Mid-July

I got no idea what to do with this today. Been feeling that a lot lately. I think it would be a lazy cop out to just write that and leave it at that. Even though it is lazy, it’s honest. This is just some dumb blog but I’m not going to write anything that isn’t true and I’m sure as fuck not going to write anything that I don’t feel or that I don’t believe in. 

Of course, that does not mean every single thing I’m going to write will have weight behind it. Shit, I could write that I want pizza and that could be quite true and something I truly believe in. I’m just not going to bullshit you. Do you believe me? Why do you believe me? What reason do you have to believe me? Fuck. If you do believe me, I have to say that I’m genuinely touched. Thank you. 

I’m surprised that I’ve stuck with this. In the spirit of not bullshitting you, I’m a bit of a flake. I tend to give up pretty easily. That’s why I don’t have a ton to show for 35 years of life. When things get tough, I tend to peace the fuck out. This is a long established pattern. It’s what I do. Yeah, a large part of this tendency is animated by depression. Yeah, I’m too hard on myself but I don’t want to be too easy on myself either. Don’t mistake me for a climber though. What I’m after is fulfillment, personal satisfaction. I could give a fuck about climbing. I know that I’m never getting rich writing poems about rain. Poems. I hardly ever do that anymore. Whenever I try, sometimes I end up with these aggressive, creative rhymes but I just stop when I really can’t rhyme anymore. I do have to say that I got some satisfaction from yesterday’s entry when I started off typing the word ‘fuck’ over and over and over again and then ended up on some semi-poetic meditation on the word ‘fuck’ and the contexts that it gets said among other things. I may re-visit that. 

Saying mean things to Tucker Carlson on Twitter does not make the world a better place but it makes me feel a little bit better about his existence on this planet. I don’t want to debate him. He isn’t worth the effort. He doesn’t give a shit about logic or facts and if I’m being honest (which I try to be.) neither do I. They have their place but in the world we got, they got seriously limited utility. When power decides facts don’t matter, they don’t matter. Tucker may not ever read the barbs I tweet his way but I think there is power in giving a mouthpiece for the protofascist scum running the country the respect he deserves. 

The DSA (Democratic Socialists of America) made me proud this week with their badass direct action in Washington, D.C. and Portland, Oregon. Good work, comrades. 

We have a barbecue at work to celebrate the summer solstice. Work stuff like that tends to be lame but I enjoyed BS’ing with the people I work with. I’m a shy guy by nature but I do enjoy having animated conversations with people and making them laugh or at the very least engaging with people in a genuine sorta way. 

That’s an accurate description of my project, I suppose. Being genuine. Authentic. 

Authenticity however is a bitch and it can be a luxury you just cannot fucking afford sometimes. Shit, I think you can really only have so much of it in a world where your good looks, charm and kindness don’t pay your bills. 

This is the part of the evening where I listen to Roads by Portishead and stare at the ceiling pensively.

On a summer night in mid-July

the asphalt cools from the day’s baking 

and a man recovers from a day that ends in y. 

Legs crossed on the floor like when he was a kid

Window is ajar and the breeze is sweet mercy. 

Mercy hard to come by 

even in mid-July 

if you live long enough. 

Leaned forward. Heartbeat thump. thump. thump. Action. Controller in hand. Rocket League. Maybe this clipped style isn’t as cool as I think it is. Maybe it just sounds weird or contrived or not real. 

I’m watching the game all so closely. Supposedly there are levels to meditation. Maybe I’m experiencing what a monk feels when he is about to really go somewhere. Chill. Chill. Focus. 

I ask myself what I need to do? What is my job in this situation? Clear the ball. Challenge. Aim there. I see the shots lining up for me before they even line up. Never saw any of that before. Couldn’t slow down enough to actually see it. 

I become aware of the pop punk blaring in my headphones as I play. Off With Their Heads. The song is Clear the Air.  For the first time, I actually hear the lyrics.

I never feel happy, I never feel safe I can't let myself ever stay in one place I look in the mirror and I see the face Of a failure who will never be significant The face that you see from the morning to night Is the mask that I put on to hide what's inside I don't take it off until you fall asleep I don't want you to see what lives inside of me 

That reads like angsty teenage journal shit but man, I can sorta believe a real person would write that. Sorta. I thought about the way I would deliver those lyrics. How I would read them, sing them, really sell them. Make you believe them. 

This is me just slowing down and noticing things. We’re most alive when we notice things. Did you ever notice that? 

Okay.

I’ve dabbled in Buddhism. The Buddha talked about subduing your own mind. You need to subdue it because it’s powerful. I guess maybe you can let it play a little but sometimes you’ve got to subdue it and make it do something. 

What I’ve just described would be seen as problematic as fuck by actual Buddhists. Can you imagine how insufferable a Buddhist fundamentalist would probably be? Imagine a self-styled western Buddhist fundamentalist. God. Think about how annoying Calvinists are. When I was in my late 20s, I saw a fair amount of the people I came up with go all Neo-Calvinist. They start wearing black. They grew beards. They listened to this funeral folk music shit that I felt guilty for not liking cuz maybe that meant I was going to Hell. It was all such a drag. It was really fatalistic and mournful and had this twisted conception of God as this holy serial killer who gonna fuck some people up with tornadoes and STIs. 

Part of me still fears going to Hell. 

Part of me wonders if they’re right. 

If they were right, that would be one hell of a plot twist, right? 

Imagine you go through a year of Hell. Imagine losing everything you love. Imagine losing your mind. You stumble upon the truth and it’s the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints or it’s The Church of Scientology. Sometimes I imagine what it’s like to actually believe the truth is in one of those places and to fear that you’re turning away from it if you forsake it. Forget the Job shit. Maybe it’s not that dramatic. Imagine that hole inside you is filled up by what you get in those places. It’s hard for me to conceive but I think about it. 

I’ll tell you what though. I don’t really want to fake it till I make it just because I’m deathly afraid of Hell. No. That does not seem like a very good idea at this juncture. 

Bill Hicks- It s Just A Ride

A choice between fear & love. Words to remember, words to live by. I make zero profit from this, ad is due to an erroneous claim by [Merlin] Absolute Label S...

This feels cliche because the late comedian Bill Hicks tends to be an influence on insufferable artistically-minded types of a certain age. I meet people and I feel like I can sense people who the man spoke to. 

This is one of my favorite bits of Hicks. This spoke to me even when my mind and my world were much smaller. 

I want to write an essay. 

What about? I don’t know. I think I can do it though. It is going to take some trying and some discipline from me though. 

Someone will always think you’re full of shit. That’s okay. 

This is me reading two of my posts. 

Therapy

Second therapy session today. 

I don’t really give a fuck what anyone says. You are only going to be so comfortable telling a stranger that you’re paying about your life. 

It’s a weird thing to say, “This is the type of childhood that I had, this is what school was like for me and this is where I ended up as a result.” 

I get asked the question, “You like to write yet you work in IT. How does that happen?”

Yeah man. It just kinda fucking happened and I don’t know how to get paid to do anything else.