Time for a rotate and balance

I've been feeling a bit paranoid today. Why am I feeling this way? Well, it probably has to do with the fact that I think that people are on to me. The thing is that I'm really not up to anything, but I have people that used to be closer to me drop out of my life. It's like they are picking up on a vibe and subconsciously distancing themselves from me. Or, maybe, I am withdrawing from them. Whatever greener pastures that I see them drifting off to in my paranoia, I am not exactly protesting; rather, I lament the growing distance.

Someday I could serve some kind of purpose for them: a reference point and an example to buttress their reality at my own expense. At what point do the hands of friends and family close? They don't, really, but I've seen mine become wobbly and reluctant when I could not accept the reality of another. That person is gone now.

I checked into that person's reality and found out why open arms only led back to the reasons for checking out in the first place. So, I go about my reality forming carefully now. I watch and see who is trending on me and who is flaking. What matters is who is sticking with me, regardless of where my life journey goes. Because, I can't settle for comfort or for salve. I cannot partake of prosperity served in a dog dish, either. But, I also do need to get over myself and lighten up.

It's a balance that I am after. It's becoming more aware of the Dharma in the world, but not forgetting I'm a white guy who loves Jesus and shooting clay pigeons. It's allowing people to be different from me and still love them. Mostly, though, it's about allowing myself to be different from those that I love and not hating myself.

A Moment of Ingratitude and Frustration

Sometimes I feel like I'm left holding the bag of my mother and father's inadequate parenting.  I have no idea what I am going to do about my older brother.  He is a mess in so many ways that it is absolutely breaking my heart.  I feel almost powerless to help him.  I already watched one of my sisters kill herself with alcohol.  My brother hasn't taken care of himself, is morbidly obese, can't even work a part-time job without physical and emotional issues.  I've pretty much resigned myself to being his caretaker for the rest of his/my life.  This will pretty much insure that I will have no progeny. It's hard to fix 'em when they're adults.  Somewhere along the line my parents just stopped looking for answers for my brother.  Oh, they wondered, but it never went as far as trying to get him help.  I think my mother probably just kept putting his name in the temple prayer rolls, hoping that Jesus would come down in his magic spaceship and fix him for her.  My dad did his best at never having meaningful interaction with him, only sporadic outbursts of aggressive demands and cut downs.  It blows my mind.  

F to the uck.

Waaaaaait a minute

I was watching the movie "Grease" tonight and in the opening animated credits I saw something interesting.  Rizzo, in her still image in the mirror, looks like a Hobbit.  If she is in fact a Hobbit, well what kind of Hobbit would she be?  A slut Hobbit?  Was Rizzo a slut?  I don't think so.  She was just an assertive, catty woman...er, a bitch.  But I like that sort of thing, so let's go with that.  She's a badass, bitch Hobbit, the one that all the teen Hobbits try to bang, but never end up being able to handle her kind of tough love.  

What would Rizzo's Hobbit name be? Baggins? Proudfoot? Nah, I'm thinking it's something like Rizzo Firesnatch or Rizzo Tumblenhay.  Something tells me she wouldn't be the type of Hobbit that would stick 'round the Shire, either.  I think she's a big city Hobbit with big dreams and a tight ass.  

I could totally see her and Gandalf having a one night stand.  Yeah and all the other Fellowship Hobbits would be hanging around making things awkward between her and Gandalf, like they're going to get some sloppy seconds. In true Rizzo style, she'd quip, "Whaddya fellas think this is, a gang bang? Scram!"

My kind of Hobbit lady.  Anyway, if she and Gandalf had a baby it would explain people like Jesus.  I mean, the kid would end up being human size, but all magical and hungry 'n' shit. That's why Jesus was always turning water into wine and food into more food--it was freakin' elevensies--time to nosh!  Anyway, there probably is a Pink Ladies chapter in the Shire.  It was just cut out of the movies.  I'm sure that it is in the books, somewhere in the middle, perhaps.  Yep.

I wanna rock...

Wouldn't the world be a much better place if this happened instead?

Toaster Coven

I can picture it now: witches gathered in black masses, waiting for their toaster strudels to reach golden perfection, a Hermetic Order of the Golden Crust, if you will. Maybe there's a witch who just wants a bagel to go.  Cursing and cackling sure do work up an appetite.  Hell, bake a damn potato, a pot pie, a friggin' french bread pizza! Holy shit!

I think the young girl witches start off with some kind of satanic easy bake oven, er, easy bake coven, but instead of a 90 watt bulb, it is a burning ember straight from Satan's asshole.  Surprisingly, this does not effect the taste of the cupcakes.  Wait...this sounds way more badass than a stupid toaster oven. 

Maybe what makes a toaster coven a step up from the satanic easy bake oven is the sisterhood that is developed around convenient baked goods and hot buttered toast. Yeah, and just try fitting a baby into an easy bake oven, satanic or otherwise.  Now I totally get it.

Anyway, I wonder if Jinx Dawson sang this tune after having an evil Pop Tart, or something.

Genesis weren't always lame

Genesis with Peter Gabriel is what gets me feeling all proggy inside.  "The Lamia" is a great track from the final album from the Peter Gabriel fronted Genesis, The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway.  If you are into prog rock that's weird and complex, not boring, the Genesis albums from "Trespass" to "Lamb" are worth a listen to. Peter Gabriel was doing some very interesting theater in concerts back in those days.  He liked to make up strange characters and even stranger costumes to portray them.  It's all worth checking out if, say, you are recovering from surgery and enjoy teasing guys about their belief in the healing power of puppies. Yeah.

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday!!!) Experimenting

Experimenting is fun, just ask me, Sir Bartholomew J. Gruntington III.  I once kissed a man...and I liked it? Nope, I wasn't quite fond of it, as you can see, but at least I know.  And if watching G.I. Joe cartoons has taught me anything, it's that knowing is half the battle. Why hate on that, brah? 

P.S. I also don't like being kissed by drunks who chain smoke, as in this picture.  Even though he got to taste my pristine white-boy lips, and had many fun-filled adventures, in the end he rejected my offers of enlightenment and did not buy the Jebus© brand vacuum cleaners I was selling.  Folks, if your vacuum doesn't give you a burning in your bosom, or whisper inspiration into your ears while cleaning, you're using a fallen vacuum cleaner or doing it wrong.

I didn't have time to go to the arts and crafts store....

Lost Dream Clown

Get outta my freakin' room! I don't know how you managed to escape, but you need to get back in my head and dance, juggle shit, plus fall down a lot so I can laugh myself to sleep.

I'm really quite sane. I promise.

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday!!!) Han Solo's Illegitimate Son, Keytar

Many people do not know this, but aside from Ben Solo (Kylo Ren), Han Solo had fathered many other kids throughout the Star Wars galaxy, albeit, illegitimately.  I mean, you didn't expect an intergalactic smuggler to stay celibate while hitting all those freaky space bars, did you?  And as for his special relationship with Chewie, I mean, do you know how hard it is to get wookie hair out of your asshole? Sharp teeth much?? Nope! No, Han had a blowup doll to tide him over to the next stop. 

It was at the most infamous of space bars, Mos Eisley Cantina on Tatooine, that Han met Keytar's mother, Laimee Ryenou, and also where Keytar was concieved, in the droid closet.  Funnily enough, that's what Laimee called her space vagina.  I don't know what the difference between a space vagina and a regular one is, but I think it has something to do with how bad things have got stretched out or something to do with hitting "light speed", or passing through a wormhole.  Hey, at least she didn't call it her "sarlacc pit". Fun fact: Luke Skywalker lost the skin off of his robot hand to a rather voracious "droid closet".

Anyway, Han's inspiration in naming Keytar came from the music that was playing by the band, Figrin D'an and the Modal Nodes. It was one of the Nodes who took the spotlight, playing an outright brain-defying solo on his signature instrument right as Han and Laimee were hitting "light speed" together. Erm, well, we all know that Han shot first....we'll leave it at that. Back to that glorious instrument. What was it, you ask?  Well, it was none other than the keytar!

Han didn't keep in touch very often with his Tatooine lady, nor made much of an effort to connect with his son, Keytar Solo.  It's sad, really, because Keytar is a bit of an unsung hero in the Star Wars universe.  He was a pioneer for interspecies gay rights (one who is sexually attracted to an intelligent being of the same sex, but not of the same species). Mainly, he took his fight to the Empire, choosing to change things within the system.  This was a bold move, seeing has how uptight the Darkside is about anything that could be construed as "space gay".  You'd think it would be different, with the name "Darkside", right?

Whatever happened to Keytar Solo, you ask? Well rumor has it, after his long campaign for "space gay rights" within the Empire and tenure as a daytime talk show host, Keytar settled down with his Ewok longtime companion, Furtürd, on some far away beach planet (space gay marriages hadn't been legalized yet). Ever seen a hairless Ewok? That's how you can tell, my friends.

The irony in all of this is that Keytar Solo never learned how to play the keytar.  In fact, he didn't much care for that instrument at all.  Strange.

Ghost Clothes

Why, when people claim to see ghosts, do they see them wearing clothes?  Did their clothes die with them, or is there a special department store in the afterlife that sells ghost clothes? Personally, I think I'd be way scarier if I jumped out in front of somebody naked, with all my dangley bits in full view...even more if I were a ghost.

A ghost department store would have to be huge.  Think of all the periods of fashion that it would have to cater to, even clear down to caveman times.  Come to think of it, why aren't there people seeing caveman ghosts? Why are there not EVPs with grunting noises from caveman ghosts? Probably the grunting EVPs are mistaken for demons or sexy ghosts.  Anyway, I got off track again.

So, you die, and the first thing you need in the afterlife are some kick-ass duds.  Do you need ghost cash or credit?  How would you go about getting that kind of thing?  Is it all gratis???  I can't imagine God shouting you the cash to go buy a new wardrobe without asking you first if you plan on scaring the shit out of the living.  I don't know, maybe God is cool with that, and scaring the shit out of people on earth is just what spirits in the afterlife do for fun.  Going haunting would be a great first date, I'd think.  Now I'm certain I know where ghost moans come from. And if you are getting sexed up by a moaning ghost, just assume that it is probably a former, horny Frenchman, and the correct response is either, "get out of my ass/vagina" or "enchanté".  Either way, you'll be down for a day or two afterwards.

When I die and become a ghost, what look should I go for?  Chains are pretty heavy, but I'm sure that ghost chains are pretty light, just noisy.  Would I keep my original earth look or go for some flowing, tattered sheets?  I guess I'd probably do several looks.  My family and friends would be less likely to shit their pants if I looked more like I did when I was alive.  Maybe I'd wear some angelic shit just to dazzle them or make them think I pleased God waaaaay more than expected.  I'd have a casual look just for some general ghosting around.  I'd like to haunt some hipsters wearing more stereotypical ghost looks--vintage, let's say--just so they'd detect my hints of irony in my haunting style.  I mean, it's crucial to be aware of things like that, knowing your audience.

In conclusion, ghosts don't need clothes as much as they still are attached to some aspects of mortality and still experience a measure of shame.  Keeping clothed is a ghost's way of staying connected to their former life on earth and retaining some of their mortal identity. 

P.S. Someone should try to kill a shirt or pants, just to see if clothes can die.  If you try this and find a floaty shirt or such, trying to cover your nakedness, give me a call and we'll discuss your experience.  I will share with you my theory of what really happens to those left socks that go missing.

Fresh Squeezed Creative Juice

What does it take to create?  I don't have a straight answer for that.  I do know what must happen to get the most out of your creative process.  What must happen is you let the demon in.  You let that sucker in and open up your psychic pores.  Let an angel in just to see how they get on, and you have some real good times.The resulting ooze comes at a price, however.  

What does it cost?  In my case, I never made much money from being creative and nothing from writing a blog.  Sometimes putting myself out on a limb creatively caused me great anxiety and sometimes have hurt feelings of others, mainly because they were the target of some song or one of these blog posts.  The moments where I let the "Little Red Guy" in (as represented in my avatar), it wasn't some negative thing. Rather, I could not keep up with the flow of ideas and inspiration, it would wear me out and I was subject to heavy episodes of depression after the manic rush of creation subsided.  Where it comes from, I joke, is Satan.  That's a funny way of saying that the ideas I've had surely couldn't have come from God, because I'd get thrown out of church for saying such things there. Anyway, God inspires me plenty. So I joke that it's demons, the imp in the box, or Satan, but it's not you Satan, it's me.

I alluded to mania and depression earlier.  To my best knowledge, I am not bi-polar.  I say this because I have been fairly stable for the last four years.  If there is such a thing, it would be "situational" polar overshoot.  I am making attempts at disciplining my creative hand, rather than depend on such external devices.  Too many people burn out from muse dependency.

Writing and music have been products of mine that I have been reluctant to share freely.  I have more practical projects that I have engaged in lately.  Those are easier to talk to general audiences about, and especially the prudent Mormon folk of my tribe.  I am working on that self consciousness that keeps me from successfully realizing my creative potential, but keeping enough in check so as to not become Mr. Charles Manson Rogers.

Where do I go from here? Hell, I will always create, but I need to at least shoot for one of those big scary ideas that's been floating around in my head.  I figure if it don't get me rich, it might just get me laid, and if none of those two things happen, then perhaps an ice cream cone.

Now, if you don't mind, I have a Fred Astaire-ing contest to attend to.

Ouch, two posts in one week! I think I've done pulled a muscle.

Elitist Orange

 (Actual photo of the secret "Cremation of Care" ritual at the Bohemian Grove)

I have an idea for a Youtube channel that would blow up the internet.  It would be called "Illuminati Fails", featuring members of said secret organization falling off of skate boards, crashing cars,  tripping over their crimson robes at mock human sacrifice ceremonies (Cremation of Care/Bohemian Grove top ten fails!!!)  The best clip, I hear, is of one of the Rockefeller's falling off of a giant stone owl idol and right into the alter after a drunken dare, naked, of course.  The other fails might consist of wearing a Darth Vader costume to one of those "bird mask and cloak" sex parties I hope to be invited to someday--only probably to help clean up after, ewwww! But, if it is like where I work now, the people in charge usually let me have leftovers from important get togethers or just feed me scraps under the table.  Hmmmm, what else?  Perhaps an Illuminati fail could be accidentally revealing global depopulation agendas on "Ellen", "Fallon", or "Live: with Kelly and Michael!" 

Pewdiepie would be the host.

Yeah.

Post Title

This post is so ahead of now, even the title is beyond itself. 

I am able to predict the future. I'm here to tell you that it will happen, folks. 

Two rabbits enter a hole in the ground. One finds itself on a stage in Atlantic City, the other one is transported to a child's birthday party in Kansas. Meanwhile, the dog chasing the two rabbits is left very confused and disappoints its master. A poor rural family goes without food that night. This is only part of the destructive ripple effect of magic tricks. 

Waldo was found dead in his apartment. 

I have often wondered where all the left socks go. I'm thinking it has something to do with the "Rapture". 

Sticks and stones may break my bones. It's in the bible. 

I once opened myself up to the universe. Now I can't come within 200 feet of the universe--damn restraining order. 

The apocalypse will happen soon, my friends. Question: What kind of wine goes with "We're all gonna die"? Answer: wine.

Question: How many roads must a man walk down before he gets to the center of a Tootsie Pop? Answer: LSD. 

 I met God once. God said hi, then I said hi back. God cleared his throat and we sat there for about a minute or two silent. God then said to me, "Great talk, son. Well, I gotta go. You be good now!" 

Nothing particularly special happens when Wonder Bread and Miracle Whip are combined. 

Nope, that wasn't it.

Nothing part ick you lard lee spesh ul hap hands wan bonder wed nad monocle blimp art connived.

Let's do that one over again. 

Noting particle spatial tappin is won thunder dead on spherical dip arrrr da mimed.

Phew! It's great to finally say that out loud. I hope you will understand. 

Thanks.

Confession time

Quite often I don't know what in the hell I am doing.

Now that I've got that off of my chest...

Holes

Those damn holes.  They keep getting bigger, deeper, and colder.  The holiday season makes the emptiness more profound.  I don't want to call anybody up and talk about it.  I just want it to go away.  It doesn't go away.  It just keeps getting bigger, deeper, and colder.

Maybe this is what getting older does to you.  It is inevitable to suffer loss and experience loneliness.  I see now that it isn't about having a "hole" in your life; rather, what do you do with the ones that you have.  Do you watch the edges crumble into the void all by yourself?  Do you throw those around you into your pit? Or do you build up barriers between you and your holes to stay out of them?  I say fill them full of water and go swimming, whatever the hell that means. 

I really don't know what you are supposed to do with those holes that never go away.  I'm talking about the holes or spaces left when people are taken away from you.  I know there are other types of holes, pits, and traps, but those are holes of a different nature.  Back to people, I guess I could imagine some kind of heavenly reunion and how great that would be, but then that would mean I was also dead.  I think I want to wait a good fifty years before that sort of thing happens.  So what do I do in the meantime?  

I need more good people around me.  That means opening myself to the world again.  Scary.  I didn't like the feeling when I opened myself up last time.  We remember pain too much, especially the last time we got hurt. I imagine at some point it gets better.  I'll work through this rough patch and find a way to make it better.  I need to improve at including other people into this process. 

Anyway, have a great Thanksgiving.  You Canadian have a great second Thanksgiving.

I am tired but what the hell

I remembered that I have a blog.  It's not that I am too busy to blog.  Well, I am busy enough at certain times and other times I suppose I'm just doing nothing at all.  There's no excuse for me not blogging.  I still love all my blog buddies.  Maybe it is just me feeling lonely on a cold November night, but I felt compelled to reach out to you all once again.  There's nothing cutting edge or thought provoking going on here, just showing a little pulse is all.  I hope all is well. Anyway, let's do this and see where it goes.

I started playing my guitar more.  I mean really playing it and trying to write songs again.  Hell, it's been years since that part of me was alive.  You'd think with all the events and trials I've been through that it would have inspired me.  I need to confess: I've been fairly dead creative wise.  I literally have felt that flame die in me.  It's taken the help of some young musicians to get me even near that horse again.  Damn, it sucks to have to admit that I'm an old man now.  Hell, it may not be that I'm old, but in comparison to these dudes, yeah, old.  At least the let me feel like their cool uncle.  

This interaction in helping these young musicians has helped fill in the void that I've had going on in my soul.  I've been beat down, feeling gutless and heart broken to the point where it was just easier to deny everything and embrace nothing.  Now I'm starting to feel less shitty that way.  My hiking also has a big part to play in that.

I want to try and write something good.  I can't say that what I did before was great, musically, but some of it was at least fun and rewarding.  A good deal of it makes me cringe now, but you have to figure that for every good song you write, there are about a dozen bad ones if you are lucky.  Oftentimes, you are so attached to a bad song because of what you went through to write it--you don't want to let it go.  It makes sense at the time.  Then you give that song to someone else to listen to and see them not get it.  Man, that is a bitch!  You equate the product with your person and your feelings.  I guess I didn't want to go through that process because of the strength of the emotions I've been burying these past years.

I have no ambitions anymore with regards to music, but I want to at least have it be back into my life to where I'm being creative again. I can impart my knowledge of the gear and some of what I learned about recording to these younger guys, and in return they help me feel somewhat relevant and useful.  

That'll do for now.

The Gambler Drops In

                                Proof that I am going to some kind of lesser glory. Anyway, you should see what I do with Watchtower magazines.

Nope, uh-uh, bag it!

I find this particularly funny. A certain slightly lower-than-normal functioning gentleman that I know always punctuates certain sentences in this fashion. Whenever he is telling about how he quit doing something or decided against something, he always ends by saying, "Nope, uh-uh, bag it". He also likes to place random "YEAH"s during your turn to talk. Whenever you go to ask him how he's doing, he always beats you to the punch by saying real loud "GOOD" or "FINE", so I never get past "How...". A couple of times after he cut me off this way I decided to change the question around in order to confuse him. It sorta went like this: 

Me: "How..." 
Dude who talks funny: "Fine!" 
Me: "How'd ya like to give me twenty bucks? 
Dude: "No!" 
Me: "You said you were fine with it." 
Dude: (smiling nervously): "No, I didn't say that." 
Me: "Oh, you must've been trying to read my mind again. What happened?" 
Dude: "You're trying to be funny." 
Me: "Yeah sorry, I just wanted to have fun with ya." 
Dude: "Yeah! (laughs) Okay." 
Me: "So, you're doing alright then?" 
Dude: "Yeah." 
Me: "But you're not gonna give me twenty bucks now?" 
Dude (gets a semi-serious look on his face): "No, uh-uh, bag it." 

I wish more people were fun like this.

Trepanation for Fingerman

(This post was started a few months ago after I drilled through a board and into my finger all the way to bone. I'm okay now, okay being a relative term. Anyway, I can't remember where I was going with it, so I am posting it somewhat finished, I think.)

My poor, evil middle finger.  It had a mind of its own.  I really had to watch out in public.  Heck, I even had to switch which hand I used to wipe my bottom, for fear of something taking the liberty to grab my attention.  Don't ask.

I think this all started early on in my life.  You see, my thumb and index finger saw all the action then.  My index finger got to point at things and pick my nose.  My thumb got to venture into my mouth, then when I got a little older, it helped me with my Fonzie impersonations. While the two end fingers knew their place on the hand, my middle finger became wildly jealous and started acting out.

My middle finger started getting in the way of things a bit too much as I grew older.  This was the beginning of the real trouble, or as I call them, the "Bird" years. My middle finger would tell the other fingers that when the master raised his arm to salute authority, or other dignitaries called "assholes, dickheads, and douche bags", that they should all take a bow.  Bow they did, all except my middle finger.  He thought it was hilarious.

It was after many years of getting in trouble from these bad habits of my middle finger that I came to the conclusion that it may have evil spirits trapped inside.  I researched this subject quite thoroughly and came to two solutions to my problem. First, I could try an exorcism. Second, I could try releasing the evil spirits through a ritual "trepanation", as performed by many ancient cultures.  I didn't trust being left alone with a priest, so I chose trepanation.

Trepanation is the ritual "opening up" of the skull to release trapped spirits inside the mind. This has seemed to work for some people, so I figured that it would work for me.  As far as working on my middle finger, I didn't know, but I was willing to take the risk.  One thing was for sure, I would have to deceive, lay a trap, for my middle finger because I knew it wouldn't cooperate on its own.

The perfect setup: I needed to drill some holes in a board. I blindfolded him with a work glove and put him in the line of fire.  Once the bit started boring into the plywood, I would slowly maneuver him into position.  I paid off his brothers by promising them a week's vacation from scratching stuff that smells and absolutely no probing duty for at least a month.  The plan went off without a hitch.

Blood dripped down my hand with a pulsating flow.  A black mist spewed out of the hole in my finger, and was sucked back into whatever hell it came from.  Sure, I felt pain, but I also felt a sense of relief.  I would no longer fear awkward social moments or ugly confrontations caused by my middle finger.  

And so it was, no more standing up, as it were, and I just laid back and took it in the ass.  My middle finger sits there staring off into a world of resignation, a seat next to the barred widows of the asylum.  This is what life is like without that middle finger, my little red imp that started it all.  I haven't much left in me in the way of "fuck off and die" anymore.  Their benevolent smiles hide one hell of a set of sharp teeth. Who are "they" anyway?  I know and I don't know, so don't ask me. I do know that I can't fight toe to toe and win.  I couldn't before when I had the guts to salute them right in front of their faces.  I killed off the one little thing that did stand up to conformity.  Why? Because I age and friends get farther away and fewer in number.  I need a break from the fight. It's a bit pointless to keep a good supply of piss and vinegar around these days, when there's little interest in fighting.

When all of us are queued up in perfect rows, running in perfect interlocking circles, listen closely to those hands holding the cash; that will be your only applause. I did a bad thing and laid down my middle finger.  I had a total bullshit overload this past year or so and just had to be silent for a while.  I may have rambled and I may have not made much sense here, but at least while I made the effort to finally publish this post, my middle finger was doing pushups and slowly getting back in the game.  

P.S. I say to "They": buzz off and feel slight discomfort!!!  HA! Well, I have to start off small or I'm likely to get a cramp.