Our Priorities Are Skewed

Whitney Houston died today at age 48. The media reports haven't said what the cause of death but there is much speculation that it was due to drug use. That could mean that it was an overdose or that it was from complications from prior drug use.

It makes me angry to see how many people are tweeting about this. It makes me angry to see all of the Facebook status reports and the million news stories that have surfaced about her death.

I am sorry for her friends and family because 48 is far too young. It is a tragic death but unless I am seriously mistaken it is one that could have been avoided. She wouldn't be the first person to die as a result of their addiction or things related to it and she won't be the last.

Don't lecture me about how addiction is a disease and that I am being too hard on Whitney because this isn't about Whitney. If it was I would still say it is tragic and I would tell you that I have friends and family who have battled addiction. I'd tell you that I believe that there is a disease involved here, but again it is not about Whitney.

I am angry because the world is filled with hungry and homeless people. I am angry because I know more than a few people who are fighting to save their homes and feed their families. I am angry because healthcare is ridiculously expensive and in more than a few cities public education is broken.

I am angry because we have the ability to fix these things but we aren't. I am angry because I get emails from friends/family that are Democrats/Republicans that tell me about how the other side is evil. I am angry because I am tired of the emails, the whining, crying and complaining.

Shut the fuck up and start emailing me with solutions. Start offering suggestions for how we can fix what is broken and stop sending me this political crap about why Obama/Newt/Pelois/Gingrich/Reid is going to destroy America.

I'd write more but I understand there is this great reality television show coming on and ooh, shiny...look how pretty that light is....

The Not So Silent Scream

 "If you want to be a great writer you need to be able to live and relive your pain. You have to touch it, feel it and roll around in it. That isn't hyperbole, it is just how it works." 

I wrote those words and I believe wholeheartedly in them. Some of the best writing I have come up with has been when I have found a way to tap into the soft places that still retain the memories of failure and pain that hasn't ever dissipated.

Or maybe it has. Maybe the pain has gone but somehow I have found a way to go back in time and relive things that tore me up. Maybe they still do. Maybe it is because I feel like I found the person who completes me in every way and then I lost her.

Maybe it is because I feel like we were given something magical, majestic and mysterious and then it was taken away. A thief came in the night and stole it and when he did he took my heart along with it. Maybe that thief meant to wreak havoc upon my soul. Maybe the purpose was to create chaos and devastation.

Well, he did it. He tore me up something fierce and that fragile male ego I carry around hasn't been able to accept it. I didn't ask for this. You came when I wasn't looking and you showed me that I hadn't been living. I had only been pretending.

And I wasn't even aware of it. I was walking through life half asleep and then you found me. Or maybe it is more accurate to say that we found each other.

Today I stand here screaming at the heavens because the fucking universe isn't being straight with me. I don't know what kind of lesson this is supposed to teach me, because there is supposed to be some sort of lesson here right.

Be direct. Tell me what it is. Tell me what I did in a past life that was wrong or what I did in this one that provided me with the pleasure of this experience.

I try not to compare my situation to others because we all have our challenges. Well it is hard not to look around and ask who decided that it would be a good idea to take a barbed pole and shove it so far up my rear it bruised my tonsils.

Tell me why I am supposed to be the one who walks around spitting blood and feeding upon fire. That jackass I saw earlier isn't struggling to make ends meet. He has ridiculous amounts of money flowing through his fingers all because he was born into it.

WTF is that about.

I know, they say that G-d doesn't give you more than you can handle but just because you I walk through hell covered in gasoline is no reason to make me do it.

I keep looking at these words and wondering what I am doing with them. They barely make sense and have little to no feel or flow to them. And that makes me angry too.

Mostly I am angry because I know that she is out there and that she needs me. I know this because I feel it. And every time I write that down or say it out loud I look at myself and think that I sound like some weepy teenage boy.

I am not that guy. Maybe I once was but I am not him. So I keep going and I have these moments where it feels like people are screaming inside my head to call her and tell her to stop acting like a fool. They keep telling me that she is desperate to lean on me and to share her pain, ease her soul.

And it kills me because I know that she was never closer with any one else. I know that if she let down her guard she would let it all out and she would be safe in my arms because I was her hero and I would be again if she would only let me.

But the hero is so very angry that lightning shoots from his eyes and fire from his fingertips. He who is afraid of almost nothing is afraid she will reject him...again.

So he stands on the beach and watches the waves roll in. He swims out past the breakers and rides the waves back in. He stands alone and apart because that is safe. She doesn't want weakness but he is not weak. No one who dances in the fire like this is weak.

Mostly he is confused and unsure. Still the voices inside his head keep screaming at him to rescue her but he wonders if maybe that isn't just what he wants to hear.

Chaos and confusion work together in a confluence of cacophonous creation. It is a convoluted way of saying he doesn't know what the fuck to do so he hopes that by focusing on his own crap some things will become more clear.

Or maybe he'll just suffer from paralysis of analysis. Ah, sometimes life can be so bittersweet.

Valentine's Day Ramblings

I am preparing material for a bigger post:

A Valentine's Day Fable

"I am tired of beginning sentences with “if.” It frustrates me to hear the word pass through my lips and begin some sentence in which I express disappointment or regret about things I could or should have done. Life is not meant to be lived by looking backwards at the places we have been and the cries of what could have been.

It is not. Life is for the present and the future. The past is your garage. It is a closet stuffed full of experiences that we hope that we have learned from so that we don’t make the same mistakes. But it is the place where we can take refuge from some of the challenges of the day.

I seek balance between the two. I search for a way to reconcile these things so that I can live the life I want to live. Some times it is hard and I punish myself for the mistakes. I cry out in anger and frustration and wonder how I found myself stuck in this place.

We said that we would find a way. We promised that no matter what happened we would hold hands and overcome the challenges. And now you are gone.

You told me that things were too hard that life was too stressful. My intensity made it harder. And for that I am sorry. I can only be who I am. A boy who fell in love with a girl and has never stopped loving her."

Halftime

Dear June,

I know that my crazy woman isn't much of a sports fan so there is a good chance that you didn't see the video above yet but even if you did it doesn't matter, because it is that good.

I know that you appreciate Clint as much as I do but even if you didn't I would still show this to you. I'd still show this video to you and we'd talk about it. We'd talk about it because we communicate more effectively than most people do.

We know things about each other and about life. We have lived through some pretty tough moments and stared down more challenges than many. Others have had tougher roads to walk than we have and others have had easier but that doesn't matter.

What matters is that we never gave up....not completely.

Maybe things got tough and we decided it was too hard to keep going on. Maybe it got to be too hard, too rough too crazy so we went out separate ways but that separation was never complete, has never been complete.

You think I am crazy for saying that the connection wasn't ever severed and you wonder why I never gave up hope. Well, that is because my job is to carry the load through this particular time. My job is to put you on my shoulders and walk through the fire so that you don't get burned.

That is what I do. I am good at it. I know how to dance in the flames and I know how to hold my breath underwater for longer than most. But I know that there is going to come a time when my legs are going to falter and that burning inside my lungs is going to hurt too much.

And that is when I am going to need you to remind me about all this. When the fog gets thick around my eyes and I am so tired that I can't see straight I am going to need you to help me come home. But I am not worried about that because you have always been my north star and I know that even if when I am exhausted I can look up in the sky and see you smiling down upon me.

Sooner or later I'll get back up and start walking and it won't matter what is in my way or how far I have to go because I know that you'll be standing there waiting for me.

And that is enough. Just knowing that will give me enough motivation to take one more step and I'll find you. I'll find you. So you hang on. You keep going and I will get there.

It is halftime for us too but the good news is that the second half is going to be so amazing we won't even remember how hard it was during the first. It is going to take a bit of time but we are going to get there, just you wait and Johnny will come marching home.

Dancing

It is Saturday night and the dance floor is packed full of people. Everywhere you look there are bodies moving, some with rhythm and some without but still moving.

Ann and a few of her friends are dancing together. It is one of those things that women sometimes do in packs. I don’t claim to know much about women, let alone understand them but I know that the pack means that some if no all of them are single.

I am standing in the corner, beer in hand, head bobbing in time with the music. I am watching and waiting for the liquid courage to kick in. I am not a dancer. I don’t have the graceful movements that make women swoon over my moves. I know this and am very self conscious about it.

Sometimes I wish that I could move like Fred Astaire because I could grab a partner and make her into my Ginger Rogers. We’d glide across the dance floor and somewhere during the dance there would be a moment. She’d look in my eyes and I’d smile at her. A connection would be made and I’d know that if I tried to kiss her she wouldn’t turn her head to the side or use her hand to stop me.

Jack, the ever so suave dancer wouldn’t try that, at least not immediately. He’d make her wait and let the anticipation build. Let her wonder what it would be like. Let her imagination run wild and then at the perfect moment I’d help her find out if truth matched imagination.

At least that is the fantasy and the dream. In reality I know that I am...

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He Is Right

To June, From Johnny

Dear June,

Someone asked me if my favorite 70s girl would prefer to have her bell rung or dance by herself to I will Survive.

I said that I know she'd rather have her bell rung and was promptly asked what that meant. Well, you know me and how much I value giving someone a straight answer. I don't wear a sweater because you are cold or walk in the sun when I can't see it shining.

Been strolling through the grapevines and down Coventry. Made it over to Tommy's for a bite to eat but skipped out on Bialy's. Too many carbs and too many years on this body. Yes, it is sad but true- I have made some changes based upon age.

I hate to admit that but a man has to do what he has to do and I did.

That wasn't the first time nor will it be the last. It is funny how life can throw you the kind of curveball you couldn't have ever imagined seeing. I used to be able to hit any pitch that came my way. Low and away, high and tight, inside or outside- didn't matter.

If you put it anywhere close to me I could get a piece of my bat on it. And then I hit a period of time where I couldn't come close to touching anything. I struck out every which way. Didn't matter what I did- it was like I was cursed.

Made me angry. I was frustrated.

For a while I couldn't figure out what to do. Wandered over to the Burning River and offered to sacrifice something, someone, anything and the universe told me to relax.

I said, "Hey universe- don't tell me to relax. Just give me a hand out of this freaking ditch I fell into." The universe laughed at me and I told it to shut its piehole or risk my wrath.

Needless to say, the universe laughed and then I sneezed. Not sure if there is any relationship between the two but I know you like details.

Fact is I know more about you than you want to admit or accept. Not because I have hired private detectives to follow you around and give me a complete dossier on you. That would be creepy and unnecessary.

Nope, I know these things for the same reasons you know them about me. Just because. In fact if you were sitting on my lap I bet you could solve Fermat's Theorem. But knowing you it probably wouldn't happen because you'd try to get a rise out of me and I'd fight it off just because I can.

June, you're singing that song again. You may not realize it, but I hear it. And I suspect that I am singing it too. Might be fun to do a bit of harmonizing, a duet if you will.

Think about it. No need for us to do any consulting with Clark. Don't have to check in with Spaner either.

Sweetcheeks lives!