when did this storm roll in?

i have four tattoos. not really a large amount, not near enough. each tattoo i have has a saying with it. (i have heard the artists don't like this, preferring the art do the speaking but yeah for now i got words.) These words are:

*Party Animal*

*Faith, Hope, Love*

*True Until Death*

*Rise Up With Me*

They're pretty good words.

i don't know why i start there. with the words that can never leave me. i guess those words become my reality. an architecture i can cling to when the path is undiscovered or when the path is both undiscovered and dangerous. these words are like my talismans. i need more.

i got home last night and was promptly served court papers, i am being sued. it's a bit better today, i called the plaintiff and we are trying to get a resolution going so legal action doesn't have to be taken against me. delightful.

i hate money, it stresses me out, and normally a human would be able to handle this moderately difficult struggle. but like Grandmaster Flash - don't push me because i am close to the edge. this sort of stuff stacks with having a painful medical condition, i won't dive into that now, like i said a stacking effect.

this stack came to the edge last Sunday night. i had a minor pyschotic break where doing and morality didn't meet eye to eye. i am glad G. was there for me. i remember one moment of clarity where my razor blade, the bathtub and cold water looked real good. it was just a brief moment but it was there. i know my reaching out to G. was a cry for help. if it comes time there will be no communication. that's what the psychologists don't get, a suicide prevention phone list won't mean shit when no one gets a call. and if i ever get to that place where it all makes sense, and it is my time, there will be no contacts. i ain't after attention, i ain't after revenge, i am after relief.

i think that's hard for some people. shit it's hard for me. five short days after my breakdown i see how crazy it was. how dangerous i could be. people think i am tough when i am not completely cluckered out of my gourd, there is no measure of how much destruction could occur during a moment when i have lost it. that's looking into the well of madness and trying to measure the bottom. i am both shamed this is in me and i know how much i need help.

you should have known what is real by now, let the judges meet their maker. rings softly in my ear.

i know i am a good man, faithful, true, poor but hardworking. never afraid, full of love, hope, in times full of mirth, i lead others to the best in themselves and i am always dicovering the best in me. i am almost brought to tears thinking about that. about how the very best in me could be overwhelmed in just a moment by the very worst of humankind. one fit of rage, one moment where i go over the edge.

but this is my commitment to myself and to those good people in my life - i am going to at least try to go back for professional help. i want as many tools as i can have to keep the monster at bay.

i am full of stoke right now

So that's how it goes, i haven't been up to doin' this in a while. let me do this in two parts. i have a friend, let's say he's my brother, he's got two sides, virtue and vice. this one is gonna be virtue. the one later today is going to be vice. and what i mean by that is this: the shit has really hit the fan but you can't cover your mind and eyes in shit, if you do you will invarriably think like crap, you will see like crap, and you will live like crap. so for this one, this post, it is the sunlight.

*******************************************

i get a call from my friend G. a few days ago and a few words he said have hung around my neck like thick incense. "i am full of stoke." i love it. i haven't heard words like this for years. you gotta remember we are broken men and women living in broken times. we rarely see miracles and when we do they are small and we are far away in the back of the crowd. But this time, these past few weeks my friend G. seems to have made his way closer to the front lines. it took giving up everything he's got but he made it up there to the front. and it just so happens that the miracle the One was doing on this particular day was making fire. and a tiny coal from that holy fire fell into my friends heart.

it has been sometime since one of my circle has even warmed themselves. we are either off on flameless treks or praying for fire, our wishlist words bouncing off the cealing. what my little crew knows intimately is the One gives when It is ready - and It is right. we may starve ourselves but that doesn't necessarily mean we will be fed. even when you are doin' right it doesn't really mean a damn thing, you gotta be there, up near the front, when the One is makin' fire. and this time G. was.

so i get a phone call, i don't answer for some painful reason, i get a messge. i listen to said message and all i can hear is a ramble of fire soaked words. there isn't meaning in most of it, G. might have actually been speaking in tongues, i truly don't remember. what i do recall is that through all this lava laced gibericious was the interpretation i received - the only words i heard wear "I am full of stoke." Never, Never, have i felt fire from heaven through a voicemail. but i knew at that point inside G.'s heart was the fire of the One.

now i know i am a bastard, but before a bastard i am a mate and mates don't get jealous over what gifts are given to their mates. i couldn't have been more blessed by any other words at that moment. "I am full of stoke" you could smell the rich, pungent, beautiful, smell comin' off G. - and that through the phone! i know if i was there with him i would have been struck stupid by the glory of the heavenly garland about him.

so why the hell is this so important? well first it is important for G. i know his heart, at least as well as a brother can, and i know it has been winter there for a long time, a little coal, a little fire goes a helluva long way for him. secondly, i got to be near it, now i won't say get because sharing isn't requried - now i know he's a sharing sort because that's how mates are - but there can not be force. you force thigns like this and the fire can die. it's about doing what's right, and through this ease i got at least a little warmer. and a little warmer for me is like the lion and the lamb.

so here's to being full of stoke. here's to mirth! here's to kings being born in mangers, here's to gifts of gold, incense and mirh, here's to a miracle of fire which comes by way a miracle of blood, for all not some.

stories

two mornings ago i dreamed of heaven. of course to get to heaven i also had to dream of dying. i also dreamed of getting to heaven. i am still seeping all i can from these dreams.

i remember death being sudden. i remember broken concrete with rybar sticking out. crashing, danger. there were terrible shouts and screams, but it was quick. broken metal, glass, a profound sense of fear and loss so empty my heart was broken. i remember my eyes flashing across those of my father as it was not his time yet. i don't remember my mom being there, i am both happy and sad about this. she probably would have wanted to be near me at the moment when i would breath my last on this plane. she probably also wouldn't want to witness the tragedy of a son dying before his mother. both sadness and joy.

i think of those who were near me. A. and her family, i think of how i was unable to help them after the accident. how they made it on their own, and how A. needed help because i froze. how that is okay, we all need help being saved. chasms and such. death was so quick. not as fast as lightning, more similar to horse race speed. there was both blistering action and moments of hesitation. such an interesting feeling.

and after dying we had to get to where ever it was we were headed. the thing i remember most was the door. and when i say door think of it as more of a hatch. like the iron lid on old locamotives powered by steam, the porthole to the coal. on the front of this door, it must have been 3 or 4 feet in diameter, were words, "Those who wear Abercrombie & Fitch Beware." the words scared me. the sent tremors through me and through my wardrobe. i only owned one shirt from the company mentioned on the iron hatch. the issue wasn't with the shirt. it was about arrogance. it was about the desire to be seen. to be the centre, to be valued, it was about letting go, abandoning control.

on the other side of the door were coals. the coals of control. to be free i needed to step through the hatch onto the coals. i knew my destination lay beyond them. unlike most of my life i found myself only in socks. no shoes whatever. i had to step my way through the hatch onto burning coals. i had to let go. this wasn't some fire trick in hawaii either. they weren't coals that had ash on them. they were deep fire colored, ready to teach my socks, and my feet, a lesson. the first step wasn't as hard as the second, which turned out to be the hardest. my first foot came down and i could feel the heat. my brain told me no. so i did the opposite. i put my next foot down. the fire burned through my socks like newspaper. i was standing on top of fire. the heat around me was blasting, like the desert in a wind storm. i saw others walking too, the fire was cavernous, bigger than i had originally thought.

i quickly noticed all that was destroyed by the coals were my socks. so i walked. i don't know for how long or for how short. it may have been 5 minutes or 3 hours. i know i saw many people walking, never close to me, always a quarter mile or so off. i am sure they were all dealing with the fires of the heart.

at one point i remember looking up and seeing a doorway. there was a heavenly attendent beconing me, ushering me to the finality of my walk across the coals. when i reached the door and stepped through i knew i was in heaven, or at least a place close to it. A. was there, though i hadn't seen her since the Iron Hatch, her family was there, my step father, W., was there, G. was there. i recognized many people. the place was something like a peaceful airport terminal. it was clean, artful, modern but different. both calm and busy, both quiet and loud. there was activity in different areas, while in others there was stillness. many people were calmly sitting near potted plants, reading, or enjoying what looked like to be the first relaxed moment they had ever experienced. on the other hand, there were those over filled with emotion. tearful reunions, excitement, lost loves holding each other for the first time in a long time. i remember being extra emotional, crying, embracing, making a bit of a scene, hey it's what i do. i felt like i was free, like i was able to finally be who i knew i should be and wanted to be all at the same time.

shortly, as i recall, after i arrived, another friend arrived that i knew. LCP was a little dazed. it was then that i knew this dream was about heaven. it was about the kingdom of the One. LCP's presence brought it all home. like the crescendo of a poem - that one line that sticks out in your mind, the one that ties the bow so pretty just before the denouement.

* * * * *

and that was all. i woke up from the dream. or maybe i didn't. i think the reality of our dreams are just as valid as the reality of the cards dealt face up on the table. our dreams are the down cards in a 7-Card stud game.

so what now? i don't know particularly. there was something real about this one. there has been something real about these past few years, but there has also been something lacking. actually there has been something lacking from the moment the One dreamed me up a half a million years ago. there is something lacking in the heart of humans. it is what makes us not the One. it is the Are. we are unable to confidently define us as Being, we are not the I Am, and this is what we lack. we get the rest; food from the tree of life and the tree of knowledge but this food does us no good for the hunger, the deep Hunger, and because we will never, well at least for a long time, be able to call ourselves the Are, the definitive, our divine hunger will grow.

so we have this little bit, these little gifts, and we have hunger. so i come up with two questions: What am i doing with the little i was given? and How is my Hunger?

Days

i watched the first snow of the season today. i am thankful for that. i also got to see my team win a tight game in the first round of the MLB playoffs. i am also thankful for that. i got to talk to my dad, my A., my dogs, i got to wake up today, i didn't get shot and other major tragedies didn't strike. i am thankful for all of these things today. you have to say your thankyous before you let the rope go.


my face and head have hurt since monday afternoon. i am scared i am runnign out of FMLA time, and i am never scared. congratulations sickness you have painted me into the corner. i can't fight you, you have no body to strike, i can not reason with you, you have no mind, i can not plead with you, you have no heart, you are worse than the devil. at least the devil will look you in the eye and lie. you, you, you bastard child of the fall, i hate you. you make things in me no man can make, no woman can cause, no devil or angel can conjure. if i could put my hands on you i would strangle you. i thought of taking my eye out last night i have a knife and a heart able to do so. i thought of going into the emergency room and sticking that knife in my belly just to get somepain killers better than what i got. i can't sleep anymore but if i could get some anesthesia, every day, that would be better.

so what will it be!? you sickness, will you take my soul?? no, you can have my mind, you can have my body, but you can not have my essence! you may have me in the corner, you may have me over the barrel in the back alley, but you can not rape me if i enjoy it! you can not rape me if i ask you to penetrate me! so there it is, fuck me! fuck me you sickness! give it to me as hard as you can! make me hurt, make me feel the horror! make me blind and teary eyed with pain! make me want the end of all things! but see this is the trade, i want you to hurt me so now you do not control me! i want the pain so you do not afflict me, hurt me!

Goodbye Angel, Hands In Your Pockets

i think about jamming on keys to see if words fall out of the heavens. theoretically a room full of monkies with typewriters could, could, punch out a copy of Hamlet or Wordsworth. An Elephant with a paintbrush could roll out a Picasso or Monet, and a tomb sucking rabbit could accidentally jump on a bass guitar cranking out licks that would make Victor Wooten cry. Chances are. Chances aren't.


There's some strange concept rolling about humanity telling us that to survive we have to suck up all of our insanity, pack it away into a closet, and take a deep breath of reality. We either have to get training to do something, an education for the future, or we have to do what we are so gifted to do that we survive on it. If we choose not to follow suit we are outcast, we are homeless, we die early. So there are your chances, you pack it up, you go a bit nutty, you drown in the destruction of your own making.


then i remember, we are not monkies, we are not elephants, we are no tomb smoking hop-a-longs - we are something different, well maybe different. we may have something called "sentience" but we hardly understand it. we have insisted on hurtling ourselves head long into the unknown. And when we dip our cups into the unknown there are magical times when we come up with gold. The Magna Carta, the Frank Lloyd Wrights, the Who's. There are also times when we dip our cups into the darkness and come up with the meanest dross. Rapes, murders, discontent. The sickness of our world. Additionally, there are some who choose not to dip their cup. They stick with the things they know. And last, certainly not least, their are some who train themselves to live on the edge of the darkness. They are the craft makers. this is how we have done ourselves.


so we take our cues from what we have seen. we argue on glowing screens, we allow our views to over run us. we are on the cusp. we have these gifts, we create our beauties and our tragedies. and God is both brought to tears of joy and tears of pain. freedom, sentience, opportunity; all of these are the gifts given us, and what have we done with it? how far have we gotten?


i have rewritten this line about five times now. i do not know what is coming next. i am torn between throwing the computer into pieces and taking a pious stance on top of some bullshit pulpit. i remember that i am in pain. i wonder if pain is part of my sentience. part of my freedom. anyone reading this blog regularly know that i am in tremendous pain most of the time. this pain may or may not be attributed to a nerve disorder that is blowing up the nerves in my face and potentially my right arm. the last time i asked the doctor what he is treating me for, he basically said he has no idea. i take 5400mg of anti seisure, anti pain, anti psychotics a day. they help - sometimes.


so here i am, trying to make it, treading water on the edge of darkness. dipping my cup into the black, looking for something to quench my thirst.

Bullets

What are we? One shots of destruction, ephemeral, paper thin. We practice the art of never. Don't be worried. i don't think i will ever try again, twice is enough. i know it hurts abouve my cheak, it makes me cry which is hard to do. there must be equity somehow, i am not sure i am in control of it, actually i am pretty sure i am not, i just choose which doors to walk through. like those adolescent mystery novels where each new page says go here, choose this or that. right now the choice will be bed. it has been long in coming. i have been up and down and in the middle tonight. i don't know what is inside me. it boils my blood, and blood runs everywhere in the body. everything i have is gassed. the levy is dry.

so roll the dice one more time, if you gotta die, die chasing the dream, there's no where else that i'd rather be.

My Mercury's In Retrograde

As i sit eyes behind the plastic red haze from my snowboarding goggles i realize i can do anything, i am falling down the rabbit hole. nothing is within my grasp in this tunnel, i am a sick sinner, i need the righteous wheel of the One. will the wheel come, is the wheel here all ready? do you feel the trension on the line, do you see me falling? am i worth more than a sparrow? am i worth more than a sparrow? am i the sparrow who falls to the ground?

my mercury is in retrograde. i am falling, i am the sparrow who falls to the ground. you see me, i fall, you see me i fall, you see me i fall.

Gears

i am troubled. i feel like everything i do either interfers with the mechanisms of God or the mechanisms of the world. imagine trhowing a silver dollar into the workings of a great clock, some people want a purpose, i need one. i feel battered, bruised and kicked about. and in a weird twist of irony i don't feel good about feeling that way, like i am guilty of some sin i don't know of because i feel like shit. There i said it, i feel like shit, i don't know what will make me feel better, i don't really want to listen to any answers, i just want shit fixed. and some cockamamey asshole tells me the best way to get what you want is to live this way and that and do this dog and pony show - well le'me tell you something you toupee wearing ass hat, i don't fucking play that way.

remember that silver dollar thrown into the big clock mechanism, my purpose is to bring those gears to a screaching halt or be destroyed. armageddon here i come.

Season At Sea aka Everything Looks Perfect From Far Away

it is another day, i saw the sunset and i saw it rise, i know for a fact that now it is light outside and at one point it was dark. i slept some when it was dark but i didn't sleep through all of the darkness. i know in terms of words today is yesterday's tomorrow and today is tomorrow's yesterday, at least in accepted circles these words mean something. i know our understanding of the world is trapped in words, and before words there were pictures, this is language and it is the framewaork of basically everything.

along with language there is time. the impenetrable son of God. that's the only way time could exist, something so elusive yet so engrossing. i watch the seconds tick away on my clock. it is all a mess in my mind. if i never die then seconds shouldn't matter too much to me. so living forever is the only way to beat time on the Western front, but how about the Eastern war? if i was born then i am closed in by the days and numbers, trapped in what the want to lable me. August 30th, 1983, that's how they begin measuring. someone a long time ago started counting days when they noticed produce grew differently during different times of the year. they were not content just to feel the change in the weather, those someones figured counting the days would help in preperation. then another person, probably a woman with a man taking credit, decided we had years along with days, and in that year there can be months. it all began with days, there was ngiht and there was morning, the next day. and just like my experience of time, the clock starting at my birth, time as we know it was born when days began, it's lineage then exploding in both directions until we had along with days - years, decades, centuries, hours, minutes, and seconds.

so at birth i came into a world with language and time. now i couldn't tell time or know i was a part of it and i couldn't understand language or tell i was now a player in the world of words but in both instances what i did not know then is now arresting the world.

so we (i) are (am) pressed to ask, what came first, language or time? i don't have an answer and because i don't have an answer i default to the path of less resistance, both are children of the One so neither has beginning or end. so both time and language are my brothers. but wait, this is appaling to logic - how can you claim time and language as your brothers if you were born? doesn't birth preclude you to a beginning and death prove a finite end? well, it is going to depend a lot on how close of a relationship you have to language for my answer to make much sense. the second part of the querry is a shorter answer so to begin there, in simplicity, i am eternal. there is nothing in my way in that direction. and as to the being born issue, true there is a birth certificate with some numbers written on it, things that talk about me, and my mother, and my father. what do those numbers mean though? if my brother time has the same rate of growth as i do? if his explosion in numbers is mearly an illusion of our measurements then both time and i have pulled off a great trick saying i had a finite beginning. i was before the day i was born, i was one hundred and fifty years before i was born. before there was mankind i was born. isn't time a fascinating thing.

so on to the crux of the issue today. along with time and language i have a few other companions with me, the most labouring is pain. yesterday it felt as though someone was trying to take my arm and face off with a pool cue. but here it is, and drink this in for all of you who are fascinated by time and language. all the pain of yesterday is now related to time and language, as without them the pain does not exist. and if they are eternal, if language and time goes on forever then the pain can either last forever or never exist at all. what is a drop of water to an eternally growing ocean. if even said drop came with a flag it may never be seen again. to tell the truth sometimes the pain is so bad i need to leave the flags in the ocean i know, somewhere deep down inside, those are the flags in an eternal ocean.

there is and is not language and time. similarly there is and is not me.