Mixed Messages

Heat

Proper hot today from what I understand. The warm where even skinny motherfuckers say it is hot and not just me, a fat Bear, wiping tit sweat off on the shirt kind of a hot day. I can imagine how lame and suck today is going to be. Instead, I can tell you other things; I have decided to do the latter because that seems more productive than whining about meteorological phenomena. I can do absolutely nothing about how much I desire to do that thing.

I have been giving serious thought to keeping this, the blog, and then moving all the other things, like the stories, to another platform to keep the messages distinct. I think it gets a little blurry when I start talking about the downfall of the government and then follow it up with a story about a magic alley. I don’t need to do this, of course not; it just seems like a more streamlined way of getting the things I want to get out, out. So that’s one thing that has been on my mind.

Another thing that has been on my mind is a real tech thing that I want to write down even if it only makes sense. See, I have ten terabytes of storage on external, USB, hard drives, and I want to find a convenient way to have them all connected to the laptop I am using without filing every USB hole like an actress at an AVN award show. I know what I should do, but money being a thing that doesn’t magically appear when I want it to, I have decided to have fun filling up the new five terabyte drive I am getting today and worrying about the rest of it another day.

I am the only person on the ground floor of my house right now, which is an oddity for the record. The Elder Duck got his marching orders for school, so he is trying to get himself back into a routine, and the Babeh Duck must have been a pain in the ass, or he would still be down here, being a pain in my ass. I will revel in this as I can, my coffee all poured and nineties metal pouring into my earholes in the best possible way, loudly.

All of that having been said, I am going to play some Skyrim before that is taken away from me by the arrival of the Horde and the monstrosities they bring with them on screeching voices and hooked claws.

Loves

I Have No Idea Why I Wrote Down Quasi Stage Directions Either

Me!!!

Have any of you ever driven through Gary, Indiana? It is right outside of Chicago on the Indiana side of the border, and I have never once, in the dozen or so times I have been by it in whatever vehicular conveyance I was in, not cried. Not tears of beauty, but absolute agony. 

You can tell what it was when it was something at all. You can see the grandeur hidden behind the dirt, disrespect, and disrepair. If you ever see the city and not notice a fire, let me know because I have never had a chance to see that myself., Every single time, there was something on fire, and it just made the entire scene even sadder than it already was.

Interesting Segue Of Some Kind…

Since the quarantine began Gentle Readers, very little in my life has looked clean. It seems like I have been staring through the smoke, which, instead of getting more transparent with the clarity of time to think, has become more and more fogged because I have that delightful habit of massively overthinking everything I do, in every way.

Smart Transition To Current Subject Matter

Last night I sat on my bed for five or so hours, and I made myself a plan of action for a lot of things, including the return to mental health care that I am very well aware I require. I have phone numbers that are written down, calls I need to make, and the entirety of what I call the plan. Of course, only I would come up with this plan on a Saturday night. Still, I suppose that is neither nor there. As long as I follow through on what needs to get done to bring myself, my psyche, and my soul to the levels that I need them to be at for me to be able to function in the ways that I need to. Especially in the ways that my children need me to.

Awkward Spin To The Non-Sequitur

It is going to be a bad headache day, well it already is, but it is going to get a lot worse before it gets better this time. I enjoyed the small respite I had yesterday. I got a few tangible things done I needed to get done as well as drastically overthinking my life-choice, decision-making paradigm.

Disastrously Overspun Outro

That’s all I have for today loves; I wish I had some more, but sometimes the brain runs on empty when it comes to writing down any more pretty words, no matter how many of them are floating around in your head.

Sometimes You Simply Need To See Word After Word Go By

Tidal

It isn’t always about telling a story or making sure that you get your point across to a specific audience. It isn’t perpetually about making you sure you anticipate critique and use it to block the negative carefully. It isn’t even always about letting people read the words that you are writing.

Sometimes you need to write down words as they come into your head with absolutely no destination point in mind, no end to get to, and no saga to continue.

In the summer, blue skies always remind me of laying on my back in the scraggly grass that we had in Lancaster. It wasn’t quite nuked to death by the sun or dehydrated from the sun. It was so comfortable under the fruitless mulberry we had in the front yard. I would look up, and I would see this perfect azure blue to the sky. It wasn’t graduated, it wasn’t layered, it was a solid sheet of the color blue like you were looking at a color swatch in a paint book. When the clouds would come across like little pieces of popcorn, they would always be moving so fast because of the higher elevation that we were in in the desert. They would be there in the shapes that you would turn them into, and before long, they would be speeding away towards the valley to get turned into the movie stars shade and the beach bums weather reports.

The clouds coming over the mountains, coming in from the west, always looked like a giant foam from a wave that would take everything. All that you needed was to wait for just a second. Then there would be a thunderous cataclysm, and the valley would be washed clean of the gang-violence and the broken promises of employers who didn’t need to know your language to offer you a job no one would take for that kind of money. It would erase the pain from the broken families and the terror of the Nightstalker. Even if it had made it down to Millwood Ave, they would have found a way to make the wave wash the truth away and let them hang so desperately onto the alcoholism and deceit that kept the happiest family in the barrio together.

Water is the happiness I have trouble putting into context for someone who has never wanted to disappear in the Pacific and be found like a message in a bottle, thousands of miles away. We would go down to Malibu or Zuma, and they would wait with tapping feet as we tried so hard to get clean in the ocean in the Magellan called the Peaceful Sea. We would dance in the seaweed and the shells and try to keep our eyes open the entire time. We wanted a recording of the moments we got there, of the times when we were truly free. Sooner, always sooner, we would be back in the car driving up the PCH and back to the air that was so dirty you needed to breathe slower on the cloudy days if you would fall over and cough up blood.

We left the ocean, where there is no memory of ill or fault and only raw power and beauty. I fell in love with here, I honestly did. I have sat by the lake with a fifth of Whiskey and a folded over notebook trying to be Dylan Thomas with a heroin problem, or later on, maybe I was Coleridge without the heroin problem. I would write my nonsense prose, my rhyming couplets, my sing-song story poems, and at the end of the day I would walk back down 19 to the shit hole on the corner of 18 and climb into bed and listen to the same five songs I still welcome into my soul every day.

As things must go, days and weeks faded into months and years: death and love, more the latter than the former. I am blessed with beauty in my life that I do not deserve. I look into the eyes of three of the most beautiful creations in existence, and it stops my breath to know I had anything to do with how they have become the wonders they have become.

Sitting here, I never realized how much time had passed, passed with nothing to show for its passage, but scars I cannot heal from and trinkets I would gladly return.

Privilege

Raised Fist

Apparently, people enjoy it when I violently express my opinion via the written word, so feel free to skip if you don’t want to read that stuff. I will tag it #rawrz, so it is abundantly clear that is what is going on in the post, no tomfoolery here, no sir. Nope. Nuh-uh.

That hashtag, #rawrz, that was for this post here as well, for the record.

Ninety-nine percent of my life, I have been able to stay in my very comfortable, not disenfranchised, privileged, white lane. I say ninety-nine, not because of a sudden shift in my status. I mean it because, like all of us in a position of privilege in our lives, we need to take a step back and realize that is indeed the case. We need to see what we can do to help humanity. Not just reap the benefits of being born looking the right way, in the correct country, or whatever privilege schema applies to you.

I can whine and bitch like the “All Lives Matter,” “Not All Men,” and whatever anti-truth protestor slogan is the popular word choice. I can say stupid things like, “I’ve been to jail, I get the struggle.”

That’s what I am going to talk about today.

Yes, I have been to jail, or more correctly, prison. I was federally convicted on multiple felony counts. I was sentenced to a massive amount of time before I decided, with no shame, to turn states-evidence and give them everything I had on everyone. A rat? A snitch? Snitches and stitches? Yes, I have heard all of them and have scars that I can’t show you unless you know me really well.

Instead of the nearly two decades I was sentenced to, and I served seventeen months in isolated and protected custody at a federal prison of some reputation in New York. 

Now, boo hoo for me. I was taken into the system and changed, and I was disenfranchised or broken

No, man, no. I went to prison, yes. Things happened there that I still don’t talk about sober, yes. However, look at the paragraphs above. I got seventeen years where people who are, and let’s be honest, more melanated than myself, have received life without parole. Forever. In Hell. I was there for a year and a half. Some of the people I saw in there are not only still in there 25 years later, but they had been there since before I was born, for things that seem so very minor.

So that is how I checked my privilege, the way I took a step back, and realized I am indeed in a position that so many are not. I would never have met my wife, had my children, loved the people I have loved since then. All because I am a white dude in a country that favors you being a white dude.

I am not going to preach the rest of the word, that is not my place. I will direct you to where you can hear that word being taught by people struggling every day of their lives.

Please, educate yourself. Here’s a jumping-off point.

https://blacklivesmatter.com

https://www.allure.com/story/black-lives-matter-where-to-donate

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Lives_Matter

In a Society that has Abolished Every Kind of Adventure, the Only Adventure is to Abolish the Society.

Adventure

I suppose, in the end, it is all a Machiavellian exercise more than anything else. If indeed the ends justify the means, then anything done to achieve them is perfectly acceptable legal and fair in the field of play. If Machiavelli was a pompous twat, however, then there may be a storm brewing that there is an ass-kicking coming that may not be a particularly grand and marvelous thing to participate in from either side of the line.

On the other hand, if you want to take a moral high-ground and then come out and play dirty pool, is it my fault if you get your ass explosively handed to you by the aggrieved party? If you dirty box from the clinch, then you deserve to have your fucking instep destroyed like a scurrying waterbug across a kitchen floor during an open house.

There is a war of words coming, Gentle Readers. It is a war that will pit the Good against Evil. I do not say that as a metaphor, I say that as Truth. If you stand with a man who reeks of the putrescence that he has surrounded himself with since he crawled from the womb, then you are a bad guy, and you get what you fucking deserve when you get kicked to the floor and motherfucking curb-stomped.

You want to be on the right side of history for this. When your children’s children look back and ask you why you stood with Madness instead of the hand of Liberty and Love, you need to look them in the eye and say…? What? “Lock her up?” “Mexico Will pay For It?” “No Collusion?” Are you indeed so well and genuinely mindfucked that you think any of that has ever been crucial to the Dumpster Fuck In Chief?

You need to take a breath and realize that you are supporting a man who wishes pedophiles well. He stood with Nazis and endorsed violence. He called Mexican immigrants rapists, derided women and people of color. He has Stasi-like kidnappings happening in America, even as I am writing this. Most importantly, he has been stealing tens of millions since the first second of his abortive presidency.

You look at the eyes of those future generations and tell me that the sacrifice of Democracy was worth it because you are uncomfortable watching people who look different than you having a cookout, that you are okay with people getting their doors kicked in and murdered. That “All Lives Matter,” as long as they are the ones you get to carefully fucking curate.

Anger is expected, encouraged, and commended.

The revolution WILL BE TELEVISED.