Friday, November 29, 2013

Through The Door Into The Elusive

This is a song I just wrote. The music is still in my head, but the words are here:

Plummeting into the unknown, with a million questions,
Delving into darkness, where will the mind refuse to go?
They've put up walls, blocking me out, blocking me - why?
What is this forbidden truth which Man is not allowed to know?
How can the truth be evil?
How can the light be dark?
I must know...

Seems the greatest atrocities
Have been perpetrated in the name of religion and purity, Innocent blood
Spilled for what reason? What sacrifice to whom?
Who shall avenge?
Does no one care?
Salvation or desolation, bodies broken and bare,
Writhing and screaming.

Cry out to gods for a reason,
There is no justification.
Is this the end of creation?
Search in vain for an answer, and still don't know...
And where is tomorrow?

Take me away
Far from here
Space woman
Be my teacher
Teach me a mystery

Show me how to evolve
Beyond the material
Show me the way
To become ethereal
Open the door for me

Where shall we go?

All I have are questions
Piled upon layers of questions

Once I was new
Then innocence flew out the window
Questions were pure
But answers were obscure
I believe in the Truth
Yet I seek and still I do not find what I seek
Once long ago I knew
But now I can't remember what I knew

Born into physical
Given empty promises
We find ourselves
Imprisoned by walls of invisible
Entrapped by a lie
Instructed in how to be slaves
The unseeing eye
Blinded by that we don't see
Blinded but why?
Is there not some inherent good in this entity?
Who are we?
Why are we prevented from knowing our true nature?
Is Humanity not worthy
Of knowing ourselves?
What is the reason?
What is the purpose
Of existence?
How do we learn?
And what is the cost of knowing?
And if I should know the whole,
Will I come back to tell you all?

Thursday, November 28, 2013

"Hi, I'm Rick, this is my brother Rick, and my brother Duane, and my other brother Duane, and my brother Bill, and my other brother Bill...." (Funny Anecdotal Thanksgiving Story Part 2)

Some Thoughts On Thanksgiving Traditions:

I'll start with a comment that I just left on MSN...:
Well, let's see... When I was a kid, my Mom & Grandma used to spend the day before Thanksgiving preparing everything, then the turkey would be left out to thaw at around midnight, and Grandma would be the first one up, making home made noodles, and biscuits, and of course a pot of coffee. They would work as a team, making the stuffing, stuffing the bird, peeling taters, etc. and everything that had to cook would be slow-cooking on a low heat so they could sit in front of the boob tube and watch the parades with the giant balloons of Bullwinkle and Snoopy. My Dad, Uncle, brothers, and me, (and cousins if they were there) would hang out in the basement and watch cartoons and then football. Usually Pitt & Penn State was the big game, since my oldest brother went to Penn State. There would be beer, my Uncle drank copious amounts of beer, and my Dad drank whiskey, and there was always an opportunity for a kid to sneak some beer. Then around late afternoon the women would call us upstairs to eat, everyone would eat like hogs, then we would move to the living room to lay around like walruses, (walri?) and belch and fart, complain that we ate too much, watch more football, or some movie like 'It's A wonderful Life' and then one by one people would go to the kitchen for seconds. When I was a teenager I would always be out with my buddies, smoking reefer, drinking beer, and playing football in the cold wet mud. Then I would go home in time to eat. After I had my own apartment, I would still go home to Mom's to eat turkey, sometimes with the girlfriend of the moment in tow, and then the evening would be time to get drunk. After Mom sold the house, things were different. One year I got a frozen turkey-loaf thing and a frozen lasagna, and a keg of beer, and had a thanksgiving dinner for all my misfit friends. After I had my own house, which was basically party-central 24/7/365, one of my drunk buddies would cook a bird... (cont.) >>>

That was all they would let me post, I guess they have a character limit. (Them fucks!) so here's the rest of the story:   My buddy Duane, after his wife and him split, he came to live at my house, which was fine by me, because he paid rent, and he always bought beer, and I had a good-sized house with space to rent out to several buddies. Story continues. >  Duane would cook a turkey, he had a natural talent for that. He would stuff it, baste it with beer, make giblet gravy, all that good shit. I would make smashed taters, and sweet taters, and a sweet tater pie. My other buddies who lived in the house would all make something to contribute. My buddy Dave would always bring a half gallon of Black Velvet. I, of course, would have my trusty Jim Beam, and a keg of beer, and everyone would have weed. We didn't bother setting a table, everyone would just plop down wherever and eat. After we ate, we would go out and find a Christmas tree and bring it back and set it up. We all had to find the weirdest, most un-traditional thing we could think of to hang on the tree. We would compile a list of each thing and who hung it, and then ask other people that came over if they could find it all. Sometimes we would play Turkey Bowl in the morning, depending on how much booze and drugs were consumed the night before. This went on for several years, until I got married, so I reckon it qualifies as a tradition. After I got married, I moved out of the house to live with my wife, and left Duane in charge of the house. He continued the Turkey tradition for the five years that I was married. My wife and I would always make it a point to stop over there in the evening and eat some food with the crew, hang something weird on the tree, etc. so the tradition continued, even though I wasn't living there. After I got divorced, I moved back home to party-central, and the tradition continued unabated, but over the years it deteriorated, what with everyone's increased intake of booze and dope, and the ever-changing influx and efflux of people. Also, the addition of children changed the dynamic of it as well. Someone has to have their wits about them enough to keep a hairy eyeball on everyone's kids. People were doing harder drugs by that point too, and who wants their younguns to accidentally stumble upon Uncle so-and-so passed out on the couch with a spike sticking out of his arm? Or to accidentally walk in on an inappropriate blow job? "Oops! Wrong room! ...Hi Debbie."  Uhhhhh... Yeah. ..So anyway...

Duane had a stroke in 2001, and his family stuck him in a nursing home at the tender age of 38. The last Thanksgiving in that house was 2002. I went to jail in July of 2003, and I was incarcerated for that Thanksgiving. I got out in the spring of 2004 and got clean and sober that July, almost a year to the day of getting busted. Four days short of it, in fact. The next five Thanksgivings I spent at the AA club, volunteering in the kitchen, cooking dinner for a bunch of other alcoholics. The next one I spent volunteering at a homeless shelter on the east side of San Francisco bay, doing basically the same thing. Then I returned to the east coast, spent a couple years here at the local club, helping out, and the last few years hanging out with my sober family, eating at a buffet joint, I think last year we cooked a bird here, I think...   There doesn't seem to be any real tradition anymore, maybe because I'm older, whatever. It's a good day to watch football, and I'll probably talk to my daughter on webcam at some point.

When they eventually legalize recreational marijuana nationwide, maybe I will start a new tradition of smoking a Thanksgiving joint. Maybe. It's better for you than booze, or dope, or cigarettes.
Well, that's all I've got, for now. Everybody go eat a turkey.

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Funny Anecdotal Thanksgiving Story - Part One:

One time, might have been in '81, maybe '82, I woke up on Thanksgiving and went out to meet some buddies and trip. I went to the designated meeting spot, a shopping mall, and found most of the stores were closed, but the mall was open, probably for the mall-walkers. I went into the gameroom and played some video games, smoked a handful of cigarettes, went outside and smoked a joint, wandered aimlessly for a while, then I went to the pay phone and called people. Nobody wanted to venture out and trip. I called them a bunch of lightweights, and went back inside. I found that despite most of the stores being closed, the bar (Ruby Tuesday's) was open, and since they routinely served underage mall rats, I went in and got me a shot & beer buzz going. I used their pay phone to call my buddy Greg, thinking at least he would come out and trip, but he declined. I was disgusted. I went in the bathroom and ate a bunch of acid, figuring if nobody else wanted to trip, then I'd just trip alone, fuck 'em. I had a couple more beers and left. I went up into the woods and smoked another joint. Then I went for a walk. There was still a lot of undeveloped land back then, and some old dumping grounds with open sulfur pits and things of that nature. I just walked around for hours, digging the outdoors. Then I started to feel cold. I guess the alcohol must've worn off. So I walked the railroad tracks and went home.

When I got home, the house was full of people. I had completely forgotten that it was Thanksgiving. I know that I sat down at the table and ate, (probably played with my food, made Devil's Tower out of smashed taters, you know, the usual weirdness that my family had grown accustomed to...) but I really don't remember the details of it, or if I said anything weirder than usual. I know there was some beer on the back porch staying cold. I know I sat out there and had a few. When I went back inside, my brother was watching It's A Wonderful Life. It was the Turnerized version, and he went to the tv and turned the color off. He said, "There, now it looks right." I sat down and melted into the La-Z-Boy and watched it with him. After it was over, he asked me if I had any reefer, I said yeah, and we went out back and smoked a joint. He had to know I was tripping balls, but he didn't say anything about it. One of his buddies came over and the three of us went out four wheeling in the snow. When we got back, I was starting to come down off the trip, and I had consumed enough alcohol to be sleepy, so I went to bed. That's my trippin' on Thanksgiving story. My poor Ma probably never knew that I had joined the family for Thanksgiving dinner while tripping balls, and that's just as well, I suppose. I gave her enough grey hairs. Now that I have a head and beard full of grey hairs myself, it's a fond memory (sort of) to look back on, with a smirk.

Saturday, November 23, 2013

Clammy hands?

When I was 17, that was 1982, and I was incarcerated in a detox/psych ward/inpatient rehab kind of place, a very surreal situation, I met a girl with clammy hands. When she touched my hand the first time and I felt the strange sensation of her clammy hand in mine, the first thought that went thru my mind was "oogy." (Pronounced like loogy, not like boogy.) When I think back on it, I can't remember exactly where oogy came from. I think it was a childhood word I made up to describe something icky or slimy, like a handful of nightcrawlers.

So here I was, in this very weird place, filled with very weird people, with the only common theme being drugs and alcohol, and the only thing I could focus on was this cute brunette with oogy hands, and how I wanted to find out how the rest of her skin felt. (Especially the skin beneath her bra and panties.) Whether or not that ever came to fruition, and where and when, and certain intimate details such as her name, etc. shall remain private and personal, out of respect. I don't know what ever became of her, or if she might have a family of her own, and I don't think she would want to air her laundry online, so I'll keep it vague and incomplete.

I recently tried searching her name on facebook, and found that there are a lot of women with the same name, and maybe I don't really want to find her, maybe I was just fondly reminiscing, and maybe I should just leave the memory be. Besides, if her life turned out well, I don't want to be a blast from the past careening and banging into her world, disrupting the calm. And, if her life did not turn out so well, and she ended up like so many of my friends did over the years, then maybe I'm better off not knowing about it. After all, why taint a precious memory with reality, right? Right. ...Moving right along.

I don't know what this blog post is really about. That makes it more interesting, and more funner.  I've always been attracted to petite brunettes with long straight hair. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's genetic. I don't know. I've had a lot of interesting experiences with all kinds of women, but my mind always goes back to the ideal petite brunette. And if she's neurotic, psychotic, or crazy as batshit, she's all the more appealing to me. Especially if she is in a situation from which I can swoop in and rescue her in some way. That kind of seals the deal for me. I've gotten myself into some sticky situations like this, several times. I'd like to believe that I always learn from my mistakes, (usually the hard way!) and won't repeat them, but yet all that goes right out the window when it comes to a petite brunette in some kind of trouble. There could be bells and whistles, red flags, sirens, flashing signs that read "Warning, trouble, run away!" and I will tend to ignore them all and go right into the "Don't worry, babe, I'm here to rescue you." mode. Again and again and again. Kind of surprising that it hasn't gotten me killed yet. That's all good, it might be a good day to die today, but I'm in no hurry to meet death just yet, if I can help it. No point really in trying to figure out the why, I suppose. The next time a petite brunette in distress pops into my life, I'll be there. Interesting note: even if she dyes her hair another color, somehow my 'Spidey-sense' seems to know and I'm there.

They don't call me Crazy for nuthin!

Sunday, November 3, 2013

Fear & Loathing In The Separation Of Church & State Debate (Debacle?)

What is the Separation Of Church And State? Well, according to Wikipedia:
"The separation of church and state is the distance in the relationship between organized religion and the nation state.
Although the concept of separation has been adopted in a number of countries, there are varying degrees of separation depending on the applicable legal structures and prevalent views toward the proper role of religion in society. While a country's policy may be to have a definite distinction in church and state, there may be an "arm's length distance" relationship in which the two entities interact as independent organizations. A similar but typically stricter principle of laïcité has been applied in France and Turkey, while some socially secularized countries such as Denmark and the United Kingdom have maintained constitutional recognition of an official state religion.[1] The concept parallels various other international social and political ideas, including secularism, disestablishment, religious liberty, and religious pluralism. Whitman (2009) observes that in many European countries, the state has, over the centuries, taken over the social roles of the church, leading to a generally secularized public sphere.[2]
The degree of separation varies from total separation mandated by a constitution, as in India and Singapore; to an official religion with total prohibition of the practice of any other religion, as in the Maldives." ..... Ok... (Personally, I would have said separation mandated by a Constitution, such as here in America, or an official religion with the prohibition of any other religion, such as some Arab nations... But it is what it is.)

Whatever the case, here in the land of "Freedom and Opportunity" we have a Constitution, which is supposed to be the supreme law of the land, although the politicians have been wiping their collective ass with it for many years now. And, in our Constitution it states: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof ...."   This brings us to this story: which basically is a couple of women getting upset because a town decided to open their town hall meetings with a prayer. Two separate political organizations have since gotten involved, and now it is going before the supreme court. (Who apparently have nothing better to occupy their time with..{?}) What the fuck? Another prime example of bureaucracy in action, it seems. Hmmm... I don't know, man, but wouldn't it be simpler to open the town hall meetings with two minutes of silence wherein everyone present may pray to the deities of their choice, or just sit silently if they choose not to pray? I mean, someone please correct me if I'm mistaken, but wouldn't that eliminate the mountain of bullshit which is piling up over this?   Yeah...

Maybe I have a jaded view of things.  I don't have a very high opinion of religion as a whole.  Spirituality, yes.  Religion, no.  Religion is just another means of control, a way for the elitists to force their will upon the ignorant masses.  If you ask me what my religion is, I'll tell you I don't practice one, but I'm not an atheist.  I call myself a Pagan, because I have views which are contrary to most established religions.  I don't believe in dogma.  Certain rituals do serve certain purposes, but living one's daily life by strict, inflexible rules is just OCD, and is about as effective in altering the "reality" around you as farting in a windstorm.  Try this exercise, pray to your god for gold dubloons to fall from the sky into your front yard and see what happens. Go thru all your dogmatic rituals, whatever they may be. What happened? Are you now swimming in gold? Why not? Hmmm...

Now, try this one out: Go out and find someone in need of help, then help them. (Buy the homeless guy a cheeseburger, go to the local animal shelter and pet all the critters, pick a street and walk down it, and every expired parking meter you see, feed it some change so that the person who parked there doesn't get a ticket. Go visit the elderly shut-in folk at a nursing home and spend some time with them. Sweep up all the garbage from the street and put it in a trashcan...) {And Don't tell anyone what you've done!} There. Feel good inside now? You should. If you don't feel good after that, then go on back to your dogma. At least you did something worthwhile.

Fuck rules and restrictions, they serve as much purpose as tits on a boar hog. Give me Anarchy. (Or give me enough weed to make me sleep.)

This has been one man's opinion. Like it or lump it. I have spoken.