to resolve

All my complaining and wining and crying and esoteric attention seeking extroverted clicks of the keyboard in blogoshpere, in the end, they're all excuses. I'm not at the end, but I'd like to be. All the thousands of years old wisdom, the complete truth of the moment is always available, always waiting in motion, never ceasing motion, every repeating opportunity to wake entirely to the eternal dance of energy in fields of consistent probability of manifesting the atomic structure of the molecules that I perceive as me. And in a state of continuous awake I chop the wood, and carry the water.

Well, I wish I did. Not chop wood, and I usually only carry glasses or plastic jars of water for drinking. Me, I need to be washing dishes, sweeping and mopping, shopping and cooking (my least favorite of all), and all those domestic chores that make a child's life more inspiring to achieve pontential. My house and the home it frames are in neglected disarray, entropy has the chore list. And I indulge in my own mental torturing as yet another excuse to not rise to the occasion, this particular moment when sleepless as I am, I could in 2 hours or so, have a clean kitchen. But gosh, I had to hide my head between pillows and cry so my son wouldn't hear. Now I'm sitting with bad posture staring at the letters walking out in time to my dancing fingers on the monitor window into blogosphere. Nothing wrong with crying or hiding it, and it's good for me to write, my foolishness lies in not getting over it and getting on with it. The only way for getting out of depression, is get out of depression, and if you can't, you might as well get something done. And by you I mean me. I have no idea how you the reader can get out of depression. Hopefully you're not in it, because that's the best way to get out of it, don't get in it.

So I'm going to make another concerted effort to stop my foolishness and make myself a better man. Quitting cigarettes is the single most important step I can take. I made it 5 days last try. I'm shooting for infinity. Providing guidance by maintaining awareness for my son is the second most important. I must spend my time-space-energy focused and active on work+home+school=family.

My sincere thanks to all you bloggers who have taken time to acknowledge me and especially you who've conversed with me. I appreciate you even if I don't particularly like you. Namaste.

If I'm progressing on the healing path, I'll be less present in the blogosphere. Highly likely to keep posting, less likely to comment or respond. So if you see me around these parts, tell me to get lost, and I'll say I already am, thanks for finding me, I'll get back on the path now.

Picture a tipping hat followed by a receding rear.

soon

the drugs will kick in and I hope they obliterate everything. The days are ok. The phone rang. I slid into nothingness. I want no awareness. Mornings seem better.

Last night was bad

I started losing my grip, pondering departure, and instead of doing the wise thing, going to sleep, I tried to fix the problems I'm having with Windows XP. Bill Gates grew horns and began jabbing me with a red hot trident. Then everybody became part of the conspiracy to ruin my life. There was enough of me left to not buy into it, and I turned the damn machine off. I climbed into bed, and uncharacteristically fell right to sleep. The phone rang sometime after 11, and in a disoriented haze, I was trying to turn off my alarm (I use my cell phone for my alarm clock) almost in tears that it was 6:30 already. Then I realized I was talking on the phone and I looked at the time. Mercifully, the caller said sorry and I hung up, and fortunately fell back asleep. I woke up feeling relatively fine, but I think I'm coming down with something and that probably triggered the episode. It fucking sucks, and I'm amazed I ever get anything done in my life.

round trip sleepless

Tonight I will drive to S.F. airport, turn around and drive back. I've been hitting the coffee, but I'm still feeling tired. Somehow I'll make it. It's to help a family in need that helped us when Peggy was dying. She has to fly with her 5 year old and 10 year old to her husband's sentencing in Virginia, which is almost certain to be postponed because the court does that regularly. Drug laws and enforcement is tragically absurd. Putting a father in prison for 15 years for trying to provide for his family by providing a significant population segment with what they crave, it's sad. Another case of he's done nothing wrong, he just broke the law. So I'm saving their family the cost of a one way rental because they couldn't get flight out of Arcata/Eureka airport (in McKinleyville). Their flight leaves at 7, so we're aiming to get there around 5am. To save the hotel cost, we'll drive all night, then I'll drive back. I've got a book on tape to pass the driving time, and hopefully keep my mind off her. Sheesh, should I even post this? Yes says the extroverted self.

Spring Broke

I had such high hopes for this spring break. As I look back on the week, now more than 1/2 over, I can't really think of much I've accomplished. I'm not smoking, so that's good. I made a bunch of appointments. I did record more parts for Morning and mixed it down and uploaded it. That took most of a day between chores. I set up my old computer next to my recording station so I don't have to move the board everytime I want to mix to computer. I sent a huge mound of sheets and blankets to the thrift store, and filled a garbage can with sheets and clothes that noone would want. I bought some pants that fit my new waist size, though I back up to 161, which is probably healthier than 152. But shopping and cleaning aren't very satisfying. Proabably the most meaningful thing I did was get my son set up to attend Sylvan. Hopefully they'll get his reading skills up. I'm learning again that the constant stiffness and pain in my body are a big source of my reluctance to take on projects. Climbing under the house to work on the wiring is so unappealing. But that's only part of it. It's some brand of laziness or lack of ambition or fear or something. Somehow, I've got to push myself on. So what will I do now once I'm done with this pointless writing exercise? Pick something on the list and do it. First, I think I'll stretch out and walk the dog.

My day

After a good night's sleep, and a long slow rise, I took my son to the peace march, against his repeatedly expressed wishes for otherwise. He played in a tree and with a dog while I talked through the speeches, then we marched to F st, turned left and high tailed it towards the car, jumping a bench or two on the way. After a quick check in the pawn shop for a birthday present, we drove threw fast food, flew to get a gift and hit the first birthday party. Two to five I stood around feeling awkward while the kids raged. Put away chairs and tables, swept the floor of the hall, and was the last to leave except the mother of the two birthday kids, one day and five years apart. Went to the next birthday party at the bowling alley. Sat and talked and completely ignored any sense of responsibility. Went back home, grabbed a sleeping bag for pink haired boy and my bass and amp, dropped him at his selection of the two slumber parties, and boogied out to blue lake for a party. Didn't even need my bass. There was sweet sweet moonstone and nice amp setup thanks to Motorhead. Took turns jamming and did I have a blast. I even sat on the drums for a couple of songs and kept a beat. First time ever I was able to keep up on the drums. Stayed a long time after listening to Motorhead tell stories. Now it's 4am and I'm totally wired and it's so cold my hands hurt and typing is painful. I'm really glad I'm feeling like one whole person again.

March Times On

Tomorrow night is our first Relay for Life team meeting. It is also Peggy's birthday. It is the month we got married. It is the month we separated. It's also a month where I typically go through some sort of chemical change. I suppose the coming of Spring and the change in the amount of light triggers it. I'm really hoping for a dramatic change. I've felt more out of control this winter than I have in a long time. There are times when it's like another personality takes over my consciousness, and I am compelled to do things that I cannot resist. I remember a time when my daughter was four. I was driving home from work, and running late, and I suddenly realized I'd taken the wrong exit. It was like I had exited my body and was watching myself drive. I parked on the Plaza, got out of the car, walked across the street and stared in a window of a shop. In the window was a display of children's artwork. The first one I see is by my own daughter. I stood there almost catatonic for a short time, then I snapped out of it, got in my car and drove home. I assume that somewhere in my mind was a recollection of hearing that the display would be there, and that's why it happened. In the Merlin/King Arthur trilogy by Mary Stewart, The Crystal Cave, The Hollow Hills, and The Last Enchantment, I related to the descriptions of Merlin being taking over by divination. I work hard at maintaining humility and not believing that it is anything more than a chemical imbalance or a brain disfunction. Hence my belief that it is best for schizophrenics to be atheists.

Redfaced

Copious amounts of wine leads to unrestrained self pity and embarrassing activities. Sobriety leaves a flat affect. Perhaps there's something in between.

I give up

Artificial Happiness

The illusion gets me through another night, but the crash inevitably comes. A box of coffin nails, a bottle of pillows, a flask of solvent, the hobos chosen method of self destruction. Dragging out the inevitable outcome but still taking an active role in its realization.

bittersweet

I hope it was nothing I said or didn't say that caused the conversation to end so soon. I cried the rest of the way home. I'm still overwhelmingly sad. I hope you understand why I don't say much. Even saying that and this is too much. But I have no idea if you're reading this so I risk it.

dredged up again.

This morning, I closed Peggy's other bank account. The banker came in an hour and a half early to notarize the proper form. I suspect there is no end to the feelings of loss and loneliness. The world looks ugly.

And I forgot to mention the wry sense of humor of the universe. Usually when I drive, I don't look up. Today as I drove to work from the bank, I looked up and saw a reminder of my stupidity which added just dandily to my emotional state.

Anybody know where I can find a bird?

What next befell me then and there
I know not well—I never knew;
First came the loss of light, and air,
And then of darkness too:
I had no thought, no feeling—none— 235
Among the stones, I stood a stone,
And was, scarce conscious what I wist,
As shrubless crags within the mist;
For all was blank, and bleak, and gray;
It was not night—it was not day; 240
It was not even the dungeon-light,
So hateful to my heavy sight,
But vacancy absorbing space,
And fixedness—without a place;
There were no stars, no earth, no time, 245
No check, no change, no good, no crime,
But silence, and a stirless breath
Which neither was of life nor death;
A sea of stagnant idleness,
Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless! 250

A light broke in upon my brain,—
It was the carol of a bird;
It ceased, and then it came again,
The sweetest song ear ever heard,
And mine was thankful till my eyes 255
Ran over with the glad surprise,
And they that moment could not see
I was the mate of misery.
But then by dull degrees came back
My senses to their wonted track; 260
I saw the dungeon walls and floor
Close slowly round me as before,
I saw the glimmer of the sun
Creeping as it before had done,
But through the crevice where it came 265
That bird was perched, as fond and tame,
And tamer than upon the tree;
A lovely bird, with azure wings,
And song that said a thousand things,
And seemed to say them all for me! 270
I never saw its like before,
I ne’er shall see its likeness more;
It seemed like me to want a mate,
But was not half so desolate,
And it was come to love me when 275
None lived to love me so again,
And cheering from my dungeon’s brink,
Had brought me back to feel and think.

Lord Byron

ideation

If it were an option i would. Joni Mitchell sings, "i'd go back there in a moment, but for the work I've taken on." There are only more layers to the onion, and all the cutting brings tears. I speak cryptically and mean it both ways. But as each layer is peeled away, there are less layers left. But sorrow is a funny onion, and the layers seem endless. Everytime I think I've reached a manageable level left to go, the dimensions warp and it's like I'm starting over with a replicated version. Not the same texture but still the same flavor and size. I worry that I'm getting through the winter layers, and the spring layers are deceptive. There so much less pungent and tear causing, leaving enough clarity to carry out the ideation. But for the work I've taken on.

Blanket of Dirt

Sleep eludes me
Like a friend that moved away
Dreams replace perception
Inhale exhaustion
Sweat is the skin crying
Boot stomps the shovel blade
Scrunch, grunt, turn
Making a bed
Severing the roots that seek to hold to drink
All the life in the earth
All the death under the sky

We buried a departed dog
We carried a broken heart
I married a corpse who gave birth
To a corpse

Sleep eludes me this cold March morning start
My bed awaits
But I can't pull the covers over me

And the bleeding goes on

There come dimensions and depths of sorrow I never imagined existed. Desire, ignorance, misconception driving choice in the direction of tragedy. I've read that during world war II, Chinese soldiers would gamble on the plane, and since they had no money, the loser would jump to his death when the flight was nearing its end. I feel as one of those soldiers, watching as the dearest person in my life has anted up. Choice matters before it is made. Choice changes nothing after it is made. I'm almost powerless now, and it's at least half my own doing. Even the writing of this risks increasing the imbalance, and the plane door is open.

There is no saving promise, oath, or vow if the soul is seized by night
There is no intervention when access is denied
No distraction without interaction
No redirection unless there's connection

Did I leave the gate open and the wild spirit wandered off by instinct?
Did I neglect and the spirit dug it's way out?
Was I a lost and frail human too weak to express care, and the half-blind spirit saw the wrong half, and sawed the wrong branch?

I do not know. I should not say. I've little interest in the physical world. I'm in solitary confinement in the midst of marionette zombies.