Universal Chaos (A letter)

Is there a point of time beyond the point of anything anymore? Is there a finite line that might as well be infinity evermore? A million points of light I could never touch, Beyond my reach, the distance too much. Can one still have the vision and yet have lost the power? And can it be too late even in this early hour? My heart still beats and this life seems so long. Nobody's watching, but the show must go on. Even if it has taken you away. There is this tiny place out of time, where I find myself again and again, trapped in the reality of my dreams, an endless loop of that same scene, again and again and again. This part of me that can never leave. to witness one still there but nowhere at all, to see one leave yet still stay, there still, but gone away. This pain finds me, reminds me, Inclines me to cover my eyes, Tells me tales I could never forget and never comforts me with lies. My constant companion, subtle in the background, or heavy on my mind, to find that unlike that soul who left this hole, It is here to stay, it won't go away, As will the memory of assumptions I let deceive me, believe me, That everything was going to be okay, it shall never leave me, as did she, gone without a choice, without a voice, leaving me, leaving me. I don't want to go anywhere. I don't want to leave here, I wish you could stay, Everywhere's just not anywhere If not with you today. I can't recall losing anything anywhere that isn't here, if not for you, without you near, without you here. I find myself in this place, so I shouldn't lose myself elsewhere, to anyplace lacking you or lacking me. I find myself here but have truly I found myself at all? Where am I? Looking for you? Who am I? Why am I? Where are you? Looking for me? And are you still? And I will always be in this very last place that I held your hand, this very last room with the walls closing in, holding back, still holding back, This last time that I ever tried looking, longing, wandering, searching for what could never again be, and wondering why, this wandering soul lost to me, one with the universe and forever free, Yet in this tiny pocket of time, a prisoner I shall always be. And here in this envelope covered in dust, left in this mailbox covered in rust, I leave this letter: Beautiful soul, you deserved better.
 

The Post Modern Frog Prince: A Ribbiting Story

Well, I took a tumble and totally fell on my ass. Nothing broken, just sore as hell and got my innards jarred real good. It's not like falling as a kid. Concrete floors hurt, man! And as a not quite spring chicken anymore, falling on the floor hurts, too. Maybe it's not as painful as falling in love, but damn that smarts. I feel like poor Mustafa from the Austin Powers movies. Speaking of falling, February is fast approaching, so fast that it'll probably already be here by the time I publish this. Are we ready? Are we wearing our Anti-Cupid arrow deflecting armor? I certainly wish I had been wearing my super dupid Cupid repellent when a certain someone made an appearance in my life. I have never seen her steal anything, except hearts, mine in particular. And I want it back. Not that it was on purpose, mind you. Some souls are just naturally wonderful. It's nobody's fault, you know. Do you know something else? Well, let me tell ya. I used to think that the Roman Empire executing a guy was an insane basis for a holiday based around falling in love. But it's actually starting to make sense. Why? Because falling in love has certainly made me lose my head in a figurative sense, at least. Damn it. Have I completely lost my freaking mind? Princess Charming, she is beautiful inside and out and stubbernly holding onto a bad situation. And even if she wasn't, oh well, I would doubt my chances. They always go for the jerk and keep waiting for the jerk to stop being a jerk. Ribbit, ribbit! This is the story of the 21st century frog prince. You will know it is time to turn the page when you hear me make frog sounds like this: Ribbit ribbit! Let's begin now. "Ribbit, fix me," said the frog. "Turn me into a prince!" But a frog will always be a frog, ribbit ribbit! And while I'll never be a prince, I'll never be a frog. Unless that elderly lady I inadvertently pissed off at the store the other day happens to be into casting spells, ribbit ribbit! The best way to scare a princess off? It's not warts, ribbit ribbit! It's honesty and genuine feelings. Ribbit, friend zone, ribbit, friend zone! The best way to get a door slammed right in front of you? "Open the door, lovely princess!'. Such is the story of my life. Otherwise, how are you doing? Ribbit, ribbit, subject change! The reason I am not so much for check boxes and categories is this: Because I don't believe either God or random chance is very motivated at sorting souls by the package they are put in. Kind souls, gentle souls, beautiful souls, psychopaths, sadistic monsters, could be men or women or of any race. That is why sexism or racism (no matter against who) is just as stupid as it is wrong. It is the arrogance of judging a book by its cover and the laziness of not bothering to read it before declaring what it's all about. The body really is a prison, you know. There are those happy in their own flesh, and some of us are not so happy. Either way, it's a life sentence, and we've got to make the best of it. Reality sure can be a bitch and a half. Believe it or not, I'm not angry, I'm not bitter. I'm just tired. I've seen this wheel go around enough times, and maybe I'm finally figuring things out. It's just that by the time one gets their ducks in a row, they're no spring chicken. And that, my friends is totally quacked up, if you'll pardon my fowl language, wocka wocka wocka. Friends, Romans, robots, and strangers, I seem to be invisible of late. I'm not sure is it is because of people or technology, but I do not feel seen at all. Well, I keep saying it's a vortex that sucks the life out of people, yet I keep on letting it pull me in. Guess I will never learn. Too bad I am only metaphorically invisible. If it were literal, maybe it would be time to start life anew, a life of crime as a super villain, seeing how much money I could steal from bank vaults and from other criminals. Let H.G. Wells be informed that the invisible man has returned. This time, it's personal, but also, I mean business. I'd stash hundred dollar bills everywhere. Hell, I'd make kickass furniture out of them. Check it out, The couch of a million Franklins. Would you like to invest in my new banking firm, Dewey, Steelurmonie, and Howe? Yep, there would be a new super villain in town. Nope, not like The Joker, because I'd be dead serious. It would be high time to collect on a few overdue bills, with interest and penalties. Ah, but... I am only metaphorically invisible, so I guess I will remain a law-abiding, if lonely citizen. Bummer, dude. I guess the world will never know my glory. It's their loss as well as mine. I would imagine every human being feels invisible sometimes. I would think it is a very human thing to feel this way. The bad thing is that I wholeheartedly believe that social media exploits this. I'll bet they have licensed psychologists who help tweak the algorithm to make it even worse. Think of it this way, not every cowboy in those old westerns wore a white hat. The same would be true in any profession, of any slice of humanity whatsoever. The line between the good and the bad was often quite clear and defined in those movies where villains announced themselves, declared their evil schemes. It becomes a bit hazy in the real world where the villains hide their true nature and intentions. How often did the Lone Ranger have to ask himself whether he was doing the right thing or who the bad guys were? Was Bad Bart ever ambiguous about being bad? Did he ever masquerade as Good Bart? I guess villains in later movies were better at deception. Gooooood, Anakin, gooood! My point? In the real world, things aren't always what they seem and not everybody is your friend. I wonder if it's better to be under no illusion of not being alone when you actually are? That's all social media is, one giant illusion, actually deception. I think that aside from my photography hobby, this blog should be the only place that I express myself and my true feelings. With any luck, these words will stay and maybe there will come a far future day where someone who needs these words will find them. Maybe this is the only hope, my only purpose left. They say to trust no one, to never open up, to never tell another soul everything, to never reveal your true feelings to anyone. But I say there needs to be one. It doesn't even have to be a lover, though that would be ideal. While a physical closeness would be wonderful, what I really need oh so much more than that is a closeness of souls, a real connection that goes so far beyond this flesh. This is what I find so lacking in my life. This is why I feel invisible, unseen, lost and without love. This is what breaks my heart when I think too much about it. What's more, it seems maybe I'm a bit too picky in regards to someone. In fact, there is really only one person on the face of this earth who I could see myself opening up to in that way. Which brings me back to why I should have been wearing that anti cherub armor. Damn it, Cupid. Damn it, Eros. Why let fly with the goddamn arrows if you were only going to strike one of us? Oh well, I keep saying I'll get over it. I've been saying so for damn near two years now. I'm still waiting. While I know it makes no logical sense to feel this way, it's my heart and not my brain in charge when it comes to this particular human being. She could ask me for the Moon, and I'd be trying to figure how to steal it from the sky, regardless whether doing so would win her heart. It's stupid, I know, yet here I am. And I think it's high time once again for another subject change, clean cup move down. Damn, people can be so annoying sometimes. I wish they were better at minding their own damn business. I don't get to see my special friend as often as these busy bodies think, so why begrudge me one of the few sources of happiness in my life? True, if we were lovers, there would be more and better moments to be together, but sadly we're not and this friendship is all that I have. It has been far more a lifeline than anybody (Even she) will ever know. Can people really be so damn bitter and resentful as to deny me this one ray of sunshine in my dark world? It is one hell of an irony that this flack is from people, mind you, who actually have soul mates to come home to, while I don't. Is this world made of earth, or is it made of bullshit? Regardless of everything, she is my love (Though I can't tell her this) so leave her alone. I need this presence in my life. Please don't be running her off. Maybe I could live without her, but maybe I don't want to. Damn it, I am just so sick of everything. If you can't be my friend, then just fuck off and leave me the hell alone. Okay, rant over, subject change imminent, clean cup move down. See, dear friends, Romans, robots, and strangers, you get to see all aspects, the good, the bad, and the not so pretty. And Clint Eastwood, I am not. Man, I must have busted myself up pretty good, because I am really starting to get sore as hell. There's no vital organs that I know of in the area where I'm hurting, aside from my right lung, and I seem to be breathing okay. Can bruised ribs be a thing? I just checked. Mr. Google says yes. I don't think anything's broken, but man am I sore! "Oh the pain, please not directly in the Canali!" For those who are wondering, I was referencing Robot Chicken's Wrath Of Khan Opera. Now, that would be a cool opera. It's got all the elements, lost love, friendship, and revenge. This is Ceti Alpha V! Ow, I need to stop because it hurts to laugh. The floor and Khan Noonian Singh have something in common. It's done far worse than kill me, It's hurt me, and it wish to go on hurting me. It will leave me as I left it, sprawled out on the floor of a dead planet, buried alive, buried alive! KHAAAAAAAN!!!! It's a weird, giddy feeling that I can't exactly describe. This soreness is having a peculiar effect on me. I have always been and ever shall be your friend. Live long and prosper. I can't wait to get home and crawl into my bed, maybe take some ibuprofen or something, but I have errands to run first. Miles to go before I sleep, as Robert Frost so eloquently put it. I really feel I have had more than my quota of fun for the day and certainly for the week. In the end, all I want is peace.

Cosmic Wie Lands On Hoth

Well, here I am working my first Saturday in quite some time, yet for a tiny short paycheck. Why? Because we here in the particular region of the great state of Florida got better than six inches of snow last Tuesday. Now, I have lived at least somewhere on this particular square of ground about 99.999 percent of my life (more decades than I care to admit), and I have never before seen it quite like this. Yes, we got the north's weather here in the deep south, yet we, of course, lack the north's infrastructure to deal with snowstorms here. All the roads were closed down. The snow was pretty. I took lots of pictures. It certainly gave my childhood home a new look. I wonder what Momma, Dad, and Marsha would think if they were still there to see it. It took a solid three days for everything to melt away. It was interesting, even kinda fun, but I am so ready for the warmth of the sun. I think I have had my dose of winter for the year. So anyway I find myself where I'm normally not on a Saturday. It's the same place, the same propaganda, with better hours aside from the weather. I have never seen any entity, past or present (aside from maybe a certain ex-spouse of mine), so good at faking care and concern. "We're here for you" or "Oh it's mental health month" is such a thinly veiled lie. I haven't been exactly okay for a very long time now. Still, I've got to function, and I've got bills and responsibilities, and yadda yadda Yoda. I couldn't stop for such things. Modern civilization in this semi-dystopian world just does not allow for very much self-care of this kind. In the end, the only person I can rely on is myself, such as I am. There is this poster on a certain wall, advertising some quote unquote employee assistance line, most likely contracted out to some call center god knows where. I don't get it. How are the words of a stranger going to solve my problems, even if they can speak intelligible English? Talk is cheap, man. It might mean something coming from someone you love, but what could a stranger say? How are words going to help me? They can't. I mean, I'm all for this or that crisis line (if it helps somebody), but it just wouldn't work for me. I would listen to my father. I would listen to my mother. I would listen to my sisters, both the one I lost and the one I still have. I would listen to my children. There are a few other people out there who I like, love, and respect whose words would carry real weight, but the words of a stranger could never have that effect. I am glad it helps some, but if it were me, I would need so much more. I used to be that number to call for certain people that I loved. Once only a phone call away, now three years, one day, and infinity. Nobody's words can ever bring her back to me. This rabbit hole is quickly leading to the abyss. How about a subject change? Clean cup move down, my friends. Getting to work this morning was a bit of an adventure. This poor Florida space cadet just ain't used to thick layers of snow and ice on my car. Got it, though. My main worry was the I-10 overpass. No problem there except for the bright lighted clown I met on said overpass. No wonder Pennywise calls them deadlights. No ice there, though. So, I made it safe and sound.... Got some serious time to make up... Gotta have that money money. It sucks having to work on a weekend for what will still be a short paycheck. Bummer, dude. Do you want to know the true proof of being an adult? It is when everybody seems to have their hand out for your money. My role model in such case is a combination of Mr. Krabs and Ezra Thortonberry. "You must think I'm made of money!" It is crazy how suddenly the whole world thinks you have infinitely deep pockets. As my father once told me, there really is no such thing as that sort of freedom I thought I would find as an adult. Maybe for the wealthy, it is possible. As for the rest of us, the almighty dollar will always be your taskmaster. It is a system that does not care about the things we're going through. It can be awful callous and cruel sometimes. It's a messed-up system, but I guess it beats anarchy. It's an imperfect world, no doubt. Lots of emptiness. Lots of loneliness. Way too much suffering, both physical and emotional. All this coldness around us can be just as metaphorical as it is literal. There are many lonely souls out there whose salvation could very well be in one another if only random chance would be so kind as to bring them together. That's the irony. There's a heavy wall around us, separating us from any chance of finding each other. We could all be warm in this coldness, happy in a world of uncertainty, if only for want of a nail, if only for the kingdom of love and belonging. Thus proving just how unnecessary this coldness is. Souls are like shoes, socks, or gloves. They were made in pairs. Unlike them, we rarely begin our existence together. We have to hope that random chance will have the mercy to allow us to find each other. Sadly, it seems that random chance only has a way of bringing before me a certain soul I can't help but love, yet it's far from meant to be. Let me just say, Universe, that I would show more love than I have ever shown, be there in ways nobody ever truly has, that I would give everything that I am, everything that I have, all for the impossible, all for what the roll of the dice, the loss of a kingdom has denied me, yet has shown my what might have been. I have long grown weary of the words, "if only." In this particular reality, they mean nothing at all. I can only live in this universe, no matter the many possibilities beyond dimensions. They make no difference for this mortal soul stuck in this particular realm. They serve only to remind me there should be more, there should be love, there should be peace, there should be a true home of refuge, rest, and shelter. Maybe there is a version of me in an alternate universe who finally found this and more. Should I be happy for them? Probably. Though I guess I'd be jealous of them, even if they're supposedly technically me. Ah, alternate universes. I wonder if they actually exist, and if they do, and if I happen to be there too, how am I doing? Maybe there's one where it didn't snow last Tuesday, just a normal week, with me either home or racking up the overtime once again. Is there one where I still have my baby sister, or still have my parents? What if there's one where the ex never left me, finding myself either dead or in the nuthouse? I wonder which fate would have been worse? Maybe there's a reality out there where I was smart enough to reject her in the first place, saved my money and my sanity, eventually finding somebody real? There are a lot of decisions I made in my youth that I wonder how things would have worked out had I made the opposite choice. I guess the farther I go back in time, the more different such a universe would be. I would love to see, and I would love to try. Then there are certain circumstances even further back, further beyond my control that I wonder about... And how far can a being of experiences go, before they stop being me and become somebody else? It is one hell of a rabbit hole to go down in my thoughts. Hey, it passes the time, right? Maybe I could still chart a few of them out? Hmmmm? Some "what-if" fanfiction about myself, though I can't say I'm always a fan. Not exactly. That is the whole premise behind what might have been. Now, a version of myself that did things right from day one might be worthy of a fandom. Sadly, that was not me. I need a saved game to go back and restore. I am stupid no longer, and I want to have that chance to choose differently. What is the point of learning if you never get a chance to use that wisdom? It might as well be torture. It might as well be hell. That young dummy is long gone, and I am all that's left. There is no restore or load game or rewind. If parallel worlds exist, I will never see them, never live them, never touch that greener grass, never breathe that clearer air, never make those better choices. "You've been looking behind you, son. Try looking ahead." That was the advice a loving father gave to a future version of his son in the Twilight Zone episode, "Walking Distance." My own father might word it differently, but it sounds like something he might say to me. I would give the same advice to any one of my children in such a situation. I know it is good fatherly advice. We can't change the past. It is done. It is gone, buried with that younger version of ourselves, never to rise again. I will keep my loved ones alive in my heart, but my younger self needs to be allowed to fade into the earth below. I am what is left, older, hopefully wiser, hopefully better. I can't go back and fix what was long done and long gone, but hopefully, I have a few years to maybe have a few reasons to think better of and think better about. 

You've been looking behind you, son. Try looking ahead. What other choice do we have? We can lament, regret, and pine for the past. We can dwell, brood, and kick ourselves repeatedly. We can do a whole hell of a lot without accomplishing a damn thing. Some things are just gone forever. One can only do the best they can from this very moment until the very last. I wish it were different, yet if wishes were horses, if regrets were cowboys, I'll tell ya whut, pilgrims, I could make the biggest baddest western you've ever seen. John Wayne would be proud, and it would most certainly make Eastwood's day. Wishing accomplishes nothing, yet I can't seem to stop. Hoping means nothing without possibility, yet I must keep hope in my heart in order to keep my will from withering away. It is a very fine line that I have been walking for such a long time. I am not okay, but there's nothing to be done. No words of a stranger, no personality draining substance, can change these truths I have to live with. No hero is riding to my rescue. If I can't rescue myself, then how could anybody else? The person is real, wonderful even, but the hero is a projection, a figment of my imagination and desperation. They're a real, beautiful, wonderful person. This I know to be true. But the image is not real. Even if it were possible, it wouldn't be right to expect even a beautiful soul to play the role of some fictional character, as somehow the answer to my every hope and prayer. Especially if I couldn't be all that and more in return. I have so much more to consider than what I see with my own eyes and feel in my own heart. And feelings just can't be helped sometimes. I can't change mine, nor can I reasonably expect them to change theirs. That's just not how feelings work. Feelings are like the ocean, like the mountain, neither right or wrong, they are just there. I just have to learn to live with what's within me and around me. I guess what is so difficult to just stand by and do nothing about is this: I was once in a bad relationship. I was mistreated, used, totally done wrong. Now I have to watch somebody I love (why deny it?) being treated the same way I was. I want to hold them, help them, see them happy and treated like the wonderful human being they are, but I find myself in no position to do so. Yes, I admit I'm jealous. It wouldn't be so bad if they were being loved, respected, appreciated as they obviously deserve, but they're not. I hate to see someone I love so downhearted, so lost, suffering so. My first instinct is to swoop in and be the hero, but I can't. It just doesn't work that way, because of all the reasons above. People talk about the harm of holding on to anger, and I agree, but I'll tell you right now that nothing hurts worse than holding back love. I want to help and I want to heal, to be that everything. But since I am not that one, since it would only cause trouble and would (worse) go against their feelings, I am powerless to do anything. White knights are for storybooks. I am here if they ever decide, but I can't force the issue, I can't invent what does not exist. I can't presume anything. Finally, it has gotten to the point when her happiness is just more important to me than even my own. So, aside from the purpose of Jedi mind tricking myself into maybe having a bit of (even false) hope to get through my days, I just see no use in these feelings, even if they are the mountain, even if they are the ocean, even if they exist whether I wish them to be or wish them not. Funny thing about oceans: As the old janitor told Sonny Crockett, believe in them or not, step in them and you'll surely get wet. In other words, I'll never be able to move forward until I acknowledge them. So, here for the good Doctor Blog-ieo, and all my friends, Romans, robots, and strangers, and my dearest Universe, is a truth I will never speak anywhere else. You know something about me that nobody in real life does and hopefully the men with the white coats and the good drugs will never find out. Even if the loony bin is starting to sound like a vacation spot. I am Napoleon and I demand a room with a view! 

 

Some tightropes walked are literal, but most are made of metaphor. 

This is also true for the safety net, present or absent.... 

And for the great expanse below....

Every pair of feet, however, 

Every heart, every soul, 

Every human being walking the walk... 

Is quite real.

Sister Sister Sister

 

                                               September 26, 1981 - January 23, 2022

 

I'm a bit cold, so I find myself wrapped in these covers, feeling the warmth of the sun shining through my window, and listening to the sound of melting snow, dripping off the roof. It is a sound I can't recall hearing ever before in my life. The roads are closed, and I've been off work these past couple of days. I've been drifting in and out of reality with that sound as the backdrop, and with my sister on my mind. Today is a grim reminder of three years ago. It has been a long three years, and three years does not dull this pain. In a way, it's good to be home today.... The 23rd of January is never going to be an easy day for me... There is an all too small hospital room in Tallahassee that part of me will never be able to leave. Most days I deal with it okay. Just not so much as on the bleakest day of the bleakest month. Marsha deserved so much better. The snow has been a distraction I needed. Snowstorms are an extreme rarity in my part of the world. I don't know the exact amount, 5 or 6 inches maybe, but it was enough to cover my boots completely. In all my decades, I have never seen so much. It was a nice memory to go along with this obviously bad memory of today. But, now... I just want to get back to work and a sense of normalcy. I've still got a yard full of snow. I would imagine it will mostly be gone by the end of the day. Good thing, too. As much as I love to be home, there's a living to be made. Sometimes I think the day to day responsibilities is the only thing keeping me out of the nuthouse. In other words, this loneliness and this excess time to think is literally driving me crazy.

Thoughts In The Dead Of Winter

Wouldn't it be lovely to be young again with the wisdom of all these decades? Think of all the good I could do, of all the love and appreciation I could show, of all the foolish bone headed mistakes I would avoid, of all those wasted minutes, hours, and years, that I could get back. Just one more go, just one more chance, just one more game, now that I oh so clearly know what I should have done. Unlimited power. They give you the knowledge about the same time they take away your power to use it. What year would I go back to? And is there any usefulness in having these kind of thoughts? Maybe it is just to explore how present day Cosmic Wie would have made a lot of different choices. While the space cadet I used to be was far from evil, far from being the devil himself, they still left much to be desired in my present day opinion. Young Wie was ignorant of many things and while a few of those ignorances could be forgiven and excused, there were also some where I most definitely should have known better, and damn sure should have made the effort to have known better. To be ignorant is one thing. To have not made any genuine effort to open my eyes to reality is quite another. To only see yourself from your own point of view is to be blind to reality. To learn and to grow requires one to reflect and see the things we don't really want to see. You've got to be an investigative reporter, not a propaganda minister. Then we can work in being a better human being, right? Oh, Universe, I've been thinking. It's not always the smartest thing to do. Would we call this a paradox? Not necessarily. There is productive thought where important conclusions are reached. Then there is my running around that same old circular track in my brain, round and round, down and down. A train of thought that goes absolutely nowhere is no good to anybody. There is reminiscing and ruminating. Then there's brooding and dwelling. And while there are things beyond my control, there are other things well within it. When I ask myself, just what can I do? It is not always rhetorical, and sometimes, there are answers. Just maybe not the answers I want to hear. My thoughts in January can be as bleak and as gloomy as the weather. The closer the 23rd gets, the more my thoughts focus on my baby sister and that terrible day in 2022. Now, I know I am far from the only one to have gone through this. We all do. It is just as human an experience as can be. Do not let anyone deceive you: Time does not really heal loss. It doesn't really take away the pain. However, it seems that maybe time has made me better at carrying it. Like the mountain, the valley, or the ocean, it is simply there. Like the beating of my heart, it is in the background of everything I do, everything I say. My only real outlet is to honor the people that I love. It is not the beginning of a cure, but it really does help. My father once told me that what we call ghosts are merely afterimages in our minds, impressions, and reflections of the people we knew and loved. He worded it differently, far more succinctly than I could. He told me about driving past a certain field and seeing (for a split second) my great grandfather out there working. Nothing supernatural, just a fleeting moment of memory visiting the here and now. Now, living where I live, everywhere I look is a memory. Still, it's been more of a heavy sense of deja vu than an image. I guess there was that one time I was out mowing last summer and had this sort of flashback, "Good job, son, but how about we take a break and have a cold beer." It was more the voice of memory than a vision. It seems that where these "ghosts" really have their staying power with me is in my dreams. They've all visited me there. And lately, it has been his turn. One recurring theme is how he's here walking around like he always was, that he's still alive, that we're only treating him like he's gone. Yet in those dreams, he's still here, taking note of all the changes, and we strangely still acknowledge his presence. He seems to be content, no longer struggling so much to get around. He seems like the same man I have known all my life. I hope he is out there somewhere, happy, by my mother's side, and in Marsha's presence. I hope they all know that I think of them every single day of this life that has somehow lasted beyond time. I would almost sell my soul to be sent back to the year 1985. To me that is the present. 2025 is the future and this future sucks. In some ways, it might as well be Hell. Meanwhile, it seems I find myself in the crossfire of mandatory overtime and catching sick again. Damn it. I'd be home if I could. Man, I feel awful, like I have just had my butt handed to me. It's going to be a long day, but if I make it, my bed is waiting, and I will hibernate like a bear. Great goodness I know nobody's gonna baby me, but this is one of those rare times I kinda wish somebody would. Sometimes, being the grown-up is not worth it at all. Ah, but I am. Ah, but I will. Ya gotta do what you gotta do. Nobody ever said we have to like it. (Time Skip) Time keeps on slipping... Day, night, waking, dreams, a few encore appearances. This has been a most peculiar weekend. Aside from brief moments when I absolutely had to, I have not left this bed since Friday afternoon when I finally made it home, fell over like a redwood, and totally passed out. Since then, reality and consciousness have come and gone, drifting in and out of me. It's been a bit on the trippy side if you ask me. Silly rabbit, trips are for trix. I can't exactly say it's been fun, just weird... It's like that ancient game show, "This is your life," if directed in 1967 by somebody obviously altered by certain chemical compounds. Not exactly the way of the modern-day Cosmic Wie. What's more trippy has been this feeling I am not alone, but in good company, even if in this lousy condition. The good news is I woke up this morning feeling a good deal better, almost human. (Another Time Skip) It is now a few more days later, and I'm almost myself again. When everything is totally depending on me, I have to be up to the task. There is no rest for even the wicked, much less for the wretched or the weary. The world around me, its people, governments, and corporate entities with their hands out for my9 money, time, energy, even my sanity, could care less about what I've been going through. The world is beautiful, but it can also have a cruel lack of understanding. It is odd how, aside from random chance, some god, or myself, there is truly nobody to blame. I guess there is only so much. Modern-day civilization may have its flaws, but It will always be better than the chaos of anarchy. They say it is better to be alive. Maybe it is, but the longer I live, the more people I lose. To live is to feel pain. To be alive is to learn how to bear that pain, to understand that there are still things to do, and (as Robert Frost wrote) still miles to go. The reason it is better to be alive is there is still time to complete this task before me, this task of my forefathers that I must continue until I know my children are ready to take over the reigns, and it seems to me that none of them are ready. It is simply my turn at the head of the table. It is no more permanent than my father's or my grandfather's. With each day approaches the fullness of time. Nothing is forever. Certainly not I.  

I have heard people talk about the friend zone, maybe the shores or the highlands or the river basin. I, however, live beyond the mountains, across the desert, in a place I call the Outer Mongolia of the Friend Zone. I can almost hear Genghis Khan laughing at me. He was far better at conquering empires than I ever was at conquering hearts. Now, there's nothing wrong with being a good friend, especially to someone you love. There is nothing wrong with wishing them to be happy, even when it means losing them to time and circumstance. Because it seems that their happiness has somehow become more important to you than even your own. Friendship is not a bad thing. It just hurts sometimes. I still believe in the Grand Admiral Thrawn-bot's advice of being the supportive friend and realizing that we can't really make somebody love us the way we can't help but love them. But damn, shouldn't I draw the line somewhere? Shouldn't some things be none of my business? Should I really be part of aspects that don't involve me? If I am not the one, shouldn't the whole idea of romance be in a separate room? I don't mind giving advice when asked. I don't mind talking about my belief as to what love is and what love should be, especially to someone I actually love. I can't say whether my advice has value. If I were the actual love doctor, maybe I wouldn't be out here in the Friend Zone Outback. But still... I know what love is. And it hurts. These slings and arrows of that certain cherub go deep into the heart. I wish I had been wearing my Anti-Cupid armor about a year and a half ago. Falling in love isn't so nice when you're the only one falling. Damn it. Have you ever met someone who becomes more and more endearing with everything you learn about them? Remember how in Futurama Fry wanted to make an opera about Leela's life? My opera would be even better because this particular person's life story is one of overcoming so much and of great courage. Some heroes do not have to be written. They already exist. It is so much more than her physical beauty that has me feeling so strongly, whether I wish to be in love or not. Believe it or not, I make a great effort not to place her on some high pedestal. I am not claiming she's perfect. Just the perfect storm to have conquered this old heart without even meaning to. Even so, I can accept that I am not the one. It's just that I wish to keep the friendship out of certain areas that are painful to me. I do not want to play the role of relationship helper or a matchmaker. It's depressing, heartbreaking, and frankly humiliating. I can do many things for the one I love, just not this. It is just too painful. Does that make me jealous or immature? Maybe. But I never said I was the perfect friend. I know this is my problem alone. I wish I could change these feelings. I don't really understand why I feel this way. Pretty faces and beautiful women are more common in this world than some people think. But it's that one soul, that beautiful soul that I wish could love me too, this one in eight billion, or at least the only one I have ever really found, that I feel so deeply for. This is about spirit far more than anything else. If spirits were all we were, I would still love this particular one. I can't change how I feel, and damn it, I've tried. This is just something I have to learn to live with, just as she is yet someone else I must learn to live without. The difference is that one can't lose what they never truly had. The difference is that there is no logic or reason for these feelings, no explainable connections, no memories of a time truly together. The difference this time is that I only lost a beautiful dream of what might have been in some other reality. Therefore, I lost nothing objectively real. But why does it feel so real despite everything? It is nobody's fault, unless it's my own. Still: I'm not the devil himself, you know? Besides, a being wiser than Daniel would have probably figured this conundrum out. Oh well. Clean cup move down. It seems my second wind for today is about gone now. Heck, it's not for a lack of sleep. I've had plenty, weird dreams included. I guess maybe that still wasn't enough. This crazy schedule and not exactly feeling well for the past week or so in the first place is probably why. Despite my fatigue, I am feeling much better. I can finally breathe again. I may give my past self a lot of hell, but I am certainly glad that I quit smoking all those years ago. It goes to show that maybe not all my decisions were wrong. Even the greatest heroes falter sometimes, even the greatest warriors lose a battle now and then. (And I have never exactly been the greatest) Still, there have been fleeting moments when I have almost beheld what would be (to me) the spinach to Popeye, the yellow sun to Superman (Heck even cappuccino to Beavis) Nothing makes one stronger or more courageous to face the cold, keep up the struggle, or even await yet another tomorrow, like knowing there is such a person or such a place, that the coldness, the cruelness, the struggle and the fight to survive, like all things.... Is not forever. I believe there is nothing more powerful than a warm house on a cold night, a soft place in a hard world, a quiet refuge in the middle of a storm, a peaceful pause in a time of struggle, and a dear friend in a lonely world... The power to build will always be greater than the power to destroy. The power to heal will always be greater than the power to harm. The power to love will always be greater than the power to hate. I've spent some decades being a work in progress. Hopefully I've got some time to go, being the same work (with hopefully more progress). I like to quote a certain coach of the Chicago Bears who said that one is never a loser until they quit trying. (Or better yet Tim Allen in Galaxy Quest) Never give up, never surrender.

Of Marsha And Alpha Centauri

She is the night sky. Not the moon, not the planets, but every single star, every point of light. She is of the universe and one with the universe. Time, the thief of so much, will not take away the clarity of her memory. Never. For want of a nail, for the flip of a coin, for the spin of a proton, for the birth of a universe, go we. Three years, Sis. Just a couple more weeks, and it's gonna be three years. I can still hear your voice in my head. I can still see your face when I close my eyes. The stars still shine in your name. Alpha Centauri still has a solid year to go. I know there is some light of stars, especially galaxies, that is from a time before you, but not one photon from any star (save Sol) is from this dreaded past three years without you. As I said, the stars still shine in your name. It may be a small consolation, but I hold onto whatever I can. For so much more than any one reason, yet for one reason more than any other, I really think January is the ugliest month of the year. If even the most beautiful year has its blemish, it is here, and it is now. Suckuary is my name for it, thirty-one days of suck, with one particular day being the absolute worst day of all. It's cold and bleak, devoid of all life and of any vibrancy. It is lifelessness, it is coldness, and it is death. It is the thief of health, the robber of hope, and I will never forgive or forget how it stole away with my dearest baby sister. If January were a person, it would not be safe in my presence, for I would indeed claim the vengeance that not even a thousand pages of holy text could deny me. I guess I find myself in good fortune in at least that one aspect, as it is just a lousy month and not a vulnerable living creature. My hatred of January, just as my love for my dear ones, this aching compassion for my lost ones, has absolutely nowhere to go. All these feelings, like a homeless drifter, have no place to go. A frozen heart can feel no pain, but there seems to be just enough sun, just enough thaw where I can still feel, just enough realization that I always will. Believe me or don't believe me, but I'm trying my damnedest to keep a positive attitude. It is just not so easy, not right here and not right now. In addition to my thoughts of my sister, my father has been visiting my dreams all week. He's been appearing a lot. What's more, I have a very strong feeling that I know why. Either it is because he wants me to do right by him, or it is my own belief that I should do right by him. Could it be both? Possibly. I can not accept what I can not see. Yet I have seen him in my dreams, not once, not twice, but all week long. I have had this dream of being a teenager again, sitting here in this very house, his house, waiting on my parents to come home, sitting, waiting, watching the sky change as the sun falls below the horizon. He's been appearing in my dreams more than ever before. Probably because my remaining sister and I need to properly put him to rest by our mother's side. It is only right that we do. I understand how everything has been so crazy for us both and how hard it is to get our schedules in sync. But we've got to get this done. It's not her fault. It's not my fault. But every day, he is not where he belongs is an affront to all things decent and right. It is a dignity that I owe, and I just won't feel right until it has been done. Now let me say something that I don't know if I'll ever have a chance to say, because what moment will ever have context? I have seen death personally (as in having been in the room) several times in my life. My grandmother in 1995. My grandfather in 2002. My baby sister... My father.. With Momma, it happened when I stepped outside to calm my anxiety. yet I still saw her fading, and even that was more than I could bear. It was never something I wanted to see, but I had to be there, showing my love until the end. It was my duty to be there, to not turn my back, to not leave them. So, I have learned how to describe death as from the point of view of one still alive. And this I can say. Death is when a person leaves the room. Death is when you no longer see the glimmer of a beautiful soul who you loved, held dear, in the eyes of what was once a living human being. Most of all, death is something I never want to see again. I feel I have seen enough for two lifetimes. I know it far too well. Has a soul ever so longed for ignorance as I have? When you have learned, when you know, there is just no escape from knowledge. Only soap opera characters seem have the fortune of amnesia. Ignorance is bliss and knowledge is pain. Dearest friends, Romans, robots, and strangers: If you are able to take anything from my writings, know this simple fact. There will be things you'll wish you couldn't remember, things you'll wish you never knew. Seek knowledge at your own risk. If I believed in religion, I would point out that knowledge got us kicked out of the garden. It is quite the deity to give us a brain, yet forbid us to use it, but I digress. Oftentimes, knowledge is a trap. And it is so hard to fall out of what is so easy to fall into. It could very well be that there is a possibility of knowing too much. Conversely, I have heard it said that we should forgive ourselves for the times when we were ignorant, when we didn't know better. Still, that conflicts greatly with the times I really feel I should have known better. What about those times when one just simply refuses to open one's eyes to see the truth? Is there still a wolf at the door, when you never actually looked there? And does ignoring him or pretending he does not exist really make him go away? And if not, do you blame the wolf or do you blame yourself? The more you know, the more you see, the more you realize, the more complicated the questions become. Mirrors can cut deeply sometimes. Rarely do they simply tell us what we want to hear. And maybe it takes pain and maybe it takes regret for us to learn and for us to grow. Is there truly such a thing as painless wisdom? If so, then I have not found it yet. I guess we hold ourselves to a higher standard than other people. It seems forgiveness comes easier when it is not for yourself. Meanwhile, we'll spend a lifetime kicking our own asses for who we were what we didn't know and for what we were when we didn't understand. Beyond that, we give the benefit of doubt to others while we have none for ourselves, because there really is little room for doubt of the positive kind. I guess the consolation is in knowing your current self would have done differently. 

No, it is not good or necessarily right to make snap judgments about people you barely know. Still, quite contrary and quite conversely, my gut feeling has never been wrong when it's told me to be wary. That instinct you feel is actually that you sense something subconsciously. Listen to it. Smart people trust their intuition, especially when it comes to other people, even as they give the benefit of doubt. Now, if you really want to make a smart person dumb, just let them fall in love. I, myself, don't claim to be Einstein, and I'm hopefully not Forest Gump either. Ah, but I know what love is. And even he somehow won the heart of the girl he loved. To me, that's a bigger accomplishment than meeting three presidents, being a millionaire, or winning the congressional medal of honor. I could really do without everything else but that whole heart winning thing and be just hunky dorey. Ah, reality... It kinda stings the eyes. But yes, love can make us dumb. Cupid can make us stupid. Dude, watch where you're aiming that damn thing. Achtung! Get those anti cherub missiles ready. We are at DEFCON 2, repeat DEFCON 2. It's the end of the world as we know it, and I don't exactly feel fine. Ah, but how is your day going? Love has made me make some unsound decisions. Rose colored glasses might as well be opaque in some circumstances. When they fall from your eyes and you see once again, Oh, boy. Oh, but enough about that. Clean cup move down. I do need to get better at staying away from the social media vortex. This is not a New Year's resolution, just something I really need to do. It's just bad for some of us mentally. There's still a subconscious part of myself that thinks I'll find the connection, absolution, and belonging that I need (or think I need). But the reality is very different. As I may or may not have said already, it's like going to the desert for water or to the moon for air. Can I really think of a time that logging in actually made me feel any better? No. Never. In fact, it has often made me feel worse. It's all an illusion anyway. Rarely does one find anything or anyone real there. It is a dopamine trap for the brain. It's like a drug. It's like poison. A happy soul is not a profitable product. It takes a lonely soul forever, feeling inadequate, feeling less than who they truly are. It takes a beautiful soul wrongfully, thinking they're ugly. It takes a wonderful heart forever, second-guessing, forever wondering what is wrong with them. Only then can they sell you their products and their politics. A complete human being would be of no use to them. They want you to feel like there's something missing that only they could provide. But there's nothing left out of you. There never was. They want you to engage, no matter if it's because you are sad, lonely, angry, or offended. Their goal has never been your happiness or well-being. Never but never my friend should you ever feel unworthy of love. You are. I just don't believe this is the right place to find it. Well, we're getting far enough into Suckuary to be starting a Ballz Von Frozemov week. I know I have already expressed just how hate this goddamn month. But it bears being said again. Suckuary, especially the 23rd, can go to hell. It is a bleak miserable lousy month. And it took my baby sister from me. In short, I'll be glad when it's over. I am not a fan. Okay, I promise to change the subject. Clean cup, move down, and to hell with January. Don't get me wrong. It is so much more than this dreaded month that makes me feel this way. To tell you the truth, I'm not exactly happy with myself either. I guess I will never be. I know self reflection is a good thing, a healthy thing, a very necessary thing to learn and grow and to become more, to somehow get closer to the person we wish we could be. I also know we can often be our own worst critics, can be damn harsh, actually. Then again, when you're looking into your own soul, you really see everything. Of all the people on Earth, you are the only person you'll ever be able to see completely through. Everything, man, everything. Some things you're proud of. Other things you're okay with. Then there are things that make you really not like yourself very much. We all want to be beautiful inside and out. We all want to see the things we want to see. And yes, We do learn, and we do grow, but even then, it can be so hard to let ourselves off the hook for all that came before we knew or understood. If ignorance is truly bliss, it would seem that knowledge and understanding can be painful. I guess to be old and wise, one must first be young and stupid. I still say that life needs a trial run, let's go on and make our dumb ass mistakes, learn a few things the hard way, act a fool, Yadda Yoda. And then? Okay, now let's do this for real. We need a practice life first, the absolute perfect gift for any perfectionist. In the absence of that, I guess we just do the best we can, using the sting of those harsh lessons as motivation and thanking whatever higher power for those rare chances to apply them. You can't keep kicking yourself forever, man. Everything and everyone should have their time, their place, and there should be a certain dignity to it. The heart needs a home, and a soul needs peace. Am I making sense? I hope I am. Though when it really comes down to it, I really don't know anything at all. It's a lot of best guesses, really. For some, I hope I'm right. For some, I hope I'm wrong. I've been flying blind for a long time now. Random chance or Wile E Coyote, I guess I'll never know. I wish I could have a chance to live my whole life over again with the knowledge and wisdom I have gained. Maybe I could be closer to being someone I would be proud of, someone lacking the ache of so many regrets. In this coldness, in this bleakness, it is just so hard for me to see. I so need the warmth of the sun. I so need some light in my heart. I lost my sister in the bitter cold of January. I lost my father in the blistering heat of July. Sometimes, it feels like I've lost myself, too. As for what love I have in my heart, it either goes out to either those who are no longer here to receive it or to those still here who seem to not particularly want it. This old heart of mine has never been very good at listening to logic, reason, or rhyme. I just wish it were better at letting go. I know one should not expect fairness in life. Still, I think it's sad that many a lonely soul is denied what they long for through reasons that are beyond their control. I refuse to believe in a grandly designed universe, when children go hungry and hearts go lonely, when some of the fortunate others take for granted or even misuse an abundance of what so many have longed for for so long. Random chance is not a conscious living being and therefore can not be responsible or take blame. On the other hand, a grand designer of this particular universe would have a lot to answer for. Belief is one thing. Observation with eyes and mind open? That's another. One can not help but see. One can not help but know. It is hard to ignore what is right in front of you. Another thing? When the body gets tired, there is always rest eventually. When it comes to heart, mind, spirit and soul, that flavor of fatigue does not always have a cure. A lifetime has a way of wearing on all. I think it is the latter that truly makes one old.