Mick Jagger

Mick Jagger turned 78 on Monday, July 26. Seventy fucking eight.

His net worth is estimated to be $360 million. My net worth is estimated to be deeply in the red. Mired there for all eternity.

He's doing better than me.

It hurt me to admit to my oldest and dearest friends that I am still working part time, when we got together on Monday. I felt like a fucking chump. They are all retired. This suggests that they worked the angles, they got life right; I looked left when I should have looked right. I got drunk when I should have been sober, I was sober when I should have been drunk.

Maybe if I had met my spiritual mate on a train, as Mick did with Keith, my life could have been different.

Do you know this story?

Mick and Keith met in school at a very young age, they rode tricycles together, but ended up going to different schools at some point.

One day..............a very specific date - October 17, 1961 - Keith walked onto a train carrying his guitar, Mick was on the train with 2 records under his arm. Rockin' At The Hops by Chuck Berry, and The Best of Muddy Waters. They recognized each other, realized they had mutual musical interests and..................you get it.

I love - absolutely worship - the randomness of the seeds of greatness. This shit happens somewhat randomly, but not really. It fucking had to happen.

I could tell you the story of The Beatles coming together, but today is not the day.

Mick and Keith would put a band together in 1961 along with Brian Jones and kaboom kaboom kaboom....ladies and gentlemen The Rolling Stones.

It is 2021. They are still rocking.

My heart leans toward Keith because he is the kind of man I'd like to be. BUT Mick is a god.

He made The Stones "The Stones" over the 10 year period that Keith was doing heroin. Mick managed everything. Every little fucking thing.

Beyond that - he is the ultimate showman. The quintessential frontman; lead singer - focus of attention.

And he learned to play guitar so he could contribute more to the band. Imagine taking on guitar in a band featuring Keith Richards and Brian Jones, and eventually Mick Taylor and Ronnie Woods.

Are you fucking kidding me?

He plays a mean harmonica too.

Love the man.

Every time I hear some brainless shithead mocking The Stones, saying they are too fucking old to be doing what they are doing - I want to eviscerate them. 

The Stones have too much pride - they wouldn't keep doing what they are doing if they could not fucking deliver. They have pride in themselves and pride in the music they play, which is deeply rooted in the blues.

Happy Birthday, Mick.

You deserve everything you got. You earned it.

And you still make me smile and bob my head and tap my foot and sing along.

Those are the moments I live for, baby.

Working To Die

He was "at work". "Working for a living."

Working to die.

He slammed his fist into the plastic (everything is plastic these days) paper towel dispenser in the men's room, which was the only room he could escape to and be himself without putting on a fucking act.

It made a satisfying "boom", loud, and sure to grab the attention of anyone close by, but he realized it accomplished nothing, except to release his suffocating anger - temporarily. But it was a damn good boom and a satisfying transer of anger.

The best part was the fact that the mirrored door that housed the "medicine cabinet" mounted right next to the dispenser, opened up every time he punched the towel dispenser. It was so fucking entertaining.

So he did it every time he went to the bathroom. 

Boom. Fucking boom. Mirrored door easing open.

He wished the "medicine cabinet" was stocked with cocaine. Pot. Opioids. Anything that would grease his way through the day.

But of course everything in 2021 is sanitized. That is why life is so boring. That is why suicide is a national sport, which should be featured in the Olympics.

You watch the fucking weather report and they give you tips on how to deal with thunderstorms.

Are you fucking kidding me?

This is why he wears cargo pants.

This is why he sneaks booze into work.

Smarter than the average bear.

Everyone Else Has Retired

Banner day yesterday.

Got together with 4 guys I went to high school with. We graduated 49 years ago. Three of them I saw a couple of years ago. Ed I haven't seen in over 20 years.

We met at Jim's new house which, thankfully, is only 1/2 hour from my own. Jim is building the house with his son and others. Spectacular. Wood everywhere. Beautiful deck, beuatiful location in the woods. 6.5 acres. Peaceful. Scenic. Quiet.

We sat on the deck and talked, laughed and reminisced. Spectacular.

All four of them are retired. Dave was to be the fifth attendee, but he lives in Virginia and could not make it up. He is also retired.

The talk of work came up, I told them I work part time and Barry said "You're still working?" Not maliciously or condescendingly or judgmentally. He is my friend; he would never do that to me.

He was genuinely surprised. As am I.

These were the guys I hung with in high school. I had a different set of guys I hung with in college but all of them - both groups - lived in Winthrop.

I was much closer to my high school friends. These friendships endure.

Talk of health was disturbing. Every single one of us is dealing with or has dealt with major health issues. Wives included.  Cancer most prominent, of course. Ed wears hearing aids, Bobby wears hearing aids. Bobby was wearing a cast on his left wrist after a recent operation; as soon as that heals the right wrist goes under the knife.

Ed's got the worst of it, I think. He is dealing with cancer that has affected his lungs and left spots on his brain. He looked and sounded pretty good yesterday.

Ed came with his dog Lucas. Jim has a dog named Oscar. It was soothing to have them around.

Talk of health problems was prominent in the conversation which depressed me, but that is where we are in life. Sucks. But we did talk about life in general, the stupidity that is America today and, of course, we resurrected many high school memories. 

We were a rowdy bunch. Loved to party. We didn't just love insanity, we were insanity. So there was a lot to laugh about. Many stories. Many names bandied about that have not crossed my tongue in decades.

We were so well behaved. This was a drinking crowd back in the day. We started yesterday drinking water. Eventually everybody had 1 beer, I had a small amount of whiskey. The effects of age and benefits of wisdom abounded.

We talked about getting together again in September.

I sincerely hope it happens.

Be Careful

 "To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all."

Oscar Wilde

Attitude

One of the many things I loved about The Allman Brothers was their attitude.

They oozed attitude. Projected it. Lived it. Delivered it.

I connected with them over that. 

I have lived a strange and incomprehensible life; I projected a practiced image of a nice guy, Mr.Responsible, doing the job and paying the mortgage.

But inside I am essentially evil. Actually, evil is a bit of overkill. I guess I would say I think dark thoughts, enjoy dark things, hate fucking rules, love doing anything that others would judge as insane.

I don't do much of that anymore because there ain't nobody left to run with anymore.

But I am not here to whine, as I usually do. It is what it is.

My point is Allman Brothers lyrics connect with me. Heard Wasted Words yesterday. A taste:

"Well I ain't no saint and you sure as hell ain't no savior, every other Christmas I would practice good behavior, that was then, this is now, don't ask me to be mr. clean, baby I don't know how."

And of course No One To Run With. A taste:

"Everybody wants to know where Jimmy has gone, he left town, I doubt if he's coming back home..........I'm gonna hit the road, adios, my friend, go someplace and start all over again.....................I think Jimmy must have had the right idea, packed his stuff and he got right out of here, I don't know where he's at but I'm sure that he's ok, now I realize what Jimmy was trying to say.........

Nobody left to run with anymore, nobody wants to do the crazy things we used to do before, nobody left to run with anymore"

The flip side - in the interest of fair and impartial reporting. Old Before My Time. A taste:

"You think you're a survivor but boy, you better think twice, no one rides for nuthin', so step up and pay the price...................don't look behind you, ahh don't look back, don't turn to find reason in the past, past is gone, gone at last....................it's a high cost of low livin', and it's high time you turn yourself around, well the high cost of low livin', it's bound to put you six feet in the ground."

Shit, man - better set me down and do some more reflectin'.

Yesterday and Today.

 The DJ early on Thursday and Friday mornings on Little Steven's Underground Garage on Sirius XM is Kelly Ogden.

On Thursday mornings she tells an in-depth story about something pertaining to rock 'n roll.

The Beatles released an album called Yesterday and Today in June of 1966 with a very controversial album cover.

It is referred to as the "butcher cover." The Beatles are dressed as butchers (white coats) and are covered with decapitated baby dolls and pieces of raw meat. Capitol Records did not want to release it but The Beatles were The Beatles, and they got their way.

It received a huge backlash and was eventually recalled. Capitol had to come up with new album covers, at great expense of course. I know in some cases they just slapped a new cover over the old one, but I don't know if they did this for all of the recalls.

It is a collectors item, big time. Some people had the original, some people managed to peel the new label off the original.

Sadly, I don't own a copy. But I did love it - it was pretty sick.

When forced to defend the choice, The Beatles said it was their commentary on Viet Nam, which was complete bullshit.

I know the story well and enjoyed Kelly's re-telling of it.

The best part of the story, which I knew nothing about, happened 30 years later.

According to Kelly, when George Harrison was asked about the album cover in 1996 he said "Some times we did things we thought were cool and hip but were really naive and dumb."

I love the honesty. It cuts right through the pretentious artistic veil.

We as consumers of art are supposed to automatically accept any weird thing an artist says or does as cutting edge stuff, rife with meaning, when sometimes all it is is pure bullshit.

Mr. Harrison always viewed Beatlemania cynically with a biting, sarcastic wit. I always loved him for that.

A Life in Four Lines

 John Webster Little

Born in Salisbury, NH, April 7, 1818.

Graduated at the Dartmouth Medical College in 1845.

Received the degree of D.D.S. from the Pennsylvania College of Dental Surgery in 1868.

Died in Concord, NH on December 21, 1877.

Tragic

 He was diagnosed with toxic sadness.

Then he died.

Checking In

 All right.

So here we go. Back to work tomorrow. I made pretty good use of my 4 day vacation.

I'm getting my legs under me again. Getting back to the habits that make me feel good about myself, habits that build strength.

It's been a long stretch of wobbliness. But, like a Weeble, I wobble but I don't fall down. At least not yet, anyway.

Things got fluid in April and persisted in that vein until now. July. Fucking July. Time flies, motherfucker.

Work got harder because the guy I split the job with, quit. Good man. But the powers that be immediately began to apply pressure. "Joe - how would you like to work 5 days a week, 12 to 4?" Essentially asking me to give up my free time for a group of people who run screaming out the door every day at 4:00 o'clock no matter what.

If Jesus Christ himself walked into the office at 4:00 asking to apply for a plumbing permit, he would hear "Fuck You, Jesus", as he was getting knocked down by City Employees flying out the door at faster miles an hour.

The weight thing has become problematic. It is a real struggle thanks to hormone therapy. What I see in the mirror disgusts me. It hurts my mind, makes me feel bad and self-conscious about myself. But I am not giving up. Fuck this shit.

Had an encouraging golf lesson today. Last week I worked with a wedge and a 7 iron around the putting green. I SUCKED with the wedge - kept hitting ground balls. Pissed me off.

Today the golf pro took me out on the course to practice chipping shots onto the green with the wedge - and I had a good day. Popped a bunch of decent shots onto the green. Zero accuracy - but at least I got them up in the air and onto the green.

I am enjoying experiencing Carol in her retirement. 

Nobody believes that. I see that smirk on your fucking face. Truthfully it is hard for me when I beat myself up for being so stupid that I cannot afford to retire. And you all think I wish her harm & suffering, that my deepest, darkest wish is that she be forced to go back to work - at McDonald's.

Fuck you for believing that about me.

Her happiness makes me feel good. Injects penicillin into my bleeding heart. Know why?

Because I love her.

So that's it. A general check-in. I know you worry about me so I thought I'd bring you up to date.

Talk to you Saturday.

Soren Is My Man

I have dabbled in philosophy.

Read a little Jung, Freud, Nietzsche, Sartre, Camus. And when I say "dabbled" and "a little" I mean that specifically. They fascinate me because they attempt to explain humanity, but it ain't no easy read. Still, I enjoy it.

But my man is Soren Kierkegaard. I come back to him frequently.

I was contemplating anxiety recently and came across a quote from Kierkegaard that reads, in part: "Just as a physician might say that there is very likely not one single living human being who is completely healthy, so anyone who really knows mankind might say that there is not one single living human being who does not despair a little.................who does not secretly harbor an anxiety about some possibility in existence or an anxiety about himself......................an anxiety he cannot explain."

I believe this to be true.

Fear is usually triggered by a known threat, anxiety is a feeling of being threatened by an unknown source. It has been said that anxiety attacks us from all sides at once. Hence it can be paralyzing, or at the very least, confuse us about how to deal with it.

Of course there is severe anxiety, which can be crippling - and the milder form of anxiety which "permeates the background of our daily existence" (from the Academy of Ideas.com). Kierkegaard considered this form of anxiety to be "an indispensible ingredient in a life lived to full potential" (the Academy of Ideas.com).

Kierkegaard called anxiety "the dizziness of freedom." Freedom being the choices or possibilities life presents, which are automatically accompanied by anxiety because of unpredictable outcomes. Learning to co-exist with anxiety, to deal with it, is a positive thing and enables us to pursue risks. Dealing with anxiety results in growth.

He recognizes that many people are uncomfortable with freedom and prefer to avoid anxiety, so they choose the status quo, which is safer. Kierkegaard calls this "grasping at finiteness"; the opposite of growth.

Per James Hollis (director of the Jung Educational Center): "Thus we are forced into a difficult choice: anxiety or depression. If we move forward, as our soul insists, we may be flooded with anxiety. If we do not move forward, we will suffer the depression, the pressing down of the soul's purpose. In such a difficult choice one must choose anxiety, for anxiety is at least the path of personal growth; depression is a stagnation and defeat of life."

Sooooooooooooooooo, what I find fascinating in all this is the twin concepts that almost everybody experiences anxiety on a pretty regular basis (although the majority will never admit to that), and that anxiety can be considered a positive thing (as long as it doesn't result in locking yourself in the bathroom for weeks at a time while your wife stands screaming outside the door "I had to buy diapers, for Christ sake).

Anxiety comes upon me unbid, and it pisses me off. But anxiety is an emotion and emotions are a direct result of what you are thinking. So the thing to do is to stop immediately and examine your brain.

The caveat is that anxiety is often not linked to one specific thought. I find that when I look into my mind at that moment it's like dust in a windstorm and it ain't easy to wrestle all that to the ground and sort it out.

But at least I am thinking about it.

The main point is that Soren Kierkegaard is my man. 

A Good Place To Be

 "Julian spoke with the clear, unequivocal lucidity of madmen who have escaped the hypocrisy of having to abide by a reality that makes no sense."

From The Shadow Of The Wind, by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

The Mind Is Not Objective

 "I can remember almost all of my embarrassments and pains even if they were in passing and small. I can't remember the good things as well because I don't think I ever framed them like that. They were just the other events that happened that were easier than the hard shit."

Marc Maron

Eternal Conundrum

 "Making money isn't hard in itself," he complained. "What's hard is to earn it doing something worth devoting one's life to."

From The Shadow of The Wind, by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Impoverished America

Passively watching the news this morning - the hot topic was this child tax credit thingy to help families to survive.

Got me thinking about the poverty in the world. There are many countries much worse off than we are where people suffer and life is hard. Where people just don't stand a chance of living a dignified life; where "the pursuit of happiness" is a pipe dream.

But there is a hell of a lot of poverty and suffering in this embarrassingly rich country called America.

Why?

Comes down to my pet theory - that most people are completely lost in life, with no focus, direction or goals - through no fault of their own. 

Liberals love to spout anesthesia-inducing cliches like "everybody has a unique talent; you just have to identify it and exploit it." Bullshit. There's a commercial for an NH college where a guy pompously says "Talent is equally distributed but opportunity is not." His smugness turns my stomach.

Talent is not equally distributed; everybody does not have a unique talent. Most people do not have a singular focus they can work on, pursue and evolve into a rewarding career. And I am not shitting on anybody - that is just the way life works. Remember - life is an evil son of a bitch.

The majority of us have jobs, not careers. Most likely that pay less than a dignified wage, because if you are not on a career path you get punished and exploited.

But you still gotta eat, still gotta pay the rent. Still gotta work. The kicker is that the odds are stacked against you. There is no level playing field in this country. Once you are down the powers that be are committed to keeping you down.

So you don't have a savings account, you drive a 12 year old car, pizza is an extravagance and the "pursuit of happiness" starts on Friday night and ends on Sunday night.

And of course the people with fat wallets have no interest in helping you because it is easier to call you lazy than it is to care.

I have no solutions. This is why I am not King of the World.

But life is so ironic. It really is a precious gift. Being alive is better than being dead. At least generally, anyway. Although not being born might be a precious gift too.

So you fight to stay alive but you don't get to enjoy it.

Is it worth it?

Think About It

 "A man found an eagle's egg and put it in a nest of a barnyard hen. The eaglet hatched with the brood of chickens and grew up with them.

All his life the eagle did what the barnyard chicks did, thinking he was a barnyard chicken. He scratched the earth for worms and insects. He clucked and cackled. And he would thrash his wings and fly a few feet into the air.

Years passed and the eagle grew very old. One day he saw a magnificent bird above him in the cloudless sky. It glided in graceful majesty among the powerful wind currents, with scarcely a beat of its strong golden wings.

The old eagle looked up in awe. "Who's that?" he asked.

"That's the eagle, the king of the birds," said his neighbor. "He belongs to the sky. We belong to the earth -  we're chickens."

So the eagle lived and died a chicken, for that's what he thought he was."

From Song of the Bird, by Anthony de Mello

Where Have You Been?

A brief hiatus.

My brain broke. It happens. Sometimes my brain breaks and then everything stops.

No creativity. Little activity. Fog descends.

But I'm back. Refreshed, invigorated and renewed.

I will attempt to bury you under an avalanche of words.

Golf

I am taking golf lessons.

Got 2 under my belt; 3 more to go. I have handled a putter, a wedge and a 7 iron.

I have been threatening to do this for a while; my family gave me a gentle nudge on Fathers Day with a gift certificate for lessons.

I sucked with the wedge - couldn't get any goddamn lift on the ball. Did OK with the putter and the iron.

Tough sport. Lots to think about, and some of the motions/grips feel quite awkward. But with 150,000 repetitions comfort will set in.

Wonderful anecdote: When using a wedge you gotta keep your hands ahead of the club head. Sound easy? It's not. The golf pro (a youngster) was explaining that if you are doing it right you can almost do it with one hand. He swung the club with his left hand only and sunk the shot from about 15 feet away. I looked at him and asked "Are you fucking showing off?" It was a wonderful moment.

My plan is to experience the 5 lessons and then make a decision. It is obvious to me that it will take a lot of work just to get to a level where I can walk out on a course and play without killing somebody.

I am not afraid of the work, I just need the time. I am not comfortable right now showing up on a Saturday or a Sunday to practice when there are crowds around. So that gives me Mondays and Tuesdays to build up weekend-level confidence.

Impressions: When you walk onto a golf course it is obvious that you are walking into a completely different world. Self contained. A universe unto itself. You can feel it. It is palpable.

I like the way it feels. For one thing it is peaceful. And beautiful. I do not feel as self conscious as I thought I would.

It is a small local course; I have not picked up on a vibe of snobbery. In fact most of the guys I have seen playing look more like John Daly than Jordan Spieth. I could blend in with a crowd like that.

So for now, I am doing something completely foreign to me in a world that is completely foreign to me.

That is how you rewire the brain.

My brain could definitely use some rewiring. And I don't have to worry about short-circuiting because my brain is already pretty fried.

Heard A Song

Heard a song the other day.........................

I wonder how many times I have said that in my life.

Anyway I heard a song - don't know who it was, don't know the title, but there was a lyric within that summed up life - perfectly.

"You gotta give them what they want without losing what you got."

That's it right there - the perfect roadmap for survival and for avoiding suicidal tendencies.

99% of humans are beholding to somebody. Someone you gotta answer to, someplace you gotta be - every fucking day. Mostly it's called - ironically - "working for a living."

You gotta give up control of your life for extended chunks of time. This is unnatural and, frankly, unnerving.

But if you can do that and still hold on to what you got - you win. 

The only thing better than that is winning the goddamn lottery and rising like a phoenix from the ashes.

I can visualize that flight clearly in my mind. 

A Nuanced Approach

I was sitting in my car on Thursday - prior to heading into work -  rocking out to some really groovy tunes, when it occurred to me that is the wrong approach.

Floating in musical heaven just before descending into employment hell creates a disparity of emotion so severe it cannot be negotiated without drugs.

Might make more sense to watch reruns of The Jerry Springer Show.

Well Said

 "One of the best secrets of a happy life is the art of extracting comfort and sweetness from every circumstance......................

People are always looking for happiness at some future time and in some new thing, or some new set of circumstances, in possession of which they some day expect to find themselves. But the fact is, if happiness is not found now, where we are, and as we are, there is little chance of it ever being found. There is a great deal more happiness around us day by day than we have the sense or power to seek and find.

If we are to cultivate the art of living, we should cultivate the art of extracting sweetness and comfort out of everything, as the bee goes from flower to flower in search of honey."

Thomas Mitchell - farmer - from James Clear's newsletter

There Is Much Wisdom in This Book

 "Julian spoke about all that as if it didn't matter to him, as if it were part of a past he had left behind, but these things are never forgotten.  The words with which a child's heart are poisoned, through malice or through ignorance, remain branded in his memory, and sooner or later they burn his soul."

Separate conversation:

"A good father?" 

"Yes, like yours. A man with a head, a heart and a soul. A man capable of listening, of leading and respecting a child, and not of drowning his own defects in him. Someone whom a child will not only love because he's his father but will also admire for the person he is. Someone he would want to grow up to resemble."

From The Shadow of the Wind, by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

A Nagging Question

Recently, this question gnawed at his soul.

Rattled around his brain, torturing him with the possibility that a truthful answer could provide a simple solution to the decades-long schizophrenia that had defined his life. Put an end to the self-flagellation (but then what would he do with all his time?).

Should he employ in his personal life, the same subterfuge he used to survive each work day?

The act worked. But really, was it an act? That is the explosive crux to the riddle. He was too accomodating in his personal life. Was that an act?

There is a theory out there that the weak character displayed in his personal life - especially toward loved ones -  was an obsessive attempt to keep everyone happy. To avoid challenging them with the thornier aspects of his personality. 

He turned out the lights. He lit one candle. He committed to identifying and then cutting out the foul delusion that had derailed his life, like a surgeon removes diseased organs.

Before he did he placed his right hand on the Bible and swore an oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

We All Strut

Just ran out to the store to pick up good stuff to barbecue tonight.

Today is The Bonus Day. Day Five away from work. The bonus day always feels the best. Today is no exception. I am somewhat lighthearted.

On the return trip I was delighted to observe the turkey family crossing the road. Two adults - I assume Mama and Papa - and 5 or 6 itty bitty turkeys. Brought traffic to a standstill on a busy 50 mph road.

I love that. 

We go about killing the animals around us with impunity. I have seen way too many dead deer by the side of the road this year. Way too many. I saw a fucking fawn by the side of the road recently. A tiny, helpless, beautiful animal. Humans suck.

However, the turkey family strutted across that road without even looking. You might say with impunity. Like they own the joint.

Came out of the woods to my left, crossed two lanes and slipped into the woods on my right. As two lanes of traffic sat and watched. I felt like applauding. I did smile.

But that's not why I am here today.

I strutted into the store as much like a peacock as an out of shape 67 year old man can. I defintely stand more erect and put a bit of a swagger into my strides when I'm in public. I have to. I'm getting older. I am fighting for dignity every time I leave the house.

Youth does not require swagger. Insouciance is its own swagger. Although there are some who push it unnecessarily and wind up coming across like Vinnie Barbarino. 

We all strut. There were mostly distressed humans in the store when I was there. Distressed as in distressed furniture. For some reason I was hyperaware of my own act so I closely observed the other elders around me.

They were doing the same thing. Projecting calm. Confidence. Dignity. Demanding respect. Actors all.

Although if you have been around long enough you deserve much respect. Just survivng 6, 7, 8 or 9 decades is an accomplishment deserving of the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

If you judge me solely on the basis of my (current) lack of physical conditioning you are a shallow asshole. There's more to me than meets the eye. I have lived a life, worked jobs, suffered setbacks, celebrated triumphs, been confused and been assured. Been married 43 years. Been a father to two convicted felons. And I am not done.

If I feel like strutting I will strut. And try to catch the eye of the other weathered humans around me.

So we can exchange knowing smiles.

From The Godfather

Johnny Fontaine is in the Godfather's office.

He is crying and he says "Oh Godfather, I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do."

The Godfather jumps up from his chair, grabs Johnny by the wrists, shakes him vigorously and yells angrily "You can act like a man." Then he slaps him. And says "What's the matter with you? Is this how you turn out, a Hollywood finocchio that crys like a woman?"

The Godfather then mocks him by pretending to cry and repeating "What can I do? What can I do?"

Tom Hagen is sitting in the corner of the room laughing.

Fantastic scene.

But it often makes me cringe - for myself.

Must be something there, no?

You Feel Me?

Writing releases endorphins.

I am living proof of that.

Can't you feel it?

I Am A Genius

 "People tend to complicate their own lives, as if living weren't already complicated enough."

From The Shadow of The Wind, by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Most of it is in Your Head

Reality is a tad elusive.

Most of it is in your head.

When you were an infant, reality was sparkling, fresh and new. Remember? Your eyes were on fire with everything you could see around you. Infants' eyes are like flashlights, baby. You laughed easily, heartily and honestly. At the simplest things.

Life was simple. Because you were not aware of the dangers that await.

As adults we don't know what reality is. We experience our reality, but that is shaped and warped by our experiences. Our prejudices, our fears, our pain, our disappointments. Also by our successes, our happiness, our love.

But I believe the dark stuff takes precedence. Or at least the dark stuff is what throws you off course.

I think it is virtually impossible for adults to recognize reality. It is out there, the world is real, being alive is real, but we interpret that reality through our own filters. Which distorts it into faux reality.

Kind of like Don Quixote tilting at windmills. We are reacting to situations that really aren't there which, of course, is why we get it wrong. Getting it wrong being hurting someone unnecessarily, making boneheaded decisions, acting against our own best interests, misinterpreting someone's words, spitting out our own poisonous words in regretful ways. But we think we are getting it right.

Seeing reality for what it is - reality - is a pretty important component for achieving success and getting happy. Which is why there is so much failure and unhappiness out there.

The pursuit of happiness, baby. You gotta be proactive - happiness doesn't just happen to you.

At the very end of the Desiderata these three phrases slap my head around: "keep peace in your soul; be cheerful; strive to be happy." The implication is that these are things that you do - consciously - they are not a means to an end - they are the end.

I am just confused about how you do this when your mind is warped and you look at life through a distorted lens.

Meditation takes a whack at this. I see meditation as a way to lower the volume of bullshit in your brain,  allowing you to respond to situations rather than react to situations.

You can train yourself to do this. But you gotta work at it.

The encouraging thing is that if reality is in your head you can change it - you have control over it.

You just have to take a stick of dynamite to your misconceptions and fears - if you can even identify them - and move forward gracefully.

Good luck.

(Editor's note: This was a pretty rambling discourse and I'm not even sure it made any sense or carries any weight in the intellectual sphere. Whaddya gonna do?)

Tears On My Windshield

I sat in my car in the rain in the graveyard yesterday and ate my lunch.

The rain was really coming down. 

It was the first time this peaceful place bummed me out. Really got to me.

It's different in the rain. On sunny days it is a teeming metropolis. People walking, people jogging, people being buried, people tending to gravesites. I derive maximum peace on those days.

The rain seemed to bring out the harsh reality of the place that sunshine disguises. A place inhabited by thousands of the dead. People whose lives have ended. A situation I will soon be in.

I saw no other cars. No other people. I was alone.

The water blurred my vision, creating a more surreal view. The water ran down like tears on my windshield.

I wondered how many tears have been shed on behalf of the inhabitants of this cemetery. Quite a few, I'm sure.

I wondered if you earn your tears on a sliding scale. 

People will cry when I die. They might think to themselves that I could have done more with my life. Maybe cry a few less tears in consideration of that opinion. Can I earn more tears by taking a deeper dive into what is left of my life? More respect, more tears?

I don't know.

I couldn't walk around yesterday. I sat and gazed at the hundreds of gravestones surrounding me. Through windows blurred by rain. A surreal view of a surreal reality.

Really bummed me out.

I look forward to the next sunny visit.

5 DAYS

I don't go back to work until Thursday.

5 days off. Another extended break.

Truly divine.

5 days to inspire my soul to fly. 5 days to elevate my intelligence to new heights and make it stick. 

5 days to save my life.

5 days to turn up the speed.

5 days to mend. To bend. To learn. To rest & relax.

5 days to read. A lot. To listen to music.

5 days to write. To evolve. To change. To improve.

5 days to take in new thoughts and new approaches and craft new solutions. To shape a new attitude.

5 days, baby.

5 peaceful, gorgeous, tasty, days that are all mine.

Chad & Jeremy? Really?

Heard a song yesterday titled "Rest in Peace", written by Chad Stuart of Chad & Jeremy fame.

Delightfully cynical. Not the type of song I would associate with this delightful duo. I was thrilled.

It is written from the point of view of a "memorial maker" - a guy who chisels names and epitaphs on gravestones.

Dig these words:

"My name is Matthews and I've got it made - a memorial maker - it's a profitable trade; I don't solicit business - there's no point in trying, what I like about my customers - they just keep on dying."

"Here lies Frederick, mourned by his wife, he lead a blameless life, he couldn't win the way she treated him, his gravestone should have read Here lies Fred - he's better off dead."

It gets darker.

"They bring the names of husbands, they bring the names of wives, they want me to perpetuate their awful, dreary lives"

"They come to me and spend all they've got, 'cause it costs quite a lot to be remembered, they think it is the only way, what would the neighbors say anyway? It's so prestigious, even though you're not religious."

And darker.

"Maybe one day I will carve a stone big enough for everyone, and written there for those who care in letters ten feet high: Here they lie who were born to die."

A delightful ditty.