Help Me. Or, Turn It Off.

My mind wanders, it’s what it always has done and always will do. It’s how I get the best things that I’ve ever written, it’s how I express myself is my love language, it’s how I’ve gotten myself into every single disaster that I’ve ever gotten myself into. It wanders and sometimes all I can do is just come along for the ride and hope that when it’s done, I know where I am and I can get back home okay.

Every since the beginning of the COVID pandemic, it’s been wandering further and further afield because it has less to concentrate on than it normally does. Which is awkward seeing as I actually have my children more often than I normally do, but that’s besides the point altogether I suppose

This morning, I wrote a thing. I’m not ashamed of what I wrote, nothing of what I wrote is a lie or even vague in its meaning. The problem with what I wrote this morning is that it was so purely unintentional. It came out then a torrent that I could not control until I was doing the editing after the fact.

Now, as much as I’d like to say that I’m not in control of what I’m writing and that there’s some eldritch power controlling me from beyond mankinds understanding, what I think is happening is that I am allowing myself to slip into my own head and hide there for a while because I am not a big fan of what I see in the real world anymore.

I’m vaguely aware of what I’m writing now, but I’m writing it mostly because I’m in the middle of a panic attack and a migraine and I’m lying in bed in my bedroom, in the dark with the air conditioner on full blast and I’m just talking into my phone with my eyes closed. Which, is why you might see far more typographical errors in the field of punctuation than you normally would when it comes to writing that I present.

I was telling my best friend just the other day that sometimes I just need to say things. I I’m very well aware of how few people read the things I write, and that’s okay because I don’t write 90% of it for them, I write it for myself and is a record for the things I’m going through at the moment.

So as I’m sitting here feeling like a stranger in a strange land, not knowing if I am sane or not, it behooves me to ask my favorite people for help. Now while I wish I could talk to all of you directly, I can’t. I can’t do that because life is cruel right now and I would give anything to talk to some of you face-to-face. Hell, I would give anything to yell at people I don’t like face-to-face at this point.

I don’t want pity, I don’t want understanding, I want help. Not the professional kind, I’m already on the list or two for that. Yes, the same list that I’ve been on for over a year now. Maybe I just want people to tell me what’s real and what’s fantasy? Where my thoughts stop and the real world begins?

Either way, my head hurts too bad to keep going.

Be kind to one another, love one another, wash your hands, wear your fucking masks.

I love you, and as always, until next time, I bid your peace.

Without Darkness There Can Be No Light

So, I am in a mood to rant and I wanted to bring up some classics, so, why don’t y’all grab a nice warm cup of coffee, or tea, or an iced whatever, and listen to the Bear get some of the poison out of himself so maybe, one day, he will be able to say all of it is gone and he is as normal as people who don’t carry resentment and gate with them like treasured possessions.

Plus, no names, y’all know who these people are, so why give them power by putting their names in things so they can go ahead and play the victim?

I suppose we have to talk about the one whose name actually came up like the gorge from a dying sycophantic whore this morning. She stole thousands of dollars, hundreds of hours of our time, and she even had the audacity to claim that I was taking her away from my children. Well. I mean, yes, when I tell you to GTFO, that is generally what I want you to do is to get away from me and mine.

Every time I saw you it towards the end I was always curious how your hand would end up in my wallet that day. I was with you for some of the things you needed money for, so I know that some of them were actually legitimate things. I di understand that. I have been rat fuck poor for the majority of my life, which is why I never hesitated, even when I KNEW you were lying to my face, to all of us, just to feed some ego trip you decided to go on to see how much you could get from the guy with the shattered heart and broken soul.

Thank You, Drive Thru, Next.

I could rant about you all the rest of my days and never get to the root of it all. I will talk about broken promises today though. How you swore you would never get back on it, over and over and over again. How you said you were done and it was a one-time thing. How you told me you would NEVER drive like that with him in the car. I mean I guess the big one was until Death Do Us Part, right? I mean, did you go a week before Wayne? yeah, yeah I know about Wayne at the Canal in the Buick. Which, by the way, sounds like such a banal and stereotypical fucking “she cheated on me story” as to be laughable. He told me by the way, a few days later. He told me and he was actually upset. I won’t speak ill of Wayne though, that man had a nightmare for a life and all you did was push him a little farther towards the end you and I both know he had. However, in the end, maybe he got the justice he deserved when you died and even now are sitting in a lake of your own filth somewhere begging everyone and anyone for everything and anything.

Pretty Sure That’s Enough, Isn’t It Darlin?

I have tried man. Almost forty damn years I have tried. I tried to be a Friend. I tried to be Brother. I tried to be the Dad. I tried to let you do all the things, I tried tough love, I tried a combination and I even went ahead and tried, well, where we are now. I was so happy when you met Kris and all of them, still am actually. This isn’t blood and water shit, no. No, I gave up on that old axiom years ago, we all did. You found your Family, I found my Tribe, the other one, well, misery is its own company.

I don’t wish you harm, illness, failure, or pain. Quite the opposite of all of them in fact. However, what I can promise you is that I will not do it all over again when it gets too hard for you and you need to quit. You still hate me for the decision I made when Thundercunt was here, and maybe I was wrong, but you need to pretend to understand that no matter my fault in it, you were wrong. You don’t treat a human-like that, never mind someone that the both of us, stupidly I’ll admit, loved. Like meat, like a…thing. I can’t ever let that go, not after what we grew up in, not after the nights when we would listen to the other scream, then you turn and you try to do that? In MY House?

No. Done.

Since I did the baby, I suppose it would scandalous of me not to talk about you now, wouldn’t it? The forced matriarchal figure of the wee little clan that we have now. All of them dead, all of the best parts of the name destroyed before we were even thoughts in drunken people’s minds. You have to go back to Ireland to find any one of them that is worthy of a wooden nickel. They at least knew how to love their children. I don’t blame what you have become completely on you however, no, this is definitely a case of nurture over nature. I remember you when you were sweet and kind. Remember when you were at Columbus and you were in that play and you were the storyteller? That is the best incarnation of you that I can bring to my heart.

That was during some of the worst of it, but you don’t believe that any of it did, and for that, I can never forgive you. I can not simply accept that you will deny my pain and her crimes simply because they are icky things that you are uncomfortable thinking about. I have wronged you, Goddess knows I have, but I have never taken your pain and simply tried to make it disappear, never.

I can’t anymore. I won’t.

Well, now I think it is my turn. Do you know the person writing this? Oh, I hate myself a thousand times more than I will ever hate any of these people. I hate that I was the teenager I was, I hate that it took me so long to talk about what my mother did, I hate that I fought with my wife and didn’t enjoy EVERY second with her. I hate that I am not a good father, I hate that I can be a shitty friend. I hate that I constantly need the affirmations of others to make myself seem less like the fucking loon I know I am.

I hate how I hurt you when you needed me most Bear. I walked away from you and instead of talking and doing, I did drugs, married a whore thrice over and destroyed the lives of others so I could not, would not, feel the soul-crushing agony of just being me.

Now, this is isn’t a suicide note, I will end with a bit of optimism.

I try.

Yes, yes I fail more often than I don’t, but some days I even manage two steps forward and one back so there is actual progress and not just me punching the same wall in Sisyphean idiocy until I am bloody and broken, vacillating between moods like a strobe light between on and off.

My Tribe holds me together, pushes me when I need it, screams at me when I need it, kicks me in the ass when I need it and I can never love them enough for all the things they have done, do still, and will most likely do in the near and far future.

See, happy endings.

Now, take a deep breath and, like me, cast all of this from your mind and remember that it is all just a day by day adventure.

Wear your masks, wash your hands, love one another, and, always, until next time, I bid you peace.

Welcome Me Back To The Light, By Coming With Me To The World Of Darkness

I was greatly influenced by White Wolf Publishing’s World Of Darkness and all of its assorted and prolific issue. Indeed I was a Live Action Role Player for a time, as the books were indeed designed with that purpose, however, mostly it is the rich mythology and world-building of the White Wolf universe that left me in awe. They truly went from Creation to the modern-day and other than their slivers of fantasy, they left the majority of the world alone so you could suspend belief just enough that what you were reading wasn’t the babbling of an idiot with too much Whiskey in them for the day.

There has been this itch in my head for weeks now to write something sprawling, interconnected, yet nestled safely in a known vector. Late last night, as I was laying in bed struggling to sleep, the World of Darkness popped into my mind unbidden and I was convinced that I had found precisely what I had been looking for this entire time. Then, as happens when we find the golden thread in the center of the labyrinth, we run as fast as we can with it until we free ourselves of the maze.

That being said, I have decided that I am essentially going to rewrite the birth of the World Of Darkness. This entails the birth and betrayal of Caine (the World Of Darkness adds the e), the formation of the First and Second Cities, the origin of the Clans, all of it. It is an easy write because I have all the source material, so research is a minimal thing and the enjoyment is epic, so my Return of Investment is nearly perfect. The fact that I am not going to do them in any particular time frame makes it even easier. Once a day? Three a week? I don’t know. I just know I am going to get them all done.

Today is a different day than yesterday. Before you all roll your eyes and make the obvious jokes regarding days following one another, maybe hear me out a little bit and curb the acerbic remarks that are internally done to their designated cooking times.

These last few weeks have been immensely hard for me.

An ending to a relationship that I did not see ending, the anniversary of the death and the birthday of my late wife, the coronavirus, civil unrest, fighting family, having to actually say the sentence “…but the Aryan Brotherhood isn’t supposed to be your friends..”, a lot of shit went down and is still going down and my brain is using this little side project as a way to direct the energy that would be put towards the toxic people in my life and soul away and into something that, if nothing else, gives me a sense of joy and accomplishment.

So, yeah, it’s different.

I have the energy I haven’t had in weeks because I had a talk with a dear friend yesterday that reaffirmed my faith in the Goddess Herself and the intended consequences of supposed randomness.

So I will take a break for a few hours, play with my kids, take care of the literal and metaphorical housecleaning that needs to be done and when you next read things here you will enter into the World of Darkness with me and take the first steps into a broader truth.

I Couldn’t Say Nothing, I Wanted To, I Did, I Just Can’t

You would have been thirty-nine today. You would have been surrounded by love and happiness and jokes and booze and all manner of debaucheries. I was going to sit and write this immense thing, a tell-all of things that would make people love you even more than they already do as if that were possible.

In the end, though, I won’t, because today I want to keep you and the memories I have of you to myself, just for one day. I share you with everyone because they NEED to know how wonderful you were. Today, however, I keep you and the memories that go with this day in years past to myself.

Tomorrow we will share you once again love.

It Is A Duty, Not A Privilege

Today is one of my favorite days to live in the country I live in. It is a day where I, the simplest man among millions can go and cast a vote to decide the fate of the land. I can, like many sadly have, choose to back oppression, racism, xenophobia, homophobia and transphobia, ignorance, and strict adherence to religious dogma. I could do this easily.

Or.

I can vote for a world where my children and their children can love who they want, can walk down the streets without fear, and can know that it is the science of reason that leads the minds in charge, discipline to the knowable, and maybe, just maybe, when I finally shuffle the coil of mortality and look my three beautiful children in their eyes one last time, I will not worry that they will be hurt by the government that is sworn to protect them.

There is no more beautiful and fulfilling part of being a citizen of the United States than being able to vote and decide, along with hundreds of millions of others, who will lead us into the future as a country.

Fucking Vote.