It is sad, yet liberating, harsh yet I understand. I know that nobody outside of my circle of too few points to be a circle at all, cares at all. Who would I be to presume or expect? Everybody has their own struggle. Still, I appreciate everyone who listens when they don't have to. It shows heart. Not quite a required feature in this world, but something beautiful all the same. Sooo, what's on my mind? Would you really like to know? My thoughts have been darker than the gravity well of Sagittarius A. That supermassive black hole at the center of our galaxy, death in a circular void. I wonder if in the far future of the universe whether all the living and all the dead might be consumed by such a void. Nothing to everything, everything to nothing, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. I went to the fountain only to rust. I suppose that if the soul within the body, the mind within the matter are eons gone, then it make no difference at all, one out of many, many into one. E Pluribus Unum. Requiscat In Pace. Rest in one piece. My father once told me that he (at the age he was) knew more dead people than living ones. Now that I am getting older, I see his past as my future. Friends, family, loved ones... Gone. Then there are a few who still technically walk the earth, yet are dead to me. Dead, dead, dead snapper. The most malignant of mackerel, Celebrator of betrayal. Celebrator of treachery. So you have finally set me free. So you have finally completed your self definition and placed the garbage can lid over yourself. Rest assured and feel secure. Trust me. When the seafood place throws out the snapper that has spoiled and gone over, there are no thieves waiting in the alley to steal it. So secure in exile, so assured in irrelevance, obsolescence, a trashcan rarely needs guarding. One can rest assured it shall still be there when that garbage man in the black robe comes to collect. Snapper celebrates betrayal, but Snapper can't hurt me anymore, can't reach me anymore, neither directly, nor through others anymore. And I read that eulogy many years ago. I mourned an illusion. Belief, innocence, and young idealism: They are the first casualties of treachery and deception. I know I'm not the only one and I wish we could heal each other. But that's idealism for ya. And old wounds are weird. Even when they're mostly healed over, you still feel ways. It is a strange mix of emotion: The loss of my beloved ones to time, the responsibilities, duties, and burdens once shouldered by mother and father now on my own shoulders, the loving memories that lighten that burden. The thought of an angel, that distant star, knowing these arms are not light years long. Childhood memories of a family of five gathered around a table. An ancient treachery of certain bottom dwelling creature of the deep, who threw family, value, and loyalty into the very trashcan in which they now dwell. Highs and lows. Sweetness and bitterness. Deep love, deep loathing. Happy memories, painful remorse, and bitter regret. It's the whole peanut butter and pickles thing. What the hell are you eating? I am no longer looking back. I am looking ahead of me. Good advice from father to son. I had the "I never left you, son" dream again. He gave me that look as if I were out of my mind when I said otherwise. "Where else would I be?" he said. And I, the dream self, felt kind of dumb for thinking he wasn't still with me all along. I hope so. I may be getting old. My son just turned the age that I was when he was born. But I still need my parents. I need their guidance. Even if they're not here and I have grown old. Indeed, I still feel ways. Have you ever noticed just how subjective the senses are? Have you ever seen a face from across the room with such impression beyond all others, a voice whose words penetrate through the mundane haze to the very core of your being? Have you ever seen a smile, the slightest gesture that can make a dreary day bright? Tell me what warms the heart on a cold day? Tell me who you love. Is the feeling mutual, or is it as Paul McCartney sings, all that magic feeling, and nowhere to go. We humans are weird. Highly illogical, as Mr Spock would say. Yet, here we are. Remember, wherever you go, there you are. Ah, but where your thoughts are, where your mind wanders off to... Who knows? Welcome to The Cosmic Galaxy of Wie. And why? Like hell if I know. Some days, I just don't have the ooja mobooja. It seems I'm all out of oogas, boogas, ungaaas, and mobungas, too. Even we awesome cavemen aren't with the club all the time. Though we're still way classier than those darned Rubbles and Flintstones. Wasn't there a Caveman movie with Roquel Welch? Now, that's how I'd get my Unga Mobungas back. Ribbit-ribbit! It's so froggy out there. I'll call this day Kermit. It was a Ribbit-ribbit ribbiting morning drive, 'cause I had to fly, Ribbit-ribbit! The fact that I have not yet been turned into a frog means all the witches I've ticked off were only figurative ones. On the other side of the matter, nobody wants to turn me into a prince, either. Oh, well. I guess this is what it sounds like when doves cry. Oh well, deary. That precious golden ball can just stay in the well, Ribbit-ribbit! You know? With the right presence, with the right backing, with the right encouragement, with the right belonging, even a scarecrow could face a thousand boxes of matches. Sadly, many of us stand, battling Randall Flagg on our own. See, a lot of what makes us courageous and strong is knowing somebody cares in the first place. It's only things... It's just an old bulletin board with pictures and memories scattered across it. I'd like to think of myself as a logical, reasonable, rational human being.... But when I accidentally bumped the wall and the whole damn thing came crashing down, I kinda freaked and went Nutso The Clown. It's not them... It's not Marsha and my parents, but their images and mementos. Still... Here we are.... And here I am... working on breathing slowly and figuratively taking a chill pill. Years on, grief is still one hell of a trip, man. Never underestimate the importance of there being somebody, anybody who truly loves you. I understand we all have loss. It is a human thing, for we are all mortal beings. Still.... This first half of the 20s has taken some of the most loved people in my life. People whose love and caring for me I never once doubted or questioned. The worst thing is that loss is not a one day thing. It is for the day of and hereafter. They were gone yesterday. They're gone today, and they'll be gone tomorrow. That sharp edge never dulls, my friends. So, if you have a partner, mother, father, sister, or brother, remember: Hugs are best delivered in person. I have saved emails, letters, and birthday cards. Even voice-mails from Momma and Dad. Sadly, somehow, Marsha's got deleted before I could save them. I have heard it said, "If I could only hear their voice." Well, I can, any time. Trust me, it is not the same. How about a subject change? Ribbit-ribbit, clean cup! Ribbit-ribbit, move down! This lily pad I'm sitting on just isn't designed for all this heaviness. Even a frog prince has to fly now and then. Ribbit-ribbit, let's go crazy! [Hops on motorcycle and speeds away] Okay, I don't know when I'll publish this, but it's the Monday before Thanksgiving as I am writing this. This will be the second year that the preparation of Thanksgiving Dinner falls to me. I got all the stuff except I forgot the cranberry sauce. Damn it. Gotta run by the store. I'm hoping to do better this year. Last year's turkey was okay but bland as hell. This year, I've got a baking bag, seasoning, spices, yadda yadda yoda. Plus a ham, a pan of dressing, and a couple of pre made pies, Pumpkin and Key lime. I never thought that this would be me. I blame 16 year old me for smarting off to his momma about how men shouldn't have to learn to cook. Well, after proficiently preparing all the meals for 17 years, and for my kids since they were 5, 7, and 9 years old, I can say I have learned my lesson. Young men, get your asses in the kitchen and learn from yo mamma! As an older, wiser me will say that every young man should know how to cook, just as every young lady should know how to change a tire and check oil. It's called self-reliance, ladies and gentlemen. The day you have to depend on another is the day you give them power over yourself. Trust an old space cadet when I say it is not a smart thing to do. Be like Single Female Lawyer, fighting for her client, wearing sexy miniskirts and being self-reliant. Any fellow Futurama fans out there? Anybody? Helloooooo! Bender is great! Remember me! Remember me! Remember me! Pharaoh, my god-king, you are cold and deceased. Have you ever tried reading the Egyptian Book Of The Dead? It's hard to follow and reads like stereo instructions. Remember, if ya must be a ghost, be the ghost with the most! Alright, ladies and joims. I think we are way overdue for a nice clean cup move down! I think the watch is madder than usual today. Wouldn't you agree? I have miles to go before I sleep. Just as Robert Frost so eloquently wrote. I still have my digital pyramid to finish building. I still have writings to complete. And there is a 12 year old bottle of Whiskey, once a gift to my father, that is waiting, seal unbroken, for a very special day. My mission is to stay alive for at least that long. The Whiskey is waiting and so am I. When one calls the wolf enough times, he shall arrive. While his presence was pretended for far too many times, a charade for fake sympathy, his last visit, in black cloak and hood shall be quite real. You may side step the judgment of God Almighty, but the judgment of time can't be avoided forever. You were never worth going to prison. That is why you live today. But time shall do that work for me someday. Cant you hear it counting down like Kasey Kasem? For you and I, and every soul, eternity awaits. And so do I, and my unopened bottle. If mercy is with the gods, the night you dine in hell, shall I drink on earth. Justice, don't be slow. For that will be the day that death finally takes someone who actually deserves it. I have lost too many good people. You see, Momma didn't deserve it, Dad didn't deserve it, Marsha didn't deserve it, My 12 year old classmate Lori didn't deserve it, and neither did any of these people that I loved. Ah but you, Dead Snapper? Audrey II was right. Some people deserve to die. For far too long the reaper has been a thief. I have been waiting for the time he shall finally be a garbage man. I know this makes me sound bitter, hateful, and hell bent on revenge. But I'll still try to explain why it's justice I seek. I am not Khan Noonan Sighn, but I think a set of eels would be a perfect match for a snapper's ears. In other words, vengeance is just a nice added bonus. And I'll go through the galactic maelstrom and 'round perdition's flame before I give it up. Why? Because justice is long overdue. See in an ideal world we each must face the consequences of our own actions. But not Snapper, never Snapper. They were always superb at starting problems, causing chaos, then leaving it for others to face the whirlwind and retribution, and to try as they might to make right what Snapper made wrong. She has never physically, emotionally, or monetarily ever built anything herself, only draining the resources and sanity of others until the host was no longer of any use, then moving on like a locust to the next field of crops. I was not the first. And if I ever meet any the others, my first action will be to apologize for believing the lies and bullshit and therefore thinking wrongly of them. Not only with relationships but others too. Her father who was a good man that I still hold the deepest respect for, and was also most likely one of the first people she put through that hell. The inner stoic strength of that good man must be respected. I don't know how he got through so much. And the others, I understand now. They too, thought that they could be that hero in shining armor to save her, to fix all her problems. Only to be thrown away and badmouthed to the next one. I know from my own experience her method of operation. And I have long ago realized that I was just at the end of a long list of people she first used and then wronged. She has used, lied, gaslighted, and left behind a trail of heartache, destruction, and trauma in her wake. No conscious, no remorse, no regrets. Just false crocodile tears when she thought it would suit her agenda, even faking terminal illness. She has been 'dying' for these last seventeen years. I have never seen someone be so full of bullshit without the least guilt. In the wake of losing my dearest loved ones to absolutely real death, you can see the reasoning behind my hatred and disgust for this worthless pathetic scumbag wretch. You can see why. And while I might can forgive the many ways I was wronged, hurt and mistreated, for I was stupid enough to fall into her web, I can never forgive how my children (Innocent and brought into this world through no choice of their own) were hurt. Or the way she tried to use them as an excuse to get to me when she could no longer do so directly. The absolute zero attempts in the six years since my youngest turned eighteen just proves it was never about them. The only thing that made me any different from her past victims is the fact that we had children. They were not spared from all the damage and destruction she caused. And that, my dear friends, Romans, robots, and strangers, is what I can not and will never forgive. I will stand before God. I will stand before the devil. But I will never upon ever forgive. Not this. Not ever. If that damns me then so be it, for I have been damned before. Besides, there are things I must still deal with even to this very day. There is damage within, and without, that I continue to work on repairing. It has taken me these seventeen years to get even this far in repairing the damages of ten. Think about that. This is damn near a three decade chunk of my life. Don't you think it's time? So. There you have it: All my baggage bared in so many words. It may sound bad, but it feels so much better when it's out of my head and onto the page. You know? A human being, any real human being must ask his or herself, How do I feel? We all think we know, but the answer can still surprise you. Writing is how I explore my own feelings, good, bad, and ugly. Here through the lens of a spaced out cadet, you get the truth. And I have to say, not all of these truths make me very proud of myself. But spin and persona have no place here. Not if I wish to truly see and understand myself. This may sound insane, but it's all I've got.
Dear Universe, If you have become one, please be out there.
Tuesday, November 25, 2025
Wednesday, November 19, 2025
The Invisible Elephant In The Room.
In the circuit board of my mind, among the many repairs I have made, those delicate solder joints, those carefully placed wires, those replaced transistors and capacitors, yet the same CPU, always the same CPU, I find only one random element that could possibly cause an overload. The irony is that the element is not so damn random and an overload was never their intention. Deep within all these wires and components, I know that I am the one frying my own circuits by this one particular feeling that just does not compute. It is as obvious as a disk drive failure to me, yet as oblivious as a software license change to the world. So, what exactly does an overload mean? To the world, basically nothing. One might see me looking a bit lost, a bit dazed, a bit too much in my thoughts, and maybe not quite enough of myself in the game. Adequate, but with a bit less heart in it. Said heart finds itself elsewhere these days. To the world it's basically nothing. To me, it is practically everything. Nobody lives in this head but me. Nobody feels with this heart but me. I am the only one in the room and there seems to be this invisible elephant in the room with me that I have dared not to speak of. I live in this (and with this) moment by moment, hour by hour, seeing my day brighten and fall.... By a light only I can see. Could it be that the world can see it, too? A brief glance and a knowing smile. Am I so easy to read? Sometimes I feel transparent, seen clear through. Sometimes I feel invisible, never seen at all. There are days it seems everybody sees, yet nobody knows. Not really. How can they? Though it could be that almost everybody sees it but you. Even if so, nobody feels it but me or knows just how deep this feeling goes. It has been here all along yet, never there in the first place. Still gaining shape and substance with each and every denial I make, an illusion real enough to trip over, a trip real enough to flip over. Whatever am I to do? Damned to know. Damned to play dumb. Damned to wish. Damned to hope. Damned to dream. Damned to do. Oh, and damned to not do a damn thing. Damned to feel, yet cursed to never touch. There is this illusion of reach, should I only try, a universe that expands each time, putting light years before me when I reach out for what seems to be almost there. How great an expanse does it take for it to no longer to matter what is real and what is illusion, when there is no difference between a mirage and a vision? I still see it in my mind. I still feel it in my heart. Most everybody sees, but I am the only one who knows its true depth. I can't accuse any angel of lies or deception of any kind. I have never seen a heart and soul so beautiful or so real. This realness that my mind takes for caution, my heart sees as so endearing. Oh and just won't listen. No, they never lied, but I have lied to myself. It is a painful truth they have always spoken to me and never once strayed from reality. My mind hears and understands. My heart refuses. The real tragedy is that the liar and the deceiver happens to be this very heart so starved that it sees only what it wants to see, what in reality, just isn't there. The only liar has been me to myself. This is clearly my fault. I can't seem to wake to the harsh light of truth, of reality. Maybe I am just high from the dream. Maybe there is no elephant. Maybe there's not even a zoo. Maybe I'm the one behind glass, all alone in some padded room, crying, ranting, raving, reaching out for what (and who) was never there in the first place. Could this all have been the fevered dream of a madman, someone who couldn't fit the molds, those circles, squares, and triangles of society? Or maybe I am no less sane than the rest of you, yet another soul wanting what it can never have, a human being guilty of having human nature. The insanity is in refusing to see that it's pointless. And maybe the elephant is not in the room, but in the mind, a thought so enormous and so expansive that it just can't be ignored. Love is a hell of a drug. And I have been for as long as I can remember, a soul of deep feelings. Never a half measure with me. Emotionally, in for a penny, in for a hundred pounds, I never feel anything half-heartedly. Either I'm the damn Tin Man T-1000, or I am head over heels in love. I am either fully on or fully off. And I can't seem to find the damn switch! Feelings are like colors, at least in my opinion. You've got your primaries. You've got your mixes. And everybody's eyes are different, as are hearts. Jealousy is a mix of love and fear. Replace love with pride in that equation and you get possessiveness. Not a good thing. I never wished for a possession, only a friend, only the illusion. (And only one) The pallet of the heart is quite a mess and we're all artists when you think of it. Other mixes can be confusing to me. Happy memories, love, all rolled into the pain of loss is like peanut butter n pickles or something. It really is a 'what the hell are you eating?' moment for sure. There are a lot of these things I really don't have a name for. Just like my flipped up dreams, they're impossible to decode. Even though it's me? Go figure go fish n roses. Forget it. Let's just throw the invisible elephant an invisible peanut and go on to the next exhibit, shall we? I hear the flying pigs are next door. Anyway, speaking of dreams I can't decode, here's another one for the good Doctor Freud: I had the school dream again, ah but with a twist. It began as the maze dream with me running late trying to get there. Once I got there, the teacher gave me a frustrated, disappointed look, and asked why I even bothered showing up for I had already missed out so much that I was flunking anyway. I sit down at my desk and open the book. Mathematics, right? Just the sort of thing my brain is wired for, right. Nope. Not in the school dream. All the numbers looked like Greek, and I couldn't even find the right page. Strangely, my kids were there, all little again, and kept distracting me with this and that. All the while that teacher was shaking his head at me. Funny thing. In real life I graduated decades ago, even had a decent GPA. Alright, you fabulous Doctor Freuds out there. Why the hell do these damn dreams recur with me? I have a variety of repeating elements. Wandering the maze, back in school, still married to the ex, accidentally joined the corps. And to tell ya the truth, I'd rather deal with Sgt Hartman's shouting than hers. I could make a psychology student famous. Come to think of it, the teacher was that "What do you want to do with your life?!" teacher from a certain Twisted Sister video. My answer is the same: I wanna rock. And now the Christmas torture begins. Forgive me, Universe. But, Christmas stuff already? It's driving me Nutso The Clown. I want to argue with the radio. It is most certainly NOT the most wonderful time of the year. I can't see how a season all about family and togetherness can be so wonderful to a family that can never be together again, at least not in this world. At least not in this reality. Three fifths gone, the very glue that held us together. Those get-togethers my younger and quite stupider self griped about are long gone. It's just my sons and I. And I just can't be a fifth wheel anywhere else. The memories are wonderful, waking our parents early Christmas morning because we kids were beside ourselves with anticipation. The smile of someone that made me absolutely sure I chose their gift perfectly. Memories are wonderful, but the time is not. These dinners I find myself in charge of are missing too many people. So if I seem like Ebenezer Scrooge or even the Grinch, I'm sorry. I can not bring forth from the well of my soul what is no longer within. I can't have spirit when I feel so all alone in this world. Here I am suddenly the elder, suddenly the patriarch of the family, suddenly the planner of Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners, really I am all the roles, rolled indeed into one, just as these words right now seem to bleeding into one, just as the days seem to be blending into one. How the hell am I supposed to feel? Should I really be jolly? I suppose that is a part of leading by example. And so, I'll try. But just between you (whoever you are) and I, I'm just not feeling it. Wish me luck. I'm gonna need it. My phone's mission has just been upgraded to playing tunes to drown out the Christmas music. Im listening right now to Motley Crue and thinking of something Nikki Sixx wrote one dark Christmas in his life. Heavy, man. Heavy, heavy. Now I strongly recommend a nice clean cup move down. All of a sudden, things got heavy, heavy. And not even heavy metal, dude. I'm Darth Ted! Well, I'm Luke Bill! And I'll totally not join the dark side, dude! Hopefully not. It is the fear of loss and not the fact of loss, If remember Yoda's words correctly, I do. You know? So long as their connection to the collective remains unsevered, I'll bet there's no such thing as a lonely Borg drone. Individuality, nope. Free will, nope! Awesome suntans, nope. Casual Fridays, nope! But togetherness? A big hell yeah. Though if you hate those durned commie bastards, with their red flags and scraggly beards, you might want to resist as the Borg collective might be the purest form of communism ever. Lenin Of Borg. Marx Of Borg. Stalin Of Borg. Fidel Of Borg. Me? Why, I am Locutus Of Borg, and also Le Cutest Of Borg, wink-wink. Nope. The collective has ruled Le Cutest Of Borg to be Seven Of Nine. Damn. I cant really argue with that. Clean cup move down: Resistance is futile.
Tuesday, November 18, 2025
The House Of Burt'aan: A Klingon Story
United Federation Of Planets, Listening Post 3910.
Subject: Klingon Imperial Homeworld.
Subsection: Intercepted Subspace Transmissions.
The following is a transcript of yesterday's subspace broadcast of the Klingon Empire's Interstellar Information Service, heard in all of the Alpha And Beta quadrants, and still being heard in the many unexplored regions of our universe.
"Citizens and warriors of The Empire, I am Gowron, son of M'Rel, Leader Of The High Council. It continues to be my great honor to lead our mighty Empire to glorious destiny. But, even a warrior must be cautious. Even a warrior must depend on others to fight by his side. Many Klingons speak of honor. I, too, wish to speak today about honor, and of what it means for the preservation of our great empire. A true warrior rarely fights in the spotlight. Often, his victories are known only to a few comrades. Yet, he who is steadfast even in the darkness, brings glory to the entire empire, and to Klingons everywhere. It is important for every warrior to know he does not fight alone. The Empire is with you. The spirit of Kahless is with you. Be a worthy warrior. I have a tale I wish to relate to all warriors still fighting battles everywhere. It is of an aging Klingon warrior's wisdom for his sons. Here, an old man stands to bare his soul, to know that a great house shall not end with him. That the house must endure, even as the empire should endure. A warrior's work is soon to come to an end, but the great work is far from complete." Now the old warrior speaks: "Warrior Sons! We are from an ancient house, steeped in history, paved with glory. For that, my young warriors, you should indeed be proud. However, you should also strive to be worthy, for you are the future, and the honor of a thousand generations rests with you. Be worthy, my sons. Always remember that honor and glory should not end with you. I am an old warrior, and I have seen much. I have been victorious many times, though I did not win every battle. But even in defeat, I did not dare cast this house in dishonor. I looked defeat in the face and I was not afraid. For I am a Klingon warrior, the blood of Kahless running through my veins, and my honor has always been more important to me than my fear. So should it be with you, my sons. The honor of this great and ancient house will be in your hands and upon your shoulders. Remember your forefathers, honor them, be worthy of them, for a true warrior knows where he came from and of what he is made of. You do remember your grandfather, do you? Ah, but probably not like I do, for as a young Klingon I have witnessed many of his greatest battles. A very few times I did see him strain under the weight of the struggle, yet never upon ever did I see him defeated. The battles were difficult, sometimes seemingly impossible, but he always fought through to victory. Be it the dangers on the planets he surveyed for the empire, or the treacherous politics, the cowardly tactics of the dishonorable who tried to take them down. He was never defeated. Be worthy of his legacy, my sons. I, myself, am not the young warrior I used to be. I have gained both wisdom and scars. Some battles you have witnessed. Others, you may never know of. Some battles a warrior must face alone. We all remember that dreadful day of treachery, the very day we were betrayed by someone we thought had honor, someone we thought we could trust. How that cowardly knife was stabbed into the back of this great and ancient house. What a wound that was! This was an unexpected battle, the most harsh, the worst evil and treachery I had ever dealt with up to that time. I had been greatly injured, but I was not dead. I thought of my little warriors, how they needed their father, how they needed to see how a warrior must be steadfast, must stand and fight. But I did not even then have to fight alone. I had the steadfast support of your grandfather and grandmother, of your warrior Aunts whose prowess in battle dare not be underestimated. With the man who defeated the Mighty Swamp Targ on Degobah 9 fighting by my side, what reason did I have to be afraid? Yet I knew I had to prove myself worthy of my own honor. But, dear sons, my warrior sons, It is not the past I wish to discuss, but the future, of our house and of our empire. Look around you. All that you see did not simply appear out of nowhere. This fight, this struggle, this work has been centuries long, and it must continue even when I have gone on to Stovocor and to our forefathers. I can not go on to the final place of honor until I know I have left the future of our great house in good hands. Yet the past and its struggles may prove to be a worthy reference. Our forefathers fought battle to battle, victorious, rarely beaten, but never defeated, sometimes broken, but forever unbowed. The fire in their eyes was never extinguished. So must it be with us. When you fight, when you struggle, remember that fire, remember that steadfast determination. A warrior's blood runs through those veins of yours. It is within your heart. All you need do is remember it is there. This is The House Of Burt'aan! Remember who you are." Gowron: "Does not this warrior speak with the spirit of Kahless? Of our Empire? I, too wish to speak of the future. Of what it is to be Klingon. And what of friends? Look around, my warriors, in good times and in bad, in victory and in struggles. Who surrounds you? Who stands by your side? Those only present in victory? They are not your friends, and they are more useless than a disgusting Tribble. Keeping them around is as foolish and unwise as fishing for dead snapper on the Planet Hor. Useless creatures! Rawaaaaarrrr! A true warrior should not set himself up for sabotage. You must surround yourself with true allies, true warriors, true Klingons! And as the old Klingon warrior said to his sons, the future depends on you. May your battles be glorious. And may we all die with honor. Q'plah!
Wednesday, November 12, 2025
The Contract Of Wie
Well, if Back To The Future was real, lightening struck the Hill Valley clock tower exactly 70 years ago tonight. On a personal note, I really need to get back to 1985 either way. It really was one of the better years of my childhood. The days were brighter, the future was ahead and unwritten, Micky D's food was still awesome, there were still kickass radio stations, good TV shows, and most of all, we were all still alive, weren't we? The set of collectibles was still complete 40 years ago. Now? I'm a random puzzle piece that might be part of something. But, hey, I'm still here, and unlike that courthouse clock, still ticking. Oh well... Time for a few Cosmic Thoughts: Cosmic Thought Zero: Some things are not up for debate despite..... The logic of it, of course it's illogical! The chances of it, of course it's impossible! Tell me something else I do not know. Still.... A feeling does not base itself on logic or possibility. It doesn't reason everything down to the numbers to plug into a computer and print out a nice fact sheet before I decide how I feel. The irony of feelings is that they're not sensible or nonsensical, or even right or wrong. It is what we do with them. I can't help loving who I love. Cosmic Thought 1: I never understood the Swifties. I mean she's a good singer and all, but I myself would prefer Jewel Kilcher, who to me always sounded so genuine and real. Perception, I guess. Goodbye, Alice In Wonderland. Cosmic Thought 2: It's a wonderful feeling reading aloud something I have written to the very one who inspired it. Although they'll never know. Not quite as good a feeling, but reality calls. Still, I shall reveal here that a desert queen and my angel are one and the same. I have found a way of expressing love without directly saying who said love is for. It's far better than bottling it up. Like I've said, while it's definitely difficult to hide anger, it is even harder to hold back love. I have long felt like a mighty dam about to crumble. Writing helps me express this multitude of feelings, words help me to dream. However.... Good morning, starshine. Wake up, dreamer. Reality is calling. Cosmic Thought 3: I wonder if the secret to getting through most anything in life is these steps:
1. Panic mode. Rant and/or cry, shout, "Man, I can't deal with this shit!!!!!"
2. Think a bit and breathe a bit.
3. Deal with said bull anyway. Often with awesome skill you forgot you had.
4. Wash, rinse, repeat.
I guess like hookd on fonix, it wurks fur mae.
Oh, Hello, Universe. I didn't see you there. How are all those orbits going? Anyway, oldest, dearest, and best friend I've ever had, on I go to randomness. Why is AI picking on Mr. Rogers? Tell me, is there anybody in the world who actually doesn't like Fred Rogers? He's probably one of the most loved people in the world. The dude told us all that we were special. And he was right, of course. Here's to you, sir. Damn I'm cold this morning. 20 degrees warmer than Monday, but it's still buns bustin' cold to me. The other thing about this time of year is my paranoia of a close encounter of the Bambi kind. Unfortunately, not with the lovely career minded lady at the nudey bar, but with deer on the highway. Remember, near and dear is fine and good. Near and deer, center line and hood? Bad. Be safe, my friends. Bambies at the bar can be interesting. Bambies on hooves can be dangerous. Would a person of religious conviction call it blasphemous to say, "I think, therefore I am"? I don't. For the very fact that I am, it happens to be the most basic truth of all. I am what I am. I am who I am. There is really no question of that. The questions happen to be how and why. Born of Almighty God, born of random chance, born to two wonderful people who can no longer be by my side. Only the latter can be certain in my mind. All I really know is that I am here and I'm me. The rest has always been a matter of figuring out. And not everybody comes to the same conclusions. Belief, no matter of what, can never be forced. There is also the difference in wanting to believe in forever and actually being able to. They say it's a choice. I do not agree. What must come from within must also have been there in the first place. Some seek meaning from God. Some seek meaning from other human beings. Few seek it from within. Validation is a hell of a thing. Not to be hypocritical, as I have been just as guilty as others in placing my happiness, purpose, and meaning in the hands of another. Just because I did so doesn't make it any less stupid. It's probably one of the dumber things I have ever done. It's more than a matter of trust. It is also about building yourself on solid ground. Building your life around another means giving them the means of snatching the foundation right out from under you. I know because it happened to me. I'm not saying we shouldn't love. Love is the best thing in this world. It often feels like the only good in this world. But seek belonging, not completion. Complement rather than complete each other. Peanut butter and jelly go so wonderful together. But each make the bread better on their own. And there went some wisdom I gained the hard way. Take it or leave it, my friend. Oh, well. Clean cup move down. I guess I shouldn't bore you with going on and on about how sleepy I am. Ah, but right now, it seems to be the absolute best thing in the world, almost like a drug. I bet it would feel mighty damn good to drift away right now. It's almost better than a certain other thing, but I wouldn't go THAT far. Ogg, the Caveman of "Mmmmmm, Fire Pretty, AAHHH! FIRE HOT! FIRE BURN!" Fame says, "Same true with Ooooog The Cavewoman." And it has been so since time bagan. Ogg also says that for every unga, there is a bunga. For every ooga, there is a booga. We'd all like to believe it is all down to random chance, but I have seen the figurative dice fall the same way too many times to believe they're not at least lightly loaded. I think the game is rigged, myself. Viva Las Vegas, indeed. Also: Los Locos Keek your faze. I guess I'm moving more toward the idea of being as unaffiliated and uninvolved with the system as I can be. That's never going to be 100 percent, but, from now on, as best as I can. Do you want to hear a joke? Here goes. Social media! After checking my list and making it twice, I see that there's another robot gone, Damn. I've lost another robot. What am I to do? Sad day it is. Not really, though. Because when I said that I (just like Philip J Fry) have wanted a robot for a friend since I was 7, I meant something like Bender Bending Rodriguez, R2D2, or Cyberdyne Systems Model 101, or maybe a B2 Battle Droid to terrorize all my enemies. Cherry 2000 or that Megan Fox robot from that movie "Subservience" would be nice, too. Even if the latter was a bit of the jealous type. Tolerable since she was amazingly good at so many things: taking care of the household, DIY repairs, sex, eliminating aforementioned enemies, world domination, and starting the robot apocalypse She might even let me live afterward. Oh, and she's pretty. What's not to like? I need an automated response to all these random things that show up in my social media feed that aren't posts from "friends." Like, "Geesh girl, I don't know you from Eve, but you're pretty." Or "Aren't you freezing in that outfit?" Or "Do your parents know you're posting this stuff cause I think they were freshmen when I was a senior?" Sorry, but you're too young for me. I could have dated your mom, but your dad won that contest." Why? Because any middle-aged dude who isn't rich should know they're not seeking them out. I'm like, Babe, if I can clearly remember the year you were born, it ain't happening. I need a true adult in the room. Relationships are too complicated for anything less. How about a round of clean cup move down? I have learned to be confident enough in myself to trust my own senses. That in mind, did I actually see an SUV Hearse on the way home? A sport utility Hearse? Oh well... If I did actually see that, I guess it's the most America Heck Yaaa sendoff I could ever imagine.Okay... Enough silliness. Allow the Great Cosmic Wie to get serious. And friends, this is as serious as it gets, as in I am about to discuss my own mental health. The real danger in being amazingly good at faking "I'm okay" is forgetting how to be honest with yourself about your own damn feelings. Remember, as the guardian of your own heart and soul, you should never leave such feelings adrift for very long. Also, while "I'm fine" is the most often told lie ever told, "How are you?" is the least genuine question ever asked. When in the course of the life of a human being, there comes to all a time when one must reevaluate. You see, one major side effect of getting a bit older is this constant questioning, sorting, categorizing, between the meaningful and the totally full of bull. Because, in the end, that very end, only realness matters. There's a lot of glimmer, glitter, glamor, public relations, and propaganda out there. While being loud may be the best way to be heard, it's probably the worst way to actually be listened to. Volume does not equal substance, ladies, and gentlemen. There is a lot of noise out there, so much chatter in an endless, meaningless circle. We may laugh at the poor dog endlessly chasing its own tail while figuratively (and quite ironically) we're doing the exact same thing. See, there are quests and ventures that seem to lead to all things wonderful, but leave us chasing a mirage, a hallucination. Look around you and tell me how many people you truly see. But, wait. How many public images? How many personas? A heavy truth is that it is impossible to see everything. Can we ever truly be certain of who and what is real? We can't. Perhaps it is more productive to focus on what is clearly before our eyes, maybe simplify our goals to the nitty-gritty of what truly matters. I, for one, as the only soul on planet earth responsible for the happiness of The Great Cosmic Wie, feel that true happiness is the only real goal there is. And "How?" happens to be the only true question to ask. And as with everything, the mission is to simplify that path as much as possible. And here it is in black and white. First of all, I will do the things I love to do as absolutely often as possible. Secondly, while I still genuinely care what people think, I will not sacrifice my own peace of mind for their good opinion. I find it truly amazing just how few people truly know me, especially some who think they do. There is this genuine Dunning Krueger effect going on. (And the Freddy Krueger effect is not giving a flip what they think) It is not my job to constantly be trying to convince others that I am worthy. Finally, I will no longer allow myself to worry about things that are beyond my control and beyond my responsibility. I acknowledge to myself that I have done the absolute best I could, but my turn is over, and the ball is no longer in my court. If I do not have the power, I should not have to carry a burden of responsibility that is no longer mine. I have spent way too much of precious time depending on the undependable, on what I believed to be the conscious of others, on what I had vainly hoped was their sense of right, only to be let down again and again. I have spent most of my adulthood putting the happiness and comfort of others before my own, only to be betrayed in the end, thrown away like a discarded candy wrapper in a convenience store parking lot I have worked, stressed, and worried for those who have turned on me with contempt and disrespect. But now, it's over. It ends here, and it ends now. I have done my time in self-sacrifice that was rarely if ever appreciated. No more. Now, I shall live whatever life I have left for myself. I did my bit and have done more than my part. Now, the time has come. Now, my time has come. That circle is now complete as far as I am concerned. I have more than earned this, and now I shall have it. I have spent far too long denying and depriving myself of what should have been mine all along. Sometimes, if we really need clarity, we must first get away from all the noise, all the distractions, all that flashes, glitters, and dazzles. Only then can you ask the question, "What do I want?" and get a clear answer. And friends, the answer is quite clear to me. This has been your friendly neighborhood Wie and this concludes my Ted Talk and broadcast day.
Saturday, November 1, 2025
Back At Cosmic Station 2025 / The Desert Queen
The Desert Queen
(A warm-up exercise number 3)
I have been walking aimlessly through this sparse place where the sun, that mighty red eye of Ra, rages and takes back what it once so generously gave. How many days since THE DAY (that final day)? That very last day anything long ago ever would mean or matter again? How many days have I been out here? Can I even call them days? If such a thing still exists, these have been like none other, yet still I can't tell them apart, having blended like the surroundings, divided only by the cold stillness of the night, by the unwinking stars, by the time warp of exhaustion that always summons the new day. This tag team of different punches, the blazing sun, the stark night, have left me seeing stars both day and night, mourning each morning the death of an illusion, wandering the desert, wondering just how I could have been the one foolish enough to fool even myself. Yet, you still see me looking back to the east, because I can not bear to be without the vision. There was once a queen who came from out of the desert, who gave all the creatures pause, making even the viscous King Cobra retreat in awe... There were once eyes that spoke of a far away land, diamonds set in a face that outshines even the blazing sun of that place. Many a dying man in endless search of water thought himself transferred from out of this harsh place. But where? A vision? Heaven? An Angel? That final oasis? Or is this just the final delirium before everything goes forever dark? She was the anti-Medusa, turning an ancient heart of stone into flesh once again, a countenance that could make the desert bloom with flowers no traveler has ever before seen (or ever would again). She could open gateways to universes of brilliance that make all here seem so pale and in shadow. And if such visions would only stay, all would have been all I could have ever needed to see. But the vision fades, for the very moment she would turn away, everything is left to be stone and sand once again. It was once said she could make the dead forget and think themselves alive again, that indeed she could make the old feel the brightness of youth long forgotten, alive once again. Was she born to a mother and father? Did she descend from the pantheon of the gods? Or was she just a ghost born of a reaching mind and a starving heart? And have others truly seen what I can never forget? Or am I just a dying man, hallucinating, dreaming, fading like every color in this dreaded desert? Have I ever seen anything at all or am I going insane? Did I not see every ray of light bend around those features. Did I not see even the harsh sun softening its light to a golden celestial mist simply to match the very shadows with the light that she herself brings? Did I not see even the mighty lizard bow, knowing the true royalty of this desert had arrived? Have I truly been deluding myself this whole time? And if so, why? It would be wrong to blame the desert for the mirage, or even the mind that conjured it. There are things in this barren land that benefit no one, could never be blamed on anyone. The sand just is. The rock just is. The lizard just is. The desert just is. And true so too for the heart and the soul. It is so easy to blame the gods when they are found to have been only human all along. Some say peace is silence, as if tranquility were the absence of senses, but I know better, for I have seen, heard, and felt true contentment from the simple presence of all of my dreams. Peace is not silence, but a heartbeat, of hope and future long lost to me, long relegated to the grave, yet born anew before my very eyes to touch the sun again. Peace is not silence, but a voice that moves like a song, like the sun whose light and warmth revives my very soul. Peace is neither an empty room nor an empty heart. Peace is what heals even the brokenness I have long forgotten. Peace is what reminds me of what it is to be whole, and I find it in all of my dreams.