Sometimes You Simply Need To See Word After Word Go By


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.

Three Of A Bunch, Using A Village

This is me, JameyBear

I remember his, Goddess, 2nd? Birthday? Everyone came over and we gave him chocolate for the first time. It was amazing because there was this incredible sense of camaraderie and community. The Village raising the Child.

I love my friend’s children, each one of them I have been honored to know and they have all grown, or are growing, into these incredible young people that have this infinite amount of potential within them. They have literally held me as I cried and took care of me as opposed to the children being taken care of by the adults.. I have held them in the Darkness of their own lives and in those moments I wasn’t mom’s friend Jamey anymore, I became the one you BroHug or the Bruncle Bear.

They are not my children, but I will love and protect them like they are. I will go to them in an emergency, I will never have my doors locked to them, I will give them anything they that they need because THAT IS WHAT YOU ARE FUCKING SUPPOSE TO DO. I don’t care if you subscribe to “Love Thy Neighbor” or the ever-popular “Don’t Be A Dick” of Wheaton’s law. You are supposed to take care of them, love them, nourish, and watch them fucking THRIVE.

Love the People you are blessed with in your life, yes even those that don’t love you back. Don’t be a doormat, don’t be an ATM, don’t make the mistakes of trusting out of a feeling of acceptance. No, choose your loves carefully indeed, but those that you do choose, love them as you have never loved yourself because you will never love yourself as much as you love a child. Yes, even if the child is in their 20’s, or is acting like a colossal tool, or makes decisions you disagree with.

I am sure you were all angels.

A Spot Of Good, Yes?

It isn’t often that I am surprised when I speak to Special Education teachers, they are a rare and beautiful breed of people who get far less credit than they ever receive, even more so than the teachers of all the other kids that are not in their classrooms. They are beautiful people and I have never once met one that I did not instantly feel a connection with as a source of empathy and hope for my children.

The woman I just had a conversation with, however, my Connorface’s teacher for next year if all information and signs point to yes, blew me out of the water in every conceivable way.

She was kind and she understood things that only a teacher, and I learned a few moments later, a mother who deals with this on a daily basis could possibly understand.

Plus, PLUS…

I finally get to get my little boy out of that school that has, while being a wonderful resource for him as a student, has been the most devastatingly horrible experience for my family on a great many levels.

He will be just down the street, he will be safe, he will be cared for.

Happy Bear is Happy.

Over-Communication, Kids Being Home, and Knowing You Are Loved and Adored No Matter What Your Traitor Brain May Tell You To The Contrary


Now that I have the house back to myself, a cup of coffee to warm up the hands and a moment to think, writing for the day can commence. An FYI for all of my Dear Gentle Readers out there, I am going to write a lot today and will be spamming your Facebook and Twitter feeds for a chunk of the day. I am not sorry for it, I just wanted to let you know it was going to happen should you want to mute me for a bit or something, I totally understand I assure you.

So, I fell down the stairs the other day. It’s not that big a deal as I do it at least once a week because this house was designed for persons of smaller stature than myself, and not weight, I mean height. Some of the door frames are barely six feet and, well, I am a little past that, to say the least. I was trying to be careful too. I was walking slowly and all of a sudden I was looking up at the ceiling with a very severe opinion of the construction of the staircase floating around my brain. I am alright mind you, bruised up a little, but nothing too terrible. The worst part is that deep tissue pain that takes forever to go away,it is not particularly pleasant. However seeing as we are going on a week now, it has subsided to practically nothing.

I took Sunday off because I had company at the house, Monday the kids were all home and yesterday I kept the wee lads home because I am a masochist. There is a lot of writing to catch up on and I think it will be a nice day. I may not write a lot as in a lot of different posts, but the posts themselves will be a great deal longer if my brain can make that happen. I am not a fan of diving a thing for the sake of dividing it, so there will be some whoppers out there today I think. Plus, since I keep setting alarms on my phone that I need to write something new, I am going to do that, well I am going to kind of do that. It will make sense, to me at least, when I start it so there is that to consider. I will see what comes out of the brainpan and hopefully.

So, here is the meat of this one.

I have always thought I am a good communicator. I have thought that if nothing else I over-communicate my wants and needs to the other party, but I have been put in a position the last week or so where I no longer feel that this is the case. I have been casting doubt on everything I say, to others or even myself, questioning whether or not it was the right thing to say, in the right tone, at the right time, etc. I know I have a massive inferiority complex, that was drilled into me as a kid so I truly don’t believe I deserve good things, however, I know it is a fallacy so at least it gives me a toehold in the real world to try and change that line of thought, although truthfully I am not sure it could ever be removed completely. So, as my wise best friend told me, some times I have an issue saying what I need, but it is because of the aforementioned inferiority complex. If I do not think I deserve a thing, I refuse to ask for it, it is a vicious circle and I am working feverishly to break that logic loop and make new pathways to things that make a tad more sense to all parties involved.

Now, do I make the changes in how I deal with the complex or do I ignore the complex as best I can and push through it by asking for things, even though it will be a bitter thing to say based on how I feel at my core? Do I rob Peter to pay Paul? It is a thing I need to think about a great deal more before I will have a dynamic plan of action to be sure. Thankfully when you are me and all you do is think, it will be a process I can begin with gusto, well, I already have begun it to tell you the truth. What you just read are my thoughts on the matter thus far. Not a great deal, but enough to say that I have begun ad that there are pieces in motion that will better the whole, one way or the other, before the end of the fight ahead.

I am in need of more coffee I think, my brain is slowing down and that is just not a way I want to live my life today, so I will caffeinate to the highest degree I can before I get to the panic attacks and the migraine from that alone and I will see you on the other side of all of that with some decent fiction if nothing else and, I mean, since I never shut up at all I can almost guarantee you that there will be another thought-based, thinky thought, feelings for all of the world to see post coming before the end of the day.

Oh yeah, one last thing, I love you, you are cared for a cherished and needed and wanted and desired and you are the best you that you can be this moment because you are trying. SO. HARD. You are allowed to breathe, to break, to fail. I will never love you less for it, in fact, I will love you more because you had the courage to stand back up and do what must be done to get you to the place you want to be at.


There Are Plans To Do Things, Many Things, Lots Of Things, A Bunch Of Things, A Plethora Of Things Even


It will be an abbreviated day here at the Bear Cave. For reasons most likely only known to the budgeting department of the school district, both of my little guys are off today as well as Monday where their brother needs to go today. He wasn’t that upset about having to go to school today, so I guess it isn’t a total wash. I am using the few minutes I have in between switching YouTube videos to jot this little thing down and tell you about some plans that I am working on.

Pater Noster, the newest series I started, is going to be a massive thing for me. I already have some decent feedback on it, and I am thrilled that I can write more about the delightfully subversive ladies and gentlemen you will soon meet. It is a subject that not only do I enjoy writing about, and I do enjoy it a great deal. It is also something I am actually educated on first hand, so there is a delightful sense of irony involved in the whole thing. The main character being named James is purely coincidental…obviously.

The beautiful Siobhan returned, and I am taking a long breath and writing the stories, not just better, which I always feel I can do. I am also writing them considerably longer than I usually do to keep the reader more engaged with the text. I have a terrible habit of writing super short stories when they should be longer. I despise writing dialog, and to extend some of the things I do, well, the people need to talk to one another. I will be working on this a great deal in the days and weeks to come.

I have not forgotten about CreepyBear, the recordings of Creepypasta stories that other wonderful authors have written. They are simply difficult to do because between recording and editing the audio, it is a multiple hour process. I have the time, yes, I just rarely have the quiet that is required to get it done. As much as I would love to have my screaming children in the background for effect, I am thinking it might unduly detract from the story being read.

There are also the Sonnets, Poems, Stories, and various other things I have either begun to record or have plans of recording. I need to make sure to tell myself that I am on no one’s schedule, and when they get done is just fine and dandy, and there is no rush to do anything that I wasn’t paid to do. I mean, it sounds crass, but if I am going to volunteer to do a thing, yelling at me when I don’t get it done in your particular time frame makes one of us look like an asshole. I will give you two guesses who the asshole is here. Everything will get done when it is supposed to, I know this.

Plus, there are these things where I just write because it is a joyous thing to do, and it exercises the mind. I love it and will write as often as I can, and yes, from time to time, I will take whole weekends, maybe even full weeks off. My mental health and my children are important to me, far more critical than little words on a computer screen.

All that having been said, I think I should go before the tin-pot dictator I call my youngest Duck screams loud enough to wake the dead.