excitable boy

26 05 2010

It’s a decrepit attitude, henceforth ever in decline with every passing day but it’s mine, owned and distributed by me. Molded and formed, I pass some of the credit to others. Never more the resilient child that I was, the child that could be brought back to the former shape by those close to me. I now wobble and steer a crooked path through life. Still hoping to hit in the general proximity of the objective I once saw as easily achievable. No the false sense of security replaced by a vanishing vantage point of life’s successes, a Warren Zevon parable of loss, truth and love. Self pity no, altruistic hardly an observation mostly. It’s an endurance test, a race, in life things come up short, people are pliable but not indestructible and fail to regain their resiliency with the constant battering, an inherent flaw or modest effort in gaining grace or losing faith.

 “Carmelita hold me tight I think I’m sinking down”  I can appreciate a line so prolific considering the source, I raise my glass to you Mr. Zevon  as those sounds emit from my speakers as the bourbon soaks into my porous soul. You can seek refuge but can you ever truly escape the storm, when the storm is all you’ve ever known….hope says yes and in the moment that maybe enough.





woman attention deficit disorder…w.a.d.d.

21 05 2010

It was only a thin veil, enough to keep me intrigued and engaged, not enough to impassion me to say something profound. She fit neatly into one of those categories in that shoebox in my own mind labeled “Middle Aged Women”.

The drone of the coffee shop music and the rhythmic guttural tone of her voice, lead me to believe that this dissertation was going to be a minute. In those moments the automated survival instinct kicks in, escaping down that rabbit hole of my own creation I slide out of minds sight while nodding egregiously to ever uptick.  To that though; I smile at the very tan very young barista sneaking a peak at me through the steam of the latte machine and I ease into the Lazyboy of my mind, we might be here awhile.  

 Back to the shoebox ah yes here it is filed under “obstinate over opinionated man eater” footnote: approach with caution!

 Somewhere between my daydreaming thought of the 20 something year old barista standing naked in front of me with a smile, latte cream strategically placed, the gnawing realization that the black coffee I had been sipping on had knocked something fiercely loose from my upper G.I. and it was moving at light speed towards a quick exit. I snapped to and excused myself to find the bathroom, my new friend look peeved as I cut her off mid sentence, (obviously not understanding the sudden need for me to exit so rudely). Of course you’d think in this pint sized coffee shop I could find the damn bathroom (starting to sweat), I had to ask the young barista who kindly pointed to a closet sized room right next to her latte machine, perfect.

 *Much like a bad episode with tequila I had once, I have yet returned to drinking the fine Kona blend coffee that I drank that morning. Having never attended a seal beating, I can only imagine the pitch and noise from which my balloon knot was producing had a similar quality as the anus barrage continued well past the allotted time for this solitary bathroom. The door handle jiggled a couple of times and whomever it was finally (probably more out of fear for the howls escaping from my enlarged lower intestines) left me alone. I knew it was epic but somehow found humor and relief that I had not shit my Columbia crème colored cargo shorts before finding les toilettes. When I stepped out it was apparently obvious to my young barista who now looked intently into her latte machine no longer giving those sideway flirtatious glances.

 No sense in hiding my extended absence I breathed heavy in an expression of relief. My date seemed rather contemplative and as if on cue knowing I was not really engrossed in our prior conversation then went on to say something very profound (actually the prompting measure to write this little jig).

  “What I’m saying is that I’m not looking for a relationship. I’m looking for a fuck buddy”. Okay now I’m all ears. She continued knowing she had triggered my finely honed listening skills. “So the way I see it, guys at your stage of life really don’t like women at my stage of life.” “In fact you have very little tolerance for all the energy sucking resources they fail to offer but you endure because you need some form of validation” ……….. and there it was she had summed up an honest assessment and pretty much nailed something I might have been in denial about but hearing it with such candor from the opposite sex, I had to agree. And by agreeing was an admission an egregious developed flaw, one that grows in the mix of failures, love, loss, abuses and control an inherent adjunct a fissure grown so vast it was now a part of my landscape. She got it but I was living a life of false hopes somehow thinking that I could emerge unscathed from a being thrown through a glass window. Pride, ego battered and bruised so obvious to the onlookers but not so to the ones like me who can not, will not admit defeat even in the smallest incision to the severe loss of a limb. No we wallow in our own abusive actions compounded by another round of false hope. I keep thinking tomorrow will be different, I’ll wake up to a searing light that will blind me and a voice will speak reaching into my gullet and evacuate what ails me and miraculously I will jump up and start running without abandonment again, no fear of the large pane of glass around the corner. In other words I’m kind of fucked.  

I almost didn’t notice the smallish hand sliding north to my dangling majesty. I jumped realizing I was in my own deep thought again. In fact whatever she said past that point I never really heard, sometimes people say something and hits home whether she realized it or not. Whatever bad intentions I had before seemed less important now, especially since I was only marginally interested before and now that the cards were on the table, the game seemed less then appealing. I stood up in my hazing demeanor slid a ten spot on the table and leaned over and place the most intense kiss on her smoke laden lips that I could for being in a coffee shop. And I whisper “I am not and will not be your boy toy” Veil removed her face shown her age in the light as it poured through the coffee shop window. She was in love and disgusted in that moment, it was obvious to the by-stander. I walked to my truck not looking back, lighting my cigarette and smiling at my decrepit attitude. Citizen Cope poured from the floor board JBL speakers and I drove not knowing where I was going and in some small way not really caring being alone was better then being validated in this one moment.





i like the way you stroke my blog

11 02 2010

Every wonder why we write blogs?

I’m sure some blogs are actually functional but I really could care less about learning the exacting techniques on making a pumpkin flambé. No we‘re here because there is a certain amount of validation we seek, not so much concerning our proper use of pronouns or conjunctive sentences moreover the approval about our menial functions in life. The grandness of a new baby, the loneliness of divorce, the allure of infidelity, political views, art , love ….war all written/posted with the hopes of validation…..all seemingly the most important moment in our lives at the moment it was written. And yet the exposure is minimal at best, just one friend is all we need to make our penned endeavor worth it. We are all flawed in such a way, social entrepreneurs in the process of bolstering our own views and beliefs.

I appreciate and can not get enough of reading your blog, these train wrecks you call life are a precious episodic read for me. There really is a wealth of useless information being spewed out like the muzzle end of a sewer pipe, when the truth of the real issue is so painfully obvious to us the reader. The truth in which the writer may or may not want to hear….”you’re flawed too” is not an easy thing to hear, hence why I get more blocked comments than approved ones….oh the hypocrisy of it all. Yes I am just as fucked or else why would I need a blog too (my self-admission to all my insecurities my need for the morphine of your comments to ease my social delirium). So I write this blog to find common animosity for the very thing I write about, a search for a friend who will sticky sweet the moist tender part of this blog for me, validate me with a comment…write on my wayward souls.





why so flawed?

18 12 2009

It’s my parent’s fault……..well not all of it but in a way as many good parents do unknowingly they instilled in me an inherent flaw. It’s not something you can necessarily pin point other than that navigational beacon in the midst of the fog covered moral complications we all encounter on our life’s journey. Mom and Dad did a good job, my moral compass has lead me to do what’s right at those junctures where it would have been so easy to take the road more well traveled. Even now at 40 I still want to kick the asses of those little bastards, morally incompetent kids that cheated at kickball, tether ball and the assorted playground games…..you know who you are, or do you? I knew if I played by the rules and they didn’t I could never say anything, I just hoped their conscience would get the better of them and wham they would apologize for winning the game unfairly…..I’m still waiting. Maybe only now the bitterness has moved so far deep into my bones that I ache for the ignorance of not knowing when the lie presents itself but my bullshit meter is finely honed and my moral compass keeps me in this rabbit hole. Now I am not so righteous that I won’t admit to having tried my best to be an unmodel citizen of the used and abused but as a lady once told me as I left church, as she ever so gently lay her hand on my shoulder  “you always do what’s right in the end” I think it was my big J.C. moment she was right I was and would always be inherently flawed despite the wrongs which have been levied against me. I am the walking wounded but consciously aware of my predicament.

 Things really started to unraveled 6 years ago and for the embarrassment of every bereaved and cheated spouse I am still for intensive purposes still depraved and waiting for my saving grace but it seems that if humility is the doorway to grace, it’s a much bigger fucking door in my case. I still seek companionship from the other survivors of similar shipwrecks but damn if the other survivors know how to make the most of driftwood to stay afloat. Myself I let go so they might have a fighting chance…why? again my parents did a good job as I bubble to a deeper depth. I have every intent on just making wildlife documentaries with these fine persons and somewhere along the sexually exploitive nature of this short film my conscious kicks in, knowing the only attachment is the sexual organ donation I have made. Women definitely fall in love quicker and seem to have the ability to fallout even faster…maybe it’s the nature in which I stay and try to explain how it’s me…. not them, the perfection in my absolving any misgivings is my final masterpiece. They seem to stabilize and kick the afterburner of feelings into their jet stream, finding love as quickly as they have left it and me I watch in udder disbelief that I could have actually felt bad but comforted in the manner in which I handled the breakup…”.I always do what’s right in the end “ as I light up my last cigarette and slowing fade into some generous helping of self loathing.

 I’m having Christmas dinner with my ex and her new husband ( mr infidelity #2) they want to show me their newly remodeled bathroom, cinema room in their home on the North side of town, yes the renovations I paid for because I pay my child support in advance. The dinner will be a choking reminder of my shortfall but I will smile and eat their ham because it’s not often I get pity and gloating all in the same meal. I smoke cigarettes much better these days and my only salvation is the thought of my reward as soon as I get into my vehicle, that is if I don’t slip and bust my ass on their expansive newly paved driveway. I will drive back to my rented house a third of the size of theirs, my rent half the size of my monthly support check, back in the bad part of town, back to where the other down on your luck folks live, the ones who have done the right thing ? or maybe despite our best effort it’s an inevitable gather place for lost souls. No Christmas music this year, another smoke maybe, the drift, the sonnet of some sweet Rolling Stones as I close my eyes and fall asleep with a clear conscious that I have done what my parents have always wanted of me….I am a good boy albeit inherently flawed.