fit in your life"

So sad to realize how very many relationships those words describe.

321 Below

Follow up with the cancer doc this morning.

He noticed something on my face. A pre-cancer type thang. Would evolve into a squamous cell sort of situation like I had on my nose.

So he froze it off.

Apparently that is the hip treatment these days for pre-cancer type of stuff. It will eventually scab up, scab over and fall off my face.

And I will be cured.

He sprayed my face with liquid nitrogen. 321 degrees below zero.

Stung for about 15 minutes. Not a big deal really.

And what the hell.

I am always up for a new experience.

(Editor's Note: Wish I could get my hands on some of this stuff. I would spray a double shot into each of trump's fucking eyes.)