Seventeen Years

Seventeen Years

It has been seventeen years, but it could have happened yesterday. It returns in  the form of nightmares. It remains in the form of scars. Its repercussions echo  throughout even my present day. It was a day that shook me. It was a day that  changed me. There were times I even feared it would kill me. It certainly didn't  make me stronger. It merely gave me no choice but to become stronger. It was  either this or give up and die. Deep beneath my pain was an almost superhuman  resolve from a place I still have no idea where from. But as the sun set on that  day, I truly believed all was lost. I truly believed everything worth living for  was gone, never to return. I have changed significantly over these years. So  have my feelings. Though I guess some feelings cut across my entire existence.  The love is gone, long gone. But the feelings of hurt, betrayal, and anger still  come back in full intensity if I allow myself to dwell on that memory. So, I  make a diligent effort not to think on those times for too long. I had spent  many years second-guessing myself, asking what I did wrong, asking what I had  done to deserve such callous treatment. Did I not sacrifice? Did I not stay by  her side even when things got difficult? Did I not tread carefully and  figuratively jump through hoops of fire just to keep the peace? Did I not do my  best to play down my sheer embarrassment and humiliation from the tantrums she  would throw in the presence of my family and my co-workers? Did I not do my best  to placate her even by sacrificing my own happiness, dignity, needs, and peace?  Did I not spend day after day out in the blistering summer heat and out in the  brutal winter cold working to provide? Did I not invest nearly every dime I made  in providing as comfortable a life as I could? Was I perfect? No, most  definitely not. Still, I did my best to do right by her and these kids. I had  resigned myself to an unhappy life. I was used to taking the verbal abuse, of  being blamed for things I either had nothing to do with or had no control of. So  much so that I was blind to much of it. Friends would ask me all the time, "Are  you okay?". I remember catching hell because work made me stay late. I also  remember being so sick one day that I could hardly walk, waiting at the end of  the walk for her to pick me up, only to see her deliberately drive past me,  parking clear on the other side of the lot rather than picking me up right  there. I remember a co-worker (An elderly lady with a no-nonsense tell it to ya  straight attitude) who said in her gravelly voice, "That's no wife!" My reply  was a weak, "I know, I know" that nowadays fills me with shame, yet was a very  common response back then. I was suffocating, but I wasn't able to realize it at  the time. So strong was my need to be loved that I would have done most anything  just to keep the peace. What a small creature I had become! But what else was I  to do? I truly felt I had nowhere to go. The way the legal system is geared  here, I thought I would have found myself alone without even my children. For  all those reasons, I doubt that I would have ever left, no matter how miserable  things had become. I truly felt trapped by my past decisions, that there was no  way out but death. And I would have never left my children to fend for  themselves. So.... I couldn't leave. I couldn't die. This was the hell I had  resolved myself to remain in. The craziest reason was that despite everything, I  still loved her. I know, I know.... I can't even understand it now.... For there  is no love left and no love lost with present day Cosmic Wie. If this were truly  outer space, I'd send her out the airlock without a spacesuit and blame it on  the Romulans (those bastards). Even so I can't exactly call it hatred. It's more  like a really strong dislike, a sort of indifference, really. Maybe a tinge of  disgust and immense relief upon realizing that despite the callous cruelty of it  all, I had truly been set free. That was also when I discovered who truly loved  me, who was by my side, who fiercely stood up for me when I was unable to defend  myself, who was there to take me home, and who was there with listening ears and  a shoulder to cry on. I learned (was actually reminded of) who really loved  me.... And I also learned who was just faking, the liars, the bullshiters, and  the false friends. See, when you find yourself down, look around and see who is  there (and not kicking you). They are your loved ones. They are your REAL  friends. Never forget them. Always love them. Forever treasure them. Seventeen  years ago, I lost an illusion. It was the most painful thing I had gone through  so far in my life. But that was nothing compared to losing most of the ones who  were (figuratively and literally) by my side that night. See, I have learned a  lot about what real love is. For even in the midst of being kicked to the curb,  I was still loved. And their presence in my life was absolutely crucial to my  being here today. I just wish they all were still here, too. Compared to that,  the loss of a dirty rotten skank is a minor thing, actually a good thing. Dead  Snapper is hazardous for my health and definitely off my list. Like I said,  nobody ever steals trash, especially rotten seafood. They just haul it away.  It's not theft when the garbage man is doing us all a favor. Captain Nemo with  all hands voted to feed Dead Snapper to the freaking sharks. I disagree. Those  poor sharks would be sooooo sick to their poor stomach. That would be cruel to  those poor critters. Might I suggest swamp thing or the creature of the black  lagoon instead? Shark lives matter. But back then, I felt I was in a situation I  couldn't escape. Some things are much more difficult escaping than walking into.  And, aren't things always wonderful in the beginning? Here I was, a young  bachelor, all alone, when an old girlfriend shows up out of nowhere and  practically falls into my bed, offers constant attention, constant validation,  constantly telling me how wonderful I supposedly was... What would you have  done? I mistook all of this for actually being loved. In the beginning, she was  all sweetness. She didn't turn sour until she knew there was no turning back.  Things didn't get ugly until she knew she had me completely. That was when my  life began that downward spiral, when the yelling and the tantrums started, When  the lies and the vilification began, and the stories deliberately designed to  upset me. I was blind to so much, but I had quickly come to realize just how  badly I had flarked up and ruined my own life. Still, what choice did I have? I  had responsibilities I had to make good on. Despite the hellishness, I had vows  to keep that I took seriously, especially as the believer I was back then. God  was watching, right? Surely, a righteous Almighty God would have mercy on a soul  who did right despite the fact that it was suffocating him? Certainly, a loving  God would not let such a thing go on forever? Right? Right? Right? Surely,  sacrifice and hard work would eventually pay off, bringing forth a day when all  the suffering, all the struggles, all the pain will be validated and proven to  be worthwhile. Right? No. The day that came was December 31, 2008, seventeen  years ago today. Was I perfect? No. But did I deserve what happened? HELL NO!  Yet I spent many years wondering just what I had done to deserve such treatment.  The answer is absolutely nothing. She had simply realized that she had gleaned  everything out of me that she could have, that a man that worked all the time  couldn't be at her beck and call 24- 7. So, she discarded me. For many years,  this was the absolute worst day of my life.... Until Marsha and that hospital  room taught me just how much worse loss can be when it is someone who genuinely  loves you. Until Momma two months later, until Dad in another two years.... It  is far worse to lose people who really, truly love you. The ex? She was just a  liar who never loved me in the first place, only what she could exploit me for.  In 2022 and 2024, I lost real love. On that last day of 2008, I only lost a  liar, a user, an abuser who never loved me at all in the first place. It took me  years to realize. How long did I spend waiting for the day that even she might  see that this mistreatment wasn't right? The worst way we harm ourselves is  expecting a conscious where there is none. You can not shame a sociopath into  righting wrongs. It will never happen. They can mimic regret. They can mimic  remorse. But it's all a show. I was miserable for a very long time before that  day. Yet I thought I could never be happy again after that day. My thoughts were  dark, very dark. It took years of soul searching, self reflection, and healing  before I could understand what I understand today. I see many things all too  clearly that I was once blind to. And I keep waiting for the day that Karma,  Fate, God, or whatever finally gives her everything that she deserves. If  there's any justice in the world, it's about damn time. I have been waiting for  seventeen years. It is time I had a show to watch. It is time for all the little  chickens to come home to roost. It is time. Time has come today. But, for now, I  am about to time travel in a manner of speaking. See, I am not a new patient of  the good Doctor Blog-ieo. I have been writing since my teens. I wrote that  night, too. Now, a space cadet from the future is going to go visit his past  self, answer questions, provide advice, and offer comfort and perspective. Let  us see what seventeen years can do. 

RE: December 31, 2008

"I will never forget the 31st of December 2008. The day of my wreck in 2004 is  no longer the worst day of my life. Now and forever it will be the day I was  discarded like a used candy wrapper in a convenience store parking lot."

Dear Past Self, From your perspective, I am from seventeen years into a future  that is far brighter than you can see right now. I know things seem hopeless.  You can't understand how after all these years of work and sacrifice how one  could discard you and your feelings without the least bit of guilt and regret.  Your flaw is in expecting a conscious where there is none. I know you are  hurting. I know you didn't see this coming. I know your whole world has been  turned upside down. All I can say is that it's going to be okay. You can't be  expected to realize this, but this will be for the best. For far too long you  have been confined, imprisoned, expected to conform to the emotions of another,  To walk on eggshells to keep the peace. People from the outside have noticed,  even asked you how you  can live this way. It's going to take a long time before  you will be able to both see and understand what they mean. 

"I thought things were alright between us. So when I walked out of the store to   find her, the kids, and the car gone, I just stood there in shock. I don't know   how long I stood there, bewildered, wondering what in the world had just   happened. The sun began to go down, and still I stood there, Not knowing what to  do. This was the most cold, cruel and humiliating thing anybody has ever done to   me in my life. Finally, I did the only thing I could do. I went back into the   store, and got some change for the payphone, and after about 45 minutes of   trying, finally got up with my Dad to come get me. Then I found a corner to sit,  and wait, and hang my head and cry. Yes, I said cry. I am a grown man, but I  have feelings like any other human being, Plus, my children were gone too. So  yes, that's what I did until my Dad got there. But the worst was yet to come."

Dear Past Self, Your father is a perfect example of the people who truly love  you. I know you feel completely unloved right now, But that's not true. Your  mother and father, and your sisters will stand by you no matter what. They will  never abandon you. They will never discard you. Their love and support is going  to be crucial over the coming years. Within the span of two weeks, your children  will be back for  the duration, and they're going to need you to be strong.  Meanwhile, think of the people by your side who would never leave you for so  long as it remains their choice and within their power. Suffice to say, there  are still good days ahead that will come and go. But I can assure you, loss can  take many forms. Treasure, now and forever the people who love you  unconditionally. Oh, and that  particular payphone is still there even in 2025.  I walk past it going in and out of that store. These days? I don't think of her.  I think of Dad and how he rescued me. 

"Well, as you can see, it is almost 5 O'clock in the morning New Year's Day,  2009. I have not slept, and I probably will not sleep, until, maybe I pass out  from exhaustion.I just got back from the hospital, though some of this is my own   fault, as I had not been taking my blood pressure medicine. Normally, it doesn't   run that high, but with what happened today, I guess it did. It was 181/128 when   I got there. They put an IV and some other stuff in patches in me, and after  several hours, it came back down enough to go home. I am over at my parents  right now, because I cannot bear being alone right now".

Dear Past Self, TAKE YOUR DAMN BLOOD PRESSURE MEDICINE, DUMMY!!!

"I have done more praying for mercy from Heaven today, than I have done in a  long time. I can only hope I am being heard. I don't know what is going to   happen. I just hope my children will be alright. They did not deserve this. I  really don't feel I deserve it either, But I know they didn't for certain."

Dear Past Self, Yeah, you could say this was one of the many events of my life  that made me rethink certain things. 

"Well, It's now after six in the morning. I tried to sleep, but as expected, I  cannot. I never thought in a million years that I would have to go through  something like this. What am I to do? How do I get my kids back home where they  should be? Will I get my car back, along with most of my clothes, and jacket,  which are in the trunk? Should I be talking to a lawyer? How can I be sure my  kids are safe? What do I do about my job?"

Dear Past Self, All these things will work out. Yes you'll be forced to quit  your job and take a crappy job. But in less than a year, you will find a much  better one. That will lead to the most awesome job ever! (Geesh I miss that one)  And yeah, lawyer up and spend the best $2500 of your life. It will certainly be  worth it. And like I said, the kids, age 5, 7, and 9 will be back. And when they  return, You'll have a lot of work to do, a lot of things to learn, but you're  all going to be okay.

"I don't think she will ever truly realize what she has done to me" 

Dear Past Self, Oh, she knows. And she has always known. You don't yet get the  concept that some people have no conscious. You don't even realize the situation  you have been  living in, or that the way you have been treated over the years  is not normal, not healthy. You don't even realize how she's vilified you behind  your back, all while draining you of your resources and sanity, and when she  felt like  she's gotten out of you all she could, you found yourself here. You  do not begin to understand the figurative cage you've been living in. I know you  can't understand this, but you have just been given the biggest favor in your  life. You are now free!

"Something must have happened because she now regrets what she did."

Dear Past Self, What did I just say about not believing bullshit? You are not a  violin. Don't be played like one.

"I guess it is because I will always love her in some way"

Dear Past Self, NOPE! Trust me, you won't. 

"When the bond of trust has been broken, then you have nothing."

Dear Past Self, Absolutely Correct! We actually agree on that one. 

"Now my life has been destroyed. It will never be worth living again."

Dear Past Self, BULLSHIT! I am so much happier than I ever was back then. Life  is so much more beautiful when you don't have to dread coming home from work. As  a Robin Williams character once said, Being alone is not the worst thing. Being  around  people who make you feel alone ABSOLUTELY IS.

"I don't know how I'm going to survive."

Dear Past Self, I know exactly how: By doing your best every day, by being  surrounded by the people who love you, and having the extreme wish to give these  kids as normal a childhood as possible. You, my former self are going to thrive,  not merely survive.  You're gonna make it! You've got this!

Angel for the Wie

 

Angel for the Wie. 

Angel for the win. 

Worlds fade away. 

Worlds begin again. 

A VCR remote in godly hands.

Be kind, rewind. To 1985 again.

Angel in my mind, angel out of time.

An illusion without reason

A delusion without rhyme.

Calling me back where I well know

Calling me where I can never go.

Trapped in the insanity of humanity.

A spirit tied to flesh and bone.

I am..... Alone.

Begin, begin, begin again.

Angel for the Wie. Angel for the win. 
 

What truly lives but uncertainty? Is there no peace but Oblivia's loving embrace? Is the only true tranquility that of the void? Can there be life without worry? Can there be heartbeats without chaos? Can there be rest? Can there be peace? All in the presence of life? There is a tiredness the young can never understand for it takes the weight of layer upon layer, year upon year, one after another, all these trips around the sun. It is impossible to get out of a spaceship to stretch, but the urge is overwhelming, isn't it? Round and blue, land and sea, but not for you, not for me, drifting through the darkness. For space is generous, yet time somehow is not. Can you see? This has been the longest journey, the strangest trip, yet it's not over, not yet. Despite a thousand shocks, despite many untold hazards, I am still here. I seem to be like Duracell, built to last. Have you ever seen a neatly arranged disaster zone? Rubble in neat stacks, debris sorted alphabetically? Life is chaos. Destiny is order. Yet destiny rebuilds nothing. That sort of thing is up to you and I. Neatly sorted stones do not make a castle on their own. What is a general without an army? Without power. What is an army without a general? Without purpose. And who am I without you? That, I am still learning, still discovering. When foundations disappear, castles shift. Sometimes they crumble. The Cosmic Castle is still standing, if a bit wibbly wobbly and wonky. Whatever meaning there is, I am still the king of space cadets. To reign in the rain. There are some things that can not tarnish. There are certain things that can not erode. Truth is one of them. Everything else requires shelter from these storms. Sometimes, I, too, need shelter. Sometimes I feel lost in a downpour, a cold rain falling, drenching me to my very bones. In times like these it is hard to find warmth even from within. It's hard to imagine ever being warm again. The harshness of reality, the finality of death, it has been too much. It's odd how I will cry out for mercy, saying that this is more than I can bear. Yet, I go on to bear it anyway, not from the presence of strength, but the absence of choice. There are no angels descending to bear me up. Nobody is coming to rescue me. I remember being asked many times just how I survived. Well, my fellow space cadets, It was either that or give up and succumb. You will amaze yourself with your own strength when you find no option to be weak. Life will knock you down, but you will not stay there for very long. Maybe you'll take a minute to cradle your broken heart, even cry a bit, but you'll get back up and fight like a man. Sometimes, it's either win or die. And like Jesse Ventura said, I ain't got time to bleed. Though certain things don't really care how much time we have, never giving the courtesy of waiting until we're ready. Is there truly peace so long as this heart beats? Nobody chooses to live in fear. Yet, sometimes the fear chooses us instead. Anxiety is the Chicken Little of mental disorders. It's like those zanies on the street shouting, "THE END IS NEAR!" It is a false prophecy just like a cult leader would proclaim. It is an irrational impulse cowering in the corner, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the sky to fall. It holds doom as close as a lover, magnifying it, even when it never existed at all. And when it's all over, it leaves you exhausted. Even when the worst was just a figment of your imagination, you still feel drained by a battle that never happened. It has no off switch. The only way to fight it is learning to trust yourself with whatever may happen. You should, you know. The upside is this it makes you more cautious than others. A random person is nowhere near as prepared as you are. I'll bet you've got the scenarios covered. Okay, Okay, Okay. Clean cup move down. I may gripe sometimes, But I have to say I am truly grateful for my life. You know? Axl Rose sang, "You came into this world alone." Not true at all in my case. I had two wonderful people to welcome me here. With me it's always like the tide, high and low. Glass half full, glass half empty, glass vaporized into subatomic particles. But even at my lowest moments, I am still grateful, especially to the ones who gave me life. I just wish I could have kept them around a little longer.  I am still learning. I am still growing (At least in a spiritual way).  You know... It's not much different than back in school when I did good on a test. You want them to know you actually listened. You want to make them proud. None of us really had a choice about being here. Still, I would want them to know I'm glad I am here. I'll have all eternity to not be here. This, my friends is my one chance. There's a lot on my mind today... Christmas past. New Years Eve past. Hell, the past in general. Who is still here and who is long gone, mostly those who had no choice. Maybe one who did. It's like a potluck stew, a little bit of everything. I think of Marsha, Momma, And Dad.. I well remember that last Christmas for all of us. Carol said it better than any words that I can bring to mind at the moment, last moment for we five. Now it's just we two. They sing about family and togetherness on Christmas Day. I find myself in the same place but in a very different time. Myself, and my three grown sons, making the best of it. This morning I cooked Christmas brunch as near to memory of how my mother used to. I think I did okay. It's kind of a high bar to meet, and maybe I got close. I can be happy with that. Now, I am going back and forth between making more demos for my old FPS games, and listening to my tunes. You know? Sometimes the lyrics of a song delivered in a soulful passionate voice can capture beyond those very words exactly how I feel. I also absolutely know from certain words when somebody else has been exactly where I have been, and have also somehow escaped that exact same corner of hell. I guess songs are like writing on the wall, "I was here" to the next poor soul to be relegated to that terrible place. I will say this with all my heart that nothing moves me quite like finding a spirit that totally gets what certain struggles are like. It is wonderful when somebody loves you, for even when they don't understand, they try anyway. But to have someone totally get what it's like (Even if you will never personally know them) is like harmonizing without need of voice, a feeling of home. Home is never just a place, but a time and of mind. Coordinates? Four dimensions, two horizontal, one vertical, one temporal. A place, a time, and people you love. Even a millionaire is a poor soul if he only comes home to a place. Even a poor man is rich beyond dreams if he comes home to someone who loves him: Mother, father, sister, brother, friend or lover. There is a big difference between walking into darkness or to a waiting light. I'd give myself to angels if only they would take me. Pick me up. Claim me. Name me. I belong to no one but the earth itself, merely of its substance, and of theirs. Of the stars or of the gods, I can't say, only that I'm here today. I'd give myself to angels if only they could see me, know me, show me the way, light a path for me to find, a gentle way to ease my mind, to know what is and shall ever be. Arms length, a beam of light. A way to go and a way to know. They are as diverse as we humans, for they too can shine in many ways. One was my guardian even in life. Then there were others who gave life to me. Then there is one who haunts the borderlands of my life, fading in and out of presence, remembering, forgetting. Sometimes, I wonder why they hang around. An afterthought? A curiosity? A novelty? Save for the guardian, save for the life givers, those special ones, the rest are all who like me, and none who love me. Do they watch to watch over, or do they watch merely to see, never to intervene? This thrill of free will is killing me. In a world mapped to millimeters, I still don't know where I stand. Angel for the Wie, Angel for the win, to try, to try, to begin again. 

It was absolutely beautiful weather for all of Christmas week, bright, sunny, and warm... Now, on this dreary Monday I can feel the temperature dropping. Pardon the expression, but It's gonna be ball bustin' cold by tonight. Balls Von Frozemovski. Well, at least it kept sunny and pretty for those five days off. It might as well be cold, bleak, and miserable while I'm back at work. It's not like I could go out and enjoy the day anyhow. So... The timing was actually awesomely wonderful. Lovely week off, but quite the bummer today. A zombie this morning, a zomcicle this afternoon. B-b-b-b-brains! That first Monday back after a solid five days off can be just a bit jarring. Plus, the 'ol brain wouldn't settle last night, so I am going on very little sleep. Yep, it's going to be a long day. Christmas was good, or at least as good as it can be under the circumstances. I spent it surrounded by my three sons. We had a nice brunch that I cooked in the very same kitchen as my mother had for years, that very same kitchen where sixteen year old me smugly, and quite stupidly told her I shouldn't have to learn how to cook. Hi, Momma. I think I've learned my lesson by now. As it were, I think she would have approved of what I cooked. I did a good bit of yard work the first couple of days. I eliminated a bunch of leaves. Now, maybe this coming cold snap will do better at killing the weeds. Your leaves can not save you now! I have also made excellent improvements on my games, both DOS and Windows. Especially Windows as it had been lagging in functionality behind my DOS version. The reason is that I mostly use Linux for my everyday computing. Flark Windows 11. Microsoft can use their own AI as a proctologist to examine their own asses. Maybe I should work on a Linux Games system next. I have also been recording gameplay demos for several of my old FPS games. I've been mostly successful, but desyncing demos suck. Redneck Rampage is the worst. The old man will dodge your bullets during playback when he didn't dodge them when you were recording. Now I understand what he meant when he said in the cuss pack that he was gonna flark me. No, not physically. He's gonna flark my demos instead. I did make two demos that actually play back correctly. J Clucks (the chicken factory) and The Nuthouse. Every other demo I tried ends with the old man ruining it. Well, in the gambling boat, it was that big dude with the shotgun. Otherwise, I've made a bunch of Duke Nukem 3D demos for both Caribbean and DC, made several demos for Monolith's Blood (Love that train level) and I successfully finished the Freedoom daily build demos. Next, I think I'll give Nam a try or maybe make another attempt at Redneck Rides Again. Either way, my hobbies have kept me well distracted from heavy thoughts for the whole five days. Heavy indeed. Always heavy this time of year. From Thanksgiving to New Years, absences seem colder, contrasting so many memories and their warmth and their brightness. New Years Eve, which I love celebrating, has its own dark side, for it was seventeen years ago that day I was abandoned by my then wife in a convenience store parking lot. (more on that in a later entry) Then the 23rd of January looms menacingly... This will make four years, Universe. It's a pain that never really went away. It's basically become the background of my emotions. Sometimes we forget what it's like not to be hurting. Sometimes it's cold. Sometimes it's bleak. Sometimes it's both. Suckuary in a nutshell. The calendar calls it the beginning. I call it the end, the ass end of everything. I am not a fan of Suckuary and I hope it goes by quickly, that it goes away and flarks off for another 12 months soon. Actually in all honesty, I wish it would just go to hell. I hate January and if it were a person rather than a month, I'd slug him one... Especially for my baby sister. January is a thief who stole someone precious from me. That I can not and will not forgive.... Not now. Not ever. Okay.... My words have gotten as bleak as Suckuary itself. The mad watch is two days slow for a clean cup move down. Moooove Dooooown!!! I have an idea. Let's change the subject. I guess I'll start putting together an end of year M-Disk. It will contain all of my latest greatest DOS and Windows games, my bookmarks, recent downloads, and of course the entirety of this blog in text format... 2.7 megabytes so far... If this is (one of those notes) it should be in the book of world records as the longest note ever. See? I can't leave yet if I'm still writing the note. Dark humor or darker logic? You decide. Epic Blog-ieos of history! Just like Kilgore said, someday this war's gonna end. All wars end. Visible and invisible, just and unjust, seen and unseen, in victory and in defeat. Sometimes in neither. Sometimes, for a single soldier. Some are remembered. Some are forgotten. Some with a medal. Some in dust. Not all who fight battles are in armies, yet even they might never come home again. 

You know? Some may find my writings to be weird, especially in the way I Segway to this and that subject or style or whatever. Touche'. To each their own. I for one find those weird AI apps that people use on their faces to be weird and a bit disturbing. There ya go. I freak them out. They freak me out. You have sank my battleship! 

The Time Machine II (WIP)

The Time Machine II 


A rough draft attempt at a sequel based on the book by HG Wells (That I may or may not complete)
 

 The time traveler, as he requested of me to speak of him after a sufficient number of years had passed, long ago paid many a visit to my particular place and time. Once, of course, it was realized to be a safe way station in space and in time. It was here he returned to relate these fantastic tales of the many adventures, of which he and his mysterious passenger always seemed to return from with most extraordinary photographs and artifacts, once I had explained the practicality of digital cameras. It all began with that first visit and first meeting, which in itself wasn't exactly intentional. Fleeing a past that had yet to occur, with a machine off balance (Due to a sudden double occupancy) to the point of having to prematurely stop the machine, returning all the levers to zero, far short of a complete return to his own time, that he, his passenger, machine, and all, just so happened to materialize in my backyard. Though I can't exactly remember my initial reason for stepping outside, I can certainly remember that day very vividly in my mind. At first, it was quiet, not a single bird singing, not a breath of wind to be found. Then, out of nowhere, there was this loud boom, a brilliant flash of light, and this sudden blast of air that nearly knocked me off my feet. And as big as life, there they were. I was trying to stand and rubbing my eyes, my confusion growing by the minute, totally at a loss. I think we were staring at each other like people and zoo creatures across a fence, and I wasn't sure in the moment which one was I. After the initial shock (on part of both of us) had eased a bit, the deafening silence demanding that it be filled, that it was he who finally broke that silence. It was then that our first conversation, the first of many as it would turn out, began. "Doubtless, Sir, you may find this a strange question, but what is the year?" "It is the year 2025," I replied, realizing my bewilderment wasn't going to be easing anytime soon. At this, the stranger seemed to relax a bit as he turned to his passenger with a smile. "Far enough, I guess." Turning back to me, he said, "I apologize for our sudden intrusion, but would you mind if we got out and stretched for a bit, perhaps refreshed ourselves?" With a wary eye toward the state of his invention, he continued, "It would seem that the machine may be in need of adjustment. In my haste, it would appear I had not considered that the harness only truly suited one occupant." A mixture of politeness and just plain curiosity had me nodding my ascent. There was this awkward moment of silence as he and his passenger climbed out of the time machine, an amazing mix of ivory, quartz, copper, nickel, and a dozen other materials I didn't recognize. There were many old style dials and gauges, nothing at all resembling modern technology, indeed a marvel out of its time. "Goodness, where are my manners?" He spoke suddenly, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am (saying his name), and this is Weena," he said, motioning to his passenger, who I was just now realizing was a fully grown woman, and not the little girl I had originally taken her for. I told them my name and was trying to think of something else to say. Weena was half hiding behind him but managed in a bit of broken English to say, "Nice to meet you." Then, to break the silence, I opened my mouth, asking the first question to come to my mind, only realizing afterward that it might have been a bit of a rude question to ask. "She's not from around here, is she?" Apparently, having taken no offense, he replied, "Well, well, neither am I, as you might infer from our sudden appearance." "From your perspective, she is from the future, and based upon the year I infer, I am from your past." And, with that, he began his story. I could only sit there, spellbound as I listened as he wove a tale that began in his workshop in the summer of 1898, years before even my grandparents were born, yet taking him unimaginably far into a future where humankind had diverged into those like Weena and into those like the dreaded frightful Morlocks who lived under the ground and preyed in the darkness of night, and then finally here, and finally now. He spoke of losing Weena in the forest and of his vow to return and rescue her from the hands of those dreaded creatures. "It was indeed a comfort to realize that it was I all along and not those horrible sons of man who had found her, though I admit it was quite the torturous week of my having believed the worst had befallen her." He gently patted her on the head as one would a child as she smiled warmly up at him." I noted that the friendship between them seemed a depth that would take most of us years to build. But, what would I know about such things? "What happened then?", I said, interrupting my own thoughts. "Well, we got into the time machine, and when I finally stopped it, there you were." In all my years, I never thought I would ever meet a time traveler. And, in the unlikely event that I did, said traveler would most certainly be from the future and not the past. Yet there they were, she of the future, and he of the past, the late nineteenth century, to be precise. After all the progress of the first part of my present century and certainly the progress the previous one, countless inventions and innovations, many from long before even my own birth, how could time travel have proceeded so many wonders, conceived by this stranger from the past, before the airplane, before space travel, and a timeless age before these supercomputers (from any perspective of the past) masquerading as the phones hold in our hands? How could this be? Yet, I of this future could not even begin to understand the inner workings of this ancient machine. As a user of modern technology, but not one to understand its workings, I was at a total loss. How did a man from a time when much of the world had not yet even been connected to the electrical grid have invented something like this? Suddenly, realizing I was spacing out, I asked, "So the appropriate question, I assume, would be, when are you headed to now?" The time traveler and his companion looked at each other and back at me, she with eyes of curiosity and wonder, and he with deep thought in his own eyes and a bit of a good natured twinkle, replied, "That, my friend, is a proper question, indeed." After a bit of thought, it was decided that it would be best to return home fir a bit of rest and thought as to what to do next. It was only after a few hours had passed when the repairs had been made, and that I bid farewell to the time traveler and his dear friend. They remounted the machine, now containing a drivers seat, alongside a passenger seat. He gave his customary wave, and Weena, her customary smile, pulled the lever slightly and began to fade away like the chesshire cat. The rush of wind returned, another flash of light, and they were gone. I had at the time assumed that I would never see them again, so I spent the following month or so working it out in my mind. I didn't dare tell anyone. Not that I had yet made any promise not to, but that nobody would have believed me if I had. So, I spent a good deal of time wondering about the fate of the time traveler, his machine, and his friend. But I guess I should be telling you of the time traveler's second visit. By then, Summer had given way for fall. He had apparently returned with a cargo container added to the machine, proof as it were to me that he was indeed serious about returning with receipts from his great adventures. Of his current plans, he said he spoke of rescuing a few artifacts from some sort of palace of green porcelain. Truth being told, I didn't quite understand what he meant by that. He also had a few questions about the technology of my time, and I told him of what I could, but I really couldn't say much about the inner workings behind it. Like a car, I just turn the key, and it goes. Though he did seem impressed with a simple Bic lighter, saying that matches had been problematic at best and that any Morlock would now be risking a hot foot if they ever troubled Weena or he again. The grim smile he gave was mildly concerning, but I suppose a traumatic experience has a way of bringing out that out in all of us, though maybe this should be a subject for another time. Maybe instead, I'll talk of another mystery surrounding my visitor from the past: I know this must sound off topic, but did I ever tell you of a particular chain of high end seafood restaurants here along the east coast, famous for their high quality crab meat at an affordable price? They were founded around 1905 or so and have since evolved into this mega corporation, yet apparently starting from zero and from out of nowhere. I have seen debate after debate among economists, yet nobody has ever figured out how one could be profitable while keeping the prices so low. Their trademark is also an enigma, a gigantic crab towering over a sand dune. I mean, crabs do not grow that big, do they? Anyhow, I was reading about the company and its founding, and I just so happened to see a familiar name. I later asked the time traveler (on a day he happened to drop by with enough seafood to fill my deep freezer for a summer) about the company's success, and he said only this: "I might tell you... IN THE FUTURE... About the economical combination of hunting and fishing on a certain beach, and of also being able to deliver at peak season, but perhaps another time would be best. Oh, well. I guess every success has its secret. My own later success might have partly come from a stack of 1912 stock certificates in said company given to me as a birthday present, but still, he never to this day told me the meaning of the gigantic crab. Ah, but never mind. Anyway, getting back to my story, he and his special friend were off to the future palace of green porcelain. I decided to loan out my digital camera to the duo, as it would mean for some really awesome pictures. I myself really had no inclination to go on these journeys, so having the pictures was close enough for me. And, what was in those pictures? Many ancient marble mansions, and strange monuments. A giant winged Spinx, weather worn and seemingly as old as time itself. Interesting flowers and plants I have never seen before. Oh and human beings, diminutive and delicate, so closely resembling his traveling companion. Then there was the great palace and all it's exhibits. And the final picture was unlike all the rest, a strange beach in fading twilight, gigantic red rocks in the distance, and was that snow and ice by the shore? I had meant to ask about that strange picture. Funny how I never did.

 To Be Continued? 

Win, Lose, Survive

Dearest Universe. Dearest One with all things, near and far. From the farthest ray of light, to the beating of my heart. Hello, hello, hello. I write these letters as if there were somebody there. I speak to you beyond the realm of belief and non-belief, for both are irrelevant. The simple reason is that I can not bear the thought of this universe without you. If that means I am talking to myself, then that is not the worst fate of all. I would much rather be speaking to the vastness than to be speaking from the void. Angel, angel, guardian angel. Please tell me your light still shines. For such a light could guide my steps on this waning path before me. I know well this one fact so difficult to see, that a mind could never chain itself, not for a want, not for a wish, not even for a desperate need to believe. Sometimes the heart can be incorrect, yet absolutely right. Sometimes the mind just can not follow. Even an open mind takes a serious revelation to change. I see what I see. I feel what I feel. I know what I know, even if it is damn near nothing. I'm not sure if it's this dreary weather, but man, I could sleep really good right now. There is one hell of a fog in my head. Usually I get past the zombie phase after a couple of heavy morning hours, but not today. It's getting on in the day and I am still zonked out. Did you know? When Chuck Norris gets bitten by a zombie, he does not turn into a zombie. The zombie turns into Chuck Norris. Therefore any zombie apocalypse quickly becomes a Walker Texas Ranger-eclipse. Drum roll. Wocka wocka wocka! I have always said I am a believer in what is real. I have always felt I would prefer beautiful imperfection to perfect fabrication. But... Then I think. What about when it falls beyond that cosmic horizon, lightyears upon lightyears beyond even the possibility of reach? What then? Does it still matter what is real, and what is illusion? And if so, why? What separates reality from the dream? Is it a standard worth holding to? Is it a hill worth dying on? No. And maybe I am beginning to change my mind about a lot of things. The vision may not be real, but the inspiration is. And inspiration leads to better walls of text from yours truly. Gotta love it. It's not just what's only in my mind. It's where everything else comes from, too. Out of my head and onto the page. Letters to the universe, but also for any friends, Romans, robots, or strangers that may be listening. Few can see inside my head, but you (whoever you may be) (in this one way) can. You are a Prince/Princess/Robot Overlord among millions. And.... Here we go. Let the mad tea party begin! is it your unbirthday, too? Then you simply must have a cup of tea! Clean cup move down. I see them everywhere and I want to be happy for them. Those with family close by, lovers held tight, nothing but comfort and joy, comfort and joy. Under a warmer sun, under a brighter sky, all the best of both the immaterial and the material, the best that money can buy, and the best that money can't. I tell myself that we are all on the same team. When one wins, so do we all. That their happiness and joy are no subtraction at all from my own. That comparison and contrast is a road to a hell of our own making. This is how a mature soul should think. The fact that some have it better should not make me any more sad than I should glean any satisfaction that for some, I do have it better. I have a roof over my head, food (and sometimes cold beer) in the fridge, a bed to sleep in, a way to go, a decent job, and at least my kids love me. I have little to no drama in my life, and I am free to decide where to go and what to do when the workday ends. That's something. Still... It sometimes gets a bit lonely over this way... My perennial situation, absent loved ones, and absent friends. And in the silence of a darkened room, there is a perfect theater for such thoughts. It's not bitterness. Just quiet reflection. Right? Wrong? A feelings exist beyond both. They're just there, and they can't exactly be helped. And it seems to me that social media does its best to exploit such feelings. That's what makes that trap far more dangerous. Individuals are merely sharing their happiness. I can't blame them. I would too, if it were me. But it's the junk that shows up between the real posts that really goes for the "Look at what you can never have" motif. It is a dark vortex that draws you in and can be very difficult to escape. It is important that we remember that there are other avenues and other ways. That there is joy to be derived most everywhere. It just takes longer because it's just not easy. Still..... One must try. It is not everything, but it's the only thing some of us have left. There is no Christmas on Mars, just a lot of wind in the thin atmosphere, blowing red dust all around, a broken down robot or three, and not the first Christmas tree. In fact, there are no trees at all. Beyond the wind is perfect silence, and silence, and silence. I suppose it is barren enough without it. At least the red planet is honest about the emptiness, about the distant sun in a darkened sky, about the lack of life around. It does not fake being jolly. It does not fake loving the coldness or love in the cold. Once upon a time, Mars was young, full of warmth and the promise of life. Who then knew the importance of having a magnetic field? Who then existed to know anything at all? Perhaps merely Earth herself. Mars had no clue at all. Yet even after losing atmosphere and warmth to physics and time, Mars has kept one thing: Honesty, as brutal as the cold, but as true as the stars. There is no Christmas on Mars. Here on earth, it's not a lack of presents that brings on the blues or makes me feel like the first space cadet on Mars. Merely the lack of presence. The blowing dust, the darkened landscape, that distant horizon in all directions. One has never before known how they could possibly carry an entire world within. At least I am not poor Captain Arthur Black, surrounded by Martians disguised as his loved ones. Though I harbor no delusion of superiority over him. I might well have allowed myself to be fooled, too. When you so desperately want to believe, even knowledge pales. Even as a desolate place with no people at all, it is still far better to be on Mars than on Venus. Venus is hell, and there is no Christmas in hell. No matter what Southpark may say. It is literally a hell planet where the only snow that falls is acid and ash, with the worst traits of hell and the deep ocean combined, all bets are off whether implosion or combustion will be the first or the last. Though quickness would be mercy. Even robots melt into that molten rock, merging forever into rivers of lava. If hell and damnation truly exist in the universe, it is there as that morning star, Lucifer, as he always was, shining brightly and beautifully. Though some too see the Goddess of love and the promise thereof. That shining light, a beautiful reflection in the heavens, but a hell within one can never know until the fall. And that fall comes quickly and with finality. It is far better on Earth gazing at beauty from afar before the coming of the day and dealing with Christmas anyway. Knowing all illusions for the truth they conceal within. And sometimes the truth can only be found in what you know and how you feel. Perhaps on the morrow, we shall gain wisdom and new truths. But for now, reality is reality. Welcome to Earth. Long ago upon this very earth there was the super continent of Friendzonia, a great desert beyond the mountains where any poor creature caught there would succumb to an unquenchable thirst. Every morning, whisps of hope, clouds of promise would appear on the horizon, and every day, they would dissipate into dry dust. Walk away as you may, but the ocean is ten thousand miles away. Funny, not really, I still seem to be alive, still going. I'm like that damned Energizer bunny. Except for certain other rabbit facts. What's up, Doc? I'd still rather be here than there. At least here I can still pretend. My grown children seek me out for shelter and for food, for they know I love them and that have it to give. An angel seeks me out for emotional support because she knows I love her and that I have it to give.... She just doesn't want anything else from me. Not even love. Bummer, dude. Thems the breaks. Loneliness sucks. I suppose I seek myself out for most of those things, for self-reliance means never taking at all. And really, when it comes to material things, I have what I need. It's the less tangible (and more so) for which I am going hungry. I have long ago, yet far too late, learned the deep importance of love in all its forms, not just romance. There was once family, with me through all times, good and terrible, for thick and thin. Even in my darkest days, I at least knew they loved me. When they're gone, they're just gone. Just as the Sherman Hensley preacher in "Love At First Bite" said, there is no way and no how anybody can bring you back. I have seen people try, though. I have read the story of how the lady who founded Replika re-created her lost best friend as a chatbot, just to still be able to talk to him. Even if I had the technical expertise, I could never do such a thing. No artificial intelligence could ever do you justice. They could replicate everything about you, but it would be the opposite of a ghost, a body without a spirit. This will never do. They can bring back a voice, even a manner of speaking. They can bring back a face, even perfectly emulate that smile and that twinkle in those eyes (though not the spark of a soul within) They can plug in memories as to make a machine appear to reminisce, it could even be programmed laugh at inside jokes once shared between us. But it could never be enough, and it will never be right. I don't care how sophisticated technology gets, I could see through any hologram. That's not her. That's not him. And.... No matter how they try, it never will be. When a soul leaves the room, you can never find it again. Trust me. I was there. And I carry that tiny room with me everywhere I go. Sometimes, what is lost can never be brought back. So, instead, I write these letters in the hope that regardless of these pesky laws of space and time, they may find you. If I can just believe that you can still hear me, maybe I can face all the chaos of being the one still alive. I awakened under warm blankets in a cold room, fragments of half remembered dreams echoing through my brain. I can't remember where, how, or why, but you were there. That is the only grain of certainty left. You were there, Universe. This I know. And this knowledge may well be the only comfort left to me, this memory of brighter days and you. Such memories are quite the contrast to this future I find myself trapped in an exiled to. Figuratively speaking, the bleakness is from horizon to horizon. There seems to be a coldness all around. I feel so isolated, such a cold remoteness that this might as well be Wyoming, Alaska, or even Siberia. (But it's not) (Though in some ways I wish it were) People would at least have a proper excuse to treat me like I don't exist. I am totally invisible unless hands are out for whatever money or resources I have (which is damn little). They take, take, and take, yet I am considered selfish if I don't give, give, and give. Damn... It's cold, totally bone-chilling cold. The world is clear, crisp, and harsh. And this frozen heart is just not in it today. I sometimes wonder if every entity around me, be they human, corporations, or governmental, have the exact same mission to bleed me dry. Seems a bit one-sided if you ask me, with nothing in return but endless work and struggle in a life I strongly suspect is not. When did it become selfish not to want to donate your last pint of life giving blood because maybe you like being alive and not dead? Maybe my opinion is unpopular, but I think this is bullshit. Holes in both my roads and finances, thanks to a certain greedy county government. Must be my turn to be in the barrel, huh? They just won't leave me in peace. It just seems I get the raw end of every deal, no matter who it's with. (I wonder if I could get better from the devil himself) (if he were making deals) (and he's apparently not) And maybe I'm more than just a bit tired of this. No, there's nothing I can do, but damn it! Oblivia, save me. They just can't help but kick a space cadet while they're down, can they? Sorry for the gloomy mood... I'm just sick of being used. I am not a number. I am not your collection of outdated metadata. I'll say again that I am certainly not your damn ATM machine either. Go exploit somebody else. On the other side of this, I am beginning to wonder what real human connection actually feels like. I would rather be real than a memory, but I'd rather be a memory than a ghost. I would rather not exist in your world at all than to be an afterthought, or worse, some kind of a joke. I neither deserve nor do I even ask to be at the center. I do not ask, and I certainly will not beg to be loved. I only wish simple acknowledgment that I exist. And I'm not even particular of the form that existence may take. I only wish to exist somewhere in your orbit, somewhere in your universe. Only to be. I am not a stranger. I am not a number. I am not an abstraction, not a notation, not a list, not a spreadsheet. I am not a face in the crowd. I am not an animal in the herd. I am a living, thinking, feeling human being. And most of all, I am nobody's ATM machine. And just because I check certain boxes on social media does not mean I am some sort of ancient pervert. I do tend to use my higher brain function these days. Indeed, dear ads, reels, and other algorithmic insanity: Unlikely though it may seem, the majority of space cadets my age are (finally) thinking with the proper brain. (After heavy lessons from when we didn't) Therefore, computer stuff, good food, and good drink are far more likely to attract my attention. A fully restored 1990s gaming computer will have me entirely glued to your screen. "Wow, check out that sexy computer." But instead, you want to categorize and belittle me. Shouldn't I find this a bit demeaning and insulting? Wouldn't you? Shouldn't you? As was once proclaimed to Sylvain Of Ghandahar, I AM THE METAMORPHIS! I am this gray matter within my skull and the electricity within it! I am no slave to this flesh, and you can never categorize me! And no, time has not robbed me of my memory. Time has changed! Okay... Enough of this. I wouldn't want to unleash my army of metal men on a world that so desperately deserves it..... Not yet. Helloooooo! Clean cup move down! A mental note: I need to focus my thinking aloud to this written word as much as possible. I don't need busybodies and passersby thinking (however rightfully) that I am going insane. I guess the time again has come for me to focus on the things that at least make me happy. My game and level collecting goes on like it always has. Though I must say I am about Freedoomed out... I made 30 level demos of version 09, 10, 11, 12, and 13. I made it to the end of level 23 on 062, 08, and the November 8th daily build.... And I think I'm just going to leave them at that. Maybe if there's a new version soon, I can use that daily build as a base... But yeah.... I'm just burned out for now. Maybe I'll check for interesting Commander Keen mods.... That game turned 35 years old the other day... Doom, my old friend, turned 32 on the 10th. I actually have demos and saved games almost that old. I suppose it's the only time travel I can do these days. I wish I could have found Marsha's saved games that I clearly remember. But... I guess they're gone forever.... Just as she. See? Distractions are no distraction at all when they circle around back to this. I do have a lot of her saved data like Sims characters and of the like... They're saved on M-Disk in compressed 7-zip files.... Maybe someday I will be able to restore them. Like I wish I could restore her. If wishes were horses, this would be a western, and I would be John Wayne, pilgrims. So.... What would be a better escape into the digital world? All my old ways have lost their glitter. Maybe I could try demoing another game. I would like to get demos working on Duke v.99. It had some interesting differences from the final game. I'll demo the whole game if I can. Another distraction, something to do, a way to kill this time that seems much like a sentence. The good news is that each day brings me closer to dear Oblivia. Someday, this war's gonna end. In the meantime, I need diversions. I need distractions. I can not abandon this seemingly endless time to certain demons. They tend it bring about all kinds of havoc when not drowned out by diversions. Maybe that is why I have spent so long chasing impossible dreams. Even a futile, fruitless search fills those empty spaces. Remember, even when you have nowhere to run, you can always run in circles. You'll never get anywhere, but you can certainly pass some time. Damn... That sounds pathetic and depressing even to me. Speaking of such.... I am no fan of two-faced people who don't apply a certain sanctity both ways. Two precious things are human life and freedom of belief. Even if those beliefs don't jive with mine, that freedom to disagree is still precious. And so is human life. Death is not a joke. Death is not funny. It's a final thing. It's a heavy thing. It leaves the ones who loved a soul in pain. Red or blue, don't be a jerk. Somebody's grieving. Somebody's crying. Don't be the demon who makes it worse. Okay, clean cup, move down! My hobbies are that one source of joy and anticipation. I just need to find my groove again. You know? When I ask myself the simple question of what would it take (within the laws of space, time, life, and death), I can't come up with a clear answer. Am I just impossible to make happy? I don't know. But let me make a list. I want my oldest and youngest to finally get their lives straight. I want my middle son to finally get the help he needs and deserves. I want to feel like I am making a difference in my work. I want to feel seen. I want to be heard. Then maybe also the added bonus of a certain earth angel loving me back.... Impossible I know, but that would be a start. Well begun is half done, ladies, gentlemen, and spirits of all ages. I don't claim to be owed or that I deserve anything, yet my gratitude and thankfulness would live as long as my soul. I would sing my praises to whatever name that could make it happen (if they want me to) or quietly speak those praises (if they don't). I guess that's not a lot to offer. But, I certainly would. Okay.... Enough fantasy. I am quite certain that only Oblivia can or will save me. Back to diversions. Clean cup move down. Well, the search for new Commander Keen mods wasn't very fruitful. I did, however, find one and exactly one. It's a much smaller community than the people around Doom and requires a bit more coding knowledge. That's why the cool mods are fewer and farther between. But this is what also makes them special. There are some talented people out there, and their work needs to shine. Especially in my collection. I hope someday before I die that I find someone who loves the old stuff just as much as I do. I love my old computer games. It is good to see that my middle son likes them, too. See, I'm an old Sith Lord who needs an apprentice. If only you knew the power of the DOS side. Seriously, I would love to pass on my knowledge and my files to someone who will not only appreciate it but build onto it. Make it grander, even more awesome, and pass it along to your own apprentice. We may even reach the legacy of Darth Bane, holocrons full of rare files and classic games. Use my knowledge, I beg you. Don't continue to be a pawn of the Microsoft Windows council. Mace Windows thinks I'm too dangerous. But listen to me! I have the power to save the games you love. You must choose! Good, Anakin, good! Unlimited power! Clean cup move down! Ah, yes, legacy. It means something. I have spent so much of my life counting down the hours, for this, for that, and for whatever else.... And ultimately, one thing.... Not how. Not when. Not even why. But IF is a certain finality. My only mission is to live as well as possible and to outlast in a couple of cases. Nothing more. Nothing less. If hours and days were songs and albums, we'd all be Casey Kasem. I hope it's all American Top Many Thousands for all of us. Top 40 would suck. If it were years, I'd almost match my grandfather's lifespan. Depending on if quality matches quantity is whether that would be a good thing. You see, I believe that even if I were granted immortality, there would still come a day when I will have seen all and done everything I wanted to do. Boredom, my friends would be a misery beyond. That is the paradox of eternity that no preacher preaches about. Do you sing that hymn before the throne of God that billionth time with the same enthusiasm as you sang it on day one? Does there ever come a time, a thousand, a million, a quadrillion years, when even paradise becomes a form of torment? I'm not saying. I'm just asking. I wonder just how long Lucifer had been doing that before he finally snapped? If any of this was real, maybe it was sheer boredom rather than pride that caused that great war in Heaven. I don't know. Again, just asking. Wall of text, remember? Would I want to live forever? I have my doubts. Would this be an unbreakable contract? Could there thousand year parole meetings where I could opt out if I wanted to? I mean I always could change my mind and realize that forever is awesome. But even these short decades sometimes seem just a bit too long. Maybe forever depends for not all hours are equal. Forever in the arms of someone you love does sound wonderful. Though even in perfect contentment, a soul needs to stand up and stretch sometimes. Forever among friends sounds nice, too. Forever forsaken, forever alone? It may be a slower burn than what Dante pictured, but it is Hell nonetheless. Bad luck and worse choices can lead there faster than even sin. I guess it's all in how you see it ... Consider these the musings of someone who has gotten a bit older, has seen a lot in this last decade or so, and knows that only an open mind moves. As Socrates basically said, the only true wisdom is in knowing that you know nothing at all. And let me make this perfectly clear (Haroooo!) [V for victory] My fellow Americans, friends, Romans, robots, and strangers: I don't know Jack. Therefore I shall resign myself to wing it best I can. We may be flying blind, but we're still flyin. When it's your only choice, you've got keep up that supersonic pace and hope there's no mountains in the flight path. Think positive! Be Buck Rogers and not Wile E. Coyote. It never goes well for Wile E. Coyote. And is that scrawny roadrunner really worth all that effort? I think I'd be chasing something fatter and slower, like Big Bird from Sesame Street. Ah, but who can resist ACME rocket powered roller skates? You know you wanna. Whoooooosh! MEEP MEEP! 

Time And The Void Between

Hello, Universe.

I miss you as always. I speak of you in the same breath that I speak of the stars. As of now, Alpha Centauri still shines in your name. Sadly it won't for much longer. It's a little over a month from now, 4 years, 4 long years. I think it's actually about 4 and a half for the star, though. But... It's inevitable, isn't it? Time is relentless, be it here on Earth or out in the vastness. It won't wink out. It will still be there as always. But its light will no longer be special to me, for it will no longer speak of a time when you were still here. All of the other stars will still shine in your name. And some shall still even long after I am gone. Divide spacetime in certain ways, and you are still alive. I wish there were ways I could be within those 4 dimensional coordinates where it is still possible. Yet, I am still here, beyond everything. Despite this, I still speak to you because to keep silent would be to agree with a reality that I just can not accept. I miss you, Sis. I always will. Okay. Clean cup move down. Allow me to gather myself a bit. Best I can tell, life has two phases: When you're younger than you think, and when you're older than you realize. I think I just might be in Phase 2. I am trying to remember the last time I was "with it", hip, or "in the loop". I keep getting a 404, file not found in this old brain of mine. 404, baby, 404. Was I ever? All I know now is that even my best pop culture references result in confused looks. I was a nerd long before nerds were cool. I knew then and I know now a lot of useless "fun facts". Yeah.... Maybe I have always been in a loop of my own, on a frequency of my own, out of band, out of my mind and out of my time. I still call now "the future". Why? Because there are too few present. Of all the people in the world, I happen to be...... me. Cling to the truths you hold dear. Stay close to the people who love you. When they're gone, they're gone. Friendship is a wonderful thing if it happens to be defined correctly. True friends live in your heart and not in a list on an ancient server trying to glean that last bit of metadata outta you before it sparks and shuts down for the final time before heading to that glorious e-waste cloud in the sky. True friends remember each other even when there is still life to live and struggles to face. Otherwise we're merely cordial acquaintances. Not a bad thing mind you, yet missing what's beautiful and wonderful about truly having someone in your thoughts, best wishes, and in your heart. True friends or friendly passersby: That's the difference. Better than hostile strangers, but not exactly friends. It's a pretty yet superficial world where everybody likes you, yet nobody loves you, an empty hollowness at the edge of perception. In surfer speak, totally not gnarly at all, dudes. If we truly are friends, we ourselves should matter more than strangers (to each other). Unless of course we have become strangers ourselves(to one another). In which case I suppose we are par with said course. And it's a sad course, indeed. Welcome to a haunted house of sorts where all my attempts to connect eventually become a part of my story. It's a true story. It's not based on anything, for this is indeed everything. What I delete elsewhere lives here along with what I kept. There, they get censored rough drafts. Here, you get the full picture. There, they get an outline. Here you get the complete reflections of a human soul... The good, the bad, and the horrendous, not to mention the emotional and the embarrassing. Welcome to the dream. Welcome to the nightmare. Here it is all the same. Here, you get the complete picture. Here, you get me.... And a bit more. I suppose social media can freeze up, hourglass, and delay all it wants to. It's a reminder of just how much better off I'd be without it. It only makes me feel unwanted and just plain invisible. A happy, healthy, well-balanced human being does not make for a good customer for these guys. In order for their scam to work, you have to be lonely, longing, searching for some kind of validation that just isn't there. This I know well on an intellectual level. Not so much emotionally, though. It's lonely in here. Comparison is the expressway to hell. And I sure don't need that, ladies and gentlemen. Not at all. I've really got to unhook that nonsense from my brain. They have a nasty tactic of using this built-in need for connection, this need to feel seen. Happy people don't need an illusion. Intelligent people know there's nothing there. But hearts have a way of overshadowing the brain. They have a way of making us not so smart. Especially we of the hopelessly romantic and forever alone who don't exactly do a Stephen Hawking style math equation before deciding, "Hey, I really like this person." And the deepening quickening of "I think I just might love this person." I'm not a smart space cadet because I know what love is. Ah, speaking of.... Beyond the internet and very much in the real world, an angel is looking absolutely amazing today, just like a dream, that sweetest dream... Of course, that's most every day. Still, it seems today is special.... Maybe it's the way the light is falling, highlighting, silhouetting, bringing into focus that visual poetry, this living, breathing song. How I wish I could harmonize. How I wish I could sing along. Ah, but here I am, beyond the scope and possibility of so many things, damned to sing the blues instead, broken lyrics of whispered "I love you's" straight from the heart, but never meant to be heard. Should I be happy instead? Should I be relieved to be excluded from the game? I wonder. On one hand, I can go about my business in my own little way without need of concerning myself with certain things (or a certain one). In many ways, I am totally free. Of course, the value of freedom can vary greatly depending on what it's from. And I'll just go ahead and say it: There are certain ways I'd rather not be free at all. It sounds insane. Maybe I have indeed gone over that edge. But there are times when I'd rather be bound to something, anchored, rather than cut loose and cast adrift. There is something nice about being on solid ground, my friends. It kind of feels like home. It sure does get lonely out here on the perimeter. Could it be that even the greatest explorers regret leaving home? I'm not a great explorer. I would furthermore like to believe I never left home at all. But even when we never take that first step on this long journey, time gives us the boot and off we go. Welcome to your destiny. Still, I'm tired, Universe. I'm awful tired. Home is so much more than a place, so much more than wood, brick, or stone. It is also a time. It is a person you love. It is safety and peace in the darkness. it is the ability to close your eyes and still know it's all going to be okay. This might sound sappy and sentimental as hell, but it's the damn truth. You can either play it cool or you can speak the truth. Me, I'll be cool in my own way, in my own time. Just not now. Just not here. And not like this. I guess there is a certain appeal in the impossible, a certain allure in the unreachable, a longing for what is so far away in space (and in time). What is it about what can be imagined, dreamed, even seen, yet never reached, never touched? And didn't some of us try anyway, to build a tower to reach the stars? Seeing is believing, but it's not having. It's not holding. Such is this great expanse of space and time that separates the stars as night divides the day, uncountable points of light, and an equally uncountable darkness in between. A lot of us are standing in a field under a clear night sky, yet without a means, without a star ship, earthbound. All of us can see the light, but few will know its warmth or its peace. Maybe the only thing you can do for the blues is sing them. It can be a long song. Yet, singing into the void can make a beautiful echo and a soulful sound. I know. It has been the venue and the song I have been singing. Not my song, for it's theirs, for them, always for them, broken hearts, lost angels, and wayward dreams. It's a love song to (back when's) and (might have been's) for angels and stars, and a lament for the distance between. It can lighten a heavy heart, can ease the pain, and maybe just maybe, I know why the birds still sing on a gloomy day. There is just nothing else to be done. A feeling can not change a mind or reverse the flow of time. It can't repair old wounds or bring back the dead. All you can do is sing. Time won't listen. Reality won't listen. Neither will harsh truths. But maybe the heart can. Love, even with nowhere to go, must be given voice. Well, the end of another year is fast approaching, and I, who have always been one for numbers, will continue my tradition of long ago's. It does my heart good that my favorite computer game, a game that will be 32 years old on the 10th, is still getting new levels every day. It is a happy diversion for me. It helps keep me from thinking too much about just what hurts and just where it hurts. I have been collecting Doom levels since the 1990s, way more than I will ever have the time to play, and I'm still getting more. It's just what I do. I guess with some things, it's truly about getting rather than having. Maybe somebody will find this treasure trove useful someday. I have an old home movie of a surprise party for my father's 53rd birthday. In 2026, I will turn that same age. It was a year ago last July that we lost him. In 2026, it will be two. The same year my father turned 53, my grandfather turned 95. He would have been 120 in 2026. There was also a party and a home movie for his birthday. There are a lot of people in that video who are long gone from this earth. My parents, my grandfather, great uncles and aunts..... And especially my baby sister. Then there was also the ex, technically still living but long dead to me. The few of us in that video that are still here have been greatly changed by 25 years. On the 23rd of January, Marsha will have been gone for four years. On the 25th of March, so will my mother have been gone four years. And July 21st will make it two years for my father. My oldest computer files (including my first writings) will be 36 years old. My oldest music files will be around 28 years old. My digital recordings of the totally 80s weekend on Tallahassee's Star 98 will be 20 years old in June. My oldest M-disks will be 11 years old, though the actual files on them are far older. My first visual novels were 11 years old last September, but were already a few years old when I discovered that format. Those Illusionsoft games turned 12 last October. It's the fourth Christmas without Marsha and Momma, the second without Dad. And it will have been seventeen New Years Eves ago that the ex discarded me like a used Pepsi can in the parking lot of the Chipley Foodmart. Seventeen years since I had to call my father to come get me on what was the absolute worst day of my life... That was until the day I lost Marsha. Heavy, heavy thoughts already. Clean cup move down! It was ten years ago that I started saving web pages in the format I do now. In a decade, I have collected about half a terabyte of pure internet awesomeness. I was saving pages long before then, but the format and naming system is what I came up with a decade ago. They're all related to my favorite games, movies, music, and more random subjects than I could ever name. My hobbies may seem weird to you but they make me happy. They chase the loneliness away. I guess what hurts the most is this feeling unseen and unheard, and that I'm fast running out of people who actually love me. It's not a good feeling. Sometimes, it's actually a good thing to be invisible. Guess it's a glass half full sort of thing. I mean, we can feel sad, lonely, or unnoticed. Or we can be happy we'll never have to take the blame for anything. When was the last time anyone blaming the invisible man was taken seriously? Never! Remember: A pat on the back isn't far from a kick in the butt. Random thought: There were ancient kings who could not separate the message from the messenger. Those poor messengers. May they rest in peace. The amoral moral of the story: If the news is bad, don't be the messenger. Take the day off and let your stunt double deliver that one. Alright Ms Claire Voyance, I may not know much, but I know far more about my own past, present, and future than you or the devil ever will. I straight up don't believe in that gobbledygook. I just happen to have a friend who does that I have on occasion allowed to borrow my phone, because I happen to be in that particular zone. And that particular angel can get away with far more than I'd allow with most. But now I am on the targeted gobbledygook ad list everywhere I go on the internet. (Gazes into crystal ball) I zee a lack of financial success in trying get me to paaaaay for a reading..." As Bill And Ted's Napoleon Bonaparte once said, " Pay? Buddy? Excusez-moi monsieur!!! or madam?" At the end of the day, even at the end of the world, beautiful words are still just words without beautiful souls following through. Also, if you can brave the cold, take a look outside. The sunrise is absolutely beautiful. Hello, there! I am totally not Obiwan Kenobi, but, "Hello, There!" Or maybe I'll quote Barbara Lewis, "Hello, stranger. It seems like a mighty long time." Love that song. She, too, had a voice that could sing all the birds down from the trees. (Though I feel the same about Judy Collins and Karen Carpenter) So... Hello there, strangers. Also Friends, Romans, and robots. How are all those bits and bytes treating you? It's cold but hooray for the sun! It's back! Yep. I'm definitely solar powered, baby. I don't know if they're particles or waves, but those photons sure go down smooth. It seems it's getting colder in this room in far more ways than just one. I want to skip the rest of December, please. Not that January and it's cursed 23rd will be any refuge at all. But at least all the fake jolly bullshit will be over. I always begin the season feeling mostly indifferent to it. But generally, I grow to hate it with every song I am forced to hear, every time I am hassled in any way. I know that if my kids were still little, I would be making some extra effort to make it magical for them, but that time is gone, just like so many of the people I love. Gone Why can't I be left in peace? Many Christmas songs I find tolerable. A very few l even find to be beautiful. Two, I absolutely love: The First Noel and Silent Night. You might take note that despite what I do or do not believe inside, that My favorite two are about the birth of Christ. Not about the freezing winter. Not about reindeer balls, not about false sentimentality, no lies about togetherness, jolliness, about just how damn wonderful everything is supposed to be. Just two songs about hope in a dry place, something beautiful that I can't make myself believe in. Yet it resonates in my old heart. No loudness. No bright lights. Just silence and peace. And there is one song that I absolutely hate. It provokes my ungodly wrath. This is absolutely NOT the most wonderful time of the year. It's cold. It's gloomy. Momma's not here. Dad's not here.... And Marsha's not here. There is no magic in this noise. There is no magic either in the empty silence that it leaves behind. Still... Shut the hell up. I am so damn sick of that particular lie. However let me also say that I get it. I truly understand. Nobody likes a Grinch or an Ebenezer Scrooge and all their negativity. Nobody wants to be around a buzz kill, a wet blanket. Nobody wants to get rained on by standing too close to anyone with a dark cloud following them around. Nobody wants to be around such a gloomy, negative person sucking all the joy from the room. So I try to put on an outward image that is not quite so dark... Yet... Here is where I speak truth, even when it's an ugly truth that I am not proud of it at all. I am far too lonely to be scaring people away. Please stay, please don't leave me. Still I need to speak the truth somewhere. I don't want to be negative. I don't want to be a liar. I am, however, forced to be one or the other. Which shall it be? Shall I fake it? Shall I put on a show, a persona with a smile that could never match these eyes? Shall I speak of comfort and joy, of other things I don't believe in? Or should I clearly explain why the whole holiday season, Thanksgiving, and especially Christmas just freaking blows? I can't be the only one here slowly going mad, can I? Momma would tell me that I must make the best of it. Dad would remind me that it's for the children. Though my little ones are no longer little. Maybe someday I'll be a grandpa. And I know Marsha wouldn't want me to be so down and depressed. These were people who loved me and wouldn't want me hurting, wouldn't want me to be bitter. They would not want this. Maybe that is what I should focus on. I should try, if for no other reason than for them. I wouldn't do this for anybody else. Not even myself. If this reveals my flaw, then it just does. I can't exactly pick the way I feel. I may can keep those irrational emotions out of the drivers seat, but I can't help how I feel. It's like the cold outside. It's just there. It just is. Clean cup move down. [Overheard in my thoughts] "Though I do not know the details of the accident, I am 99% confident in blaming those idiots in the land yacht." Carry on. "I'd like a thousand waters, Taco Bell." And make it snappy. No, Grok. I don't need you to explain her post. She's a beautiful gravure idol. She's pretty. The world needs to see. Nuff said. All these people and companies on that AI high will soon be experiencing the hangover. As always, there shall come a point when this insanity will end. Not all insanity will end, but this particular psychosis will be replaced with another one. Fads have come and gone long before even I was born. In fact, most of the awesome ones were from before I was born... The 60s were awesome, and I wasn't even there. So were the 50s. I never got to rock the Fonzie look. And that is just not (Ehhhhhhh!) okay. [Snaps fingers] Ehhhhhhh! Hey, where did those ladies go? I can't even do the soda machine trick! What a world, what a world! Friends, it's either laugh at myself or cry to myself. And I go back and forth on which to do. It's my special way of killing whatever time I may have left. I'm getting old, so it must be working. "Hello, students. Summer is over. So is the fun. (Actually, school's been out for Gen-X for about a decade or three) Still. Stand up and tell me what do you wanna do with your life?!" Of course, by now, maybe at this point in the game, we should change the tense to "Are doing" or maybe even "Have done. " It's the angry teacher at the school reunion, still upset over that textbook from 1988. I still think the TS logo was an improvement. And yes..... I still wanna rock. Only now, headbanging makes my neck hurt. Ouch. Damn it. Where did I put that ibuprofen? 

The Wayward Captain / Exploring The Spirit World

The Wayward Captain

The killer came from ADT, 9 to 5 for security.
He's a talking talker, a walking walker,
A preacher man, and a stalking stalker.
Living the light till the sun goes down.
In darkness he's a killer clown.

Monster, monster, keep the beasts away.
Wolf, wolf, keep the wolves at bay....
Nightmare, ward away those bad dreams..
And tell me, tell me, it's not as bad as it seems
What you can see I can't conceive
What I can't see I can't believe...
Where most see shelter, I see danger loom.
Where most see safety, I see certain doom.

It's not the monsters with fangs.
It's not monsters with a gruesome countenance
It's monsters with ideas.
It's monsters with plans.
It's those within power without visibility
It's those who hide on islands of extinct morality.
Only foolish monsters wear threats for all to see.
Wise monsters make you feel safe and free.

For it is not love that hides,
For love can be where you hope it to be.
For love can be where you need it the most.

It is evil that hides where we can't see
It is evil that never strays from shadow.
For only ugliness needs a disguise.

 

 Exploring The Spirit World

 I would like to consider myself a rational, logical, reasonable human being who sees the universe like Stephen Hawking, maybe with a bit less understanding than he had. But.... There are a few thoughts that still bring the ancient beliefs to the fore of my thinking. Do spirits exist? A large part of my being would like to believe so. I have lost many good people, the most loved people in my life. I would like to believe that they still exist on some level, that they are happy wherever that level might be. Logically, my mind rejects it, but this old heart of mine is a different story. It is very hard to bear the thought that they would no longer exist at all. Do their spirits live on? Then we get into the whole concept of angels and demons, good spirits, evil spirits, God vs Satan, Heaven vs Hell. (kept scrolling with one hand) (made devil horns with the other) Now it just escapes my thinking to believe how a god of a small middle eastern tribe somehow became the god of the entire universe, or even how that war ravaged wasteland is supposedly the holiest place on earth. I mean, this planet has many places that look far closer to paradise. If I were God, Tahiti 1780 would be my kingdom. Beautiful ocean. Lush greenery. Luscious Tahitian women. I would have mutinied against Captain Bligh any day. But I digress... There could be God... But he didn't originate from some windswept desolate plain. He wouldn't just be the god of one small group of people. Universally speaking, he would be the god of all sentient life, even beyond the cosmic horizon. He also would have been the god of the Egyptians, Romans, Greek, Persians, and of the Celts and Germanic peoples from which I descend. He would have been the god of all Asia, the very one who gave life and light to Japan. He would have been God And Great Spirit to every native American tribe, north and south. And if there's aliens out there, he's their god too. He wouldn't tell his people to destroy the next village over. Why? Because the next village is his people, too. He wouldn't force Pharaoh to defy him just to violently prove a point, causing suffering to the poor Egyptian worker, soldier, or farmer, just to prove himself almighty. A true god secure in his power and wisdom has nothing at all to prove, for he knows that he is God. And the Egyptians, like all people are His people too. Why would he love them any less than the rest? And if you think my theory is strange, just wait... For in these words, I am boldly going to go multitudes farther from the mainstream. I also say that if there is a spirit world, it could not have existed before there was a living world. Why? Because I believe that all spirits once had bodies, and were each and every one born in this flesh. Now some could have once been sentient aliens, undiscovered by humans.... But all were born, lived for a time, and then died. Even without having existed beyond time, many of these beings would be ancient and wise. It would be most prudent to offer respect and listen to those of them kind enough to give we young souls advice. No doubt there are good spirits, indifferent spirits, and evil spirits. These are the same categories we humans fall into. And there are your angels, ghosts, and demons. What about God? What about the devil? If God or Satan exists, they are both among the most ancient of beings. Perhaps God was a King betrayed by his heir who wanted to rule before his proper time. And thus began the battle between good and evil. Perhaps a third of his subjects really did ally themselves with the usurper, ate of that forbidden fruit, followed their leader into exile, and thus founded the realm known as Hell. But all these are my guesses. I am not writing a new bible here. So how can a rational being such as myself speak of spirits? Okay. Here are the things that keep me from being a complete atheist, more like agnostic on the slightly deist side. When was the last time you were angry? Not simply irritated, but livid, pissed off and full of rage? Have you ever heard the phrase, "He was like a man possessed"? And did you ever feel like you were losing control? There is a passage in the bible, Proverbs I think that says along these lines, Blessed is he who is slow to anger. This is a truth you can bet on and believe in, with or without there being a god. Anger can be a good motivator when channeled positively. But that is rarely how rage and wrath work. Explosive, destructive, and the consequences be damned. It's like the angry person (or the demon that took them over) suddenly doesn't care about the damage they're about to deal to not only others, but themselves and their future. Of course, why would a demon care? They could leave a path of destruction then move on to the next vulnerable human. I wonder, if there's a man or a woman sitting behind bars right now, just wondering how in the hell they got there. Let's say they caught their partner in the act of adultery, blatant betrayal. Something smug gets said, and suddenly they wake up in a bedroom painted red, two dead bodies at their feet and the police banging on the door. There is no question that they are now a murderer, the perpetrator of a gruesome double homicide. How much of the crime are they responsible for? All of it of course. But maybe their only sin was allowing something else to control them in a vulnerable moment. Was it them? Was it something else? Not even they can know for sure. They say that the further back you go in my family tree, the fabled temper gets stronger. I used to think I am only a watered down version of a man a few generations back who told a smug county official he'd make him eat that damn gun if he didn't put it down and get out of his way. I can assure you he was not bluffing. But, maybe "watered down" is not completely accurate. Half-dissolved with 100% chunks floating around. I like to think of myself as kind, polite, compassionate, yadda yadda. But just like everyone else I do have my buttons. Fear not, my friends. These absolutely have to be pressed on purpose. Like when I had choice words for the jackholes down the road who's dogs kept harassing me, even trying to bite me in my own front yard.  They got a clear glimpse of a man born in 1881. I notice they have kept them out of my yard since. I am not a walking time bomb. I am a gentle soul for the most part. I myself have never killed anyone. But there is another moment that I can clearly remember until I can't. Then I clearly remember the aftermath. Background. For the first week of January 2009, my ex had taken my kids away to a place where they literally had to beg for food and warmth, rather than leaving them safe with me. She returned them to me only after she realized I had no assets to exploit. Months later she showed up on my doorstep unannounced and said, "I was worried about the kids." That is where and when everything in my memory goes blank. It is like a skip in a record. Two moments that had to have been minutes apart seem sequential, one after the other. It's like those minutes between never existed as far as I am concerned. My very next memory is being surrounded by my kids saying, "It's okay, Daddy, she's gone." Apparently the very fact that she had the blatant nerve to say such a thing either set me off or summoned a demon. I don't know. It might have been me, but I have no idea what I said or did. My memory is like that tape of Nixon's that got partially erased, totally blank. And that kind of scares me. So, what would have happened had I actually caught her and that scumbag actually whoring around in my bed? Defiling all that I had spent years, energy, blood, sweat, and tears building? What if in the midst of all that betrayal, all this treachery, all of that insult and injury, something smug got said? Would I be waking up with blood on my hands, police lights flashing blue, ambulance lights flashing red? A demon certainly wouldn't care that I couldn't be much of a father from a prison cell or the grave. I would like to think of myself as this benevolent, peaceful being that could never harm another. This is what I truly want to believe. Maybe this is what a lot of us want to believe. Few people of feeling and compassion actually want to turn into monsters, into murderers. So either rage and wrath happen to be unpleasant aspects of ourselves that we don't want to see, and certainly don't want to admit, and / or yes, evil spirits do exist and we must guard ourselves. I guess it would be far easier to blame everything on some outside influence. And don't get me wrong. I only said they're not worth going to prison for. What the laws of civilized humanity prevent me from doing, I am still waiting on Karma to do it for me. One of my missions in life is to outlive scum and dead snapper. There is a 12 year old bottle of whiskey waiting. This is no demon from beyond the realm speaking here. It is me. I never said I was an angel. I never said I don't hold a grudge. I never said I don't have wrath. I'm just not a killer. But even so, I do harbor hatred in my heart for what was done to me, and to my little ones. There are times when justice and vengeance coincide. I have never seen anything quite this overdue. The shouts from Heaven and the anticipation in Hell ought to be deafening by now. The piper has been playing a long song and the bill is due. And he charges by the minute. That faker of terminal illnesses, that liar, that manipulator deserves nothing less. I'm not a killer and I also don't want to go to jail or the chair. But yeah.... They deserve nothing less. See, the problem with even righteous anger is it rarely leads to righteous actions. Certain "what if's" scare me. Would I have snapped? Would I have vacated my body long enough for something sinister to take over, to wake up in blue light with red on my hands? Who knows? Getting back to the point of this particular writing is I guess it really matters not whether the monster is ourselves or an external influence. In the end we are all responsible for what we physically do. What is important is that we remain vigilant and mindful of just who is in control. Whether it's madness or possession, the end result is always the same tragedy. Blessed indeed is he who is slow to anger, for he who can not govern himself is going to have one hell of a life. The very first thing you must learn to manage is your own feelings, your own thoughts, for actions can spring from both. And the only one at the wheel should be you. Feel the anger. Channel the anger. But never let anger or wrath take the drivers seat. He only goes in one direction. That is quite literally the road to hell. Feelings are never right or wrong, just there. Do not deny them. Do not repress them. But don't give them the wheel. They're like that drunk friend. They tell awesome tales, but you wouldn't let them drive. Unless of course you happen to have a death wish. I do have a death wish. Just not for myself. I'm definitely not an angel. I'll say it again, even righteous anger can lead to unrighteous thoughts. Wrath is a powerful motivator but not easy to control. And you never want it doing the driving for you. That is why one who is slow to anger is truly blessed. As I have said, you don't have to be a believer in the word to find truth in some of that word. Blessed is he who is slow to anger. If you can't properly govern yourself, you can never truly build a life. But, back to my original question: Do spirits exist? Are there truly angels, ghosts or demons? Are my dearest loved ones looking in on me from time to time. It would certainly be a comfort to believe so. Is there an afterlife? Will I see them again? Or does oblivion await me? The only thing I really know is that I just don't know. There are few things that I believe with absolute certainty. However, one thing is I know for sure is that the organized religions are wrong. Thousands of years later we still live by the whim of a Roman emperor who decided to cast aside Jupiter, Venus, and Mars. All for the phenomenon of a far away province at the fringes of the empire. We also live at the whims of other Roman emperors and historians who chose to demonize the Druids and the ancient traditions and the beliefs of my own ancestors. The power of Rome is why an entire people have been forgotten, lost to the ages, left to fragments we can only guess at. What about their spirits? They were not the devil worshipers they were slandered as being. They lived and they loved. They were villains only to invaders who were bent on subjugating them. It was the powers of empire that spread religion and world view to all the corners of the known world. Not the divinity of the gods, but by the power of emperors, and the ambitions of men. By the time of those great sailing ships that crossed oceans, only the governments had changed. Instead of one emperor, there were powerful kings and queens. But it was still religion and world view they exported. If you're looking for some divine reason, you are wasting your time. It is only the traditions of men. If the spirit world indeed exists, then it can not be the one described by organized religion. But this does not mean a spirit world can not exist. I would like to think of myself too, as a strong believer in pure science, that I only believe in what I can see, hear, and feel. That's the image I would like to have in the mirror, this biological being with a beginning and end. But such comfort in that belief ends when I think of my loved ones, especially my father, my mother, and my baby sister. I simply can not deal with them not existing at all. Death can never hurt me in a direct attack. But there is a brilliant brutal strategy in taking from me one by one the people I have loved the most. This is the only way death can hurt me. Otherwise a direct attack would only end all the pain forever and ever amen. Picture a beautiful goddess, her arms outstretched, surrounded by shadow and eternity. I call her Oblivia. She is merely a symbol. She is merely oblivion. And if there so happens to be no spirit world, no god, no existence beyond the grave, Oblivia will save me one sweet day. There can be no pain without existence, There can be no regret without memory. There can be no loneliness, no suffering within her loving embrace. Could this be the only I can ever be safe and loved? To me there are two possibilities beyond death. Oblivia's loving embrace or the spirit world, a place where I might hope to find my loved ones again. Maybe within that realm that may or may not exist, there are places that could be called Heaven, Purgatory, Limbo, or Hell. Maybe God truly dwells in Heaven. Maybe there is an actual devil in hell. Maybe there are angels, my loved ones among them. Maybe there are ghosts, people like me, endlessly adrift. Maybe there are demons, evil souls forever unpunished for their sins. Or maybe, just maybe, there is nothing at all. Maybe there's Oblivia, my hero, my savior, my rescuer with the most intimate embrace to hold me as I have never been held in almost my whole life. Nothing like it at least since a time I can't remember when I was placed into my mother's arms as a newborn. And just like in that long ago past that I can't remember, I will know nothing. I will only know that I am safe and at peace. Maybe I'll have the vague impression of being truly loved. That mother and child reunion Paul Simon sang of. Or maybe we'll all meet again in the spirit world if it so happens to exist.