I HAVE A REALITY

A Tribute to MLK day

Parting Toasts

A very real moment occurs: The clash of glasses still resonates, the words of a toast having just culminated with communal cups raised, temporarily directing meaning or intention to what was said, unifying the presence of the group under that guise...Tally ho, go team, God bless, God speed, make your fast faster, to you, us, and all those....
Then cups draw distance, eyes meet like a poker read, the mark made, understanding conveyed more than basic ritual connotes, and then... The toast, the speech, the dream….it’s all a pep talk....

Or it’s about how I like to imagine that the people of the world are their own wizards, their own Gods, that their will be done as they wield the secret weapon of genuine sincerity at their surroundings with strong intention. But this is just talk. The real dream team consists of all sort of players who simply get in their game, play their guts out, and finish it to the end only to do it again, a little better, a little harder, the next game. You can't coach this. Thunder is nothing without lightning without….

The focus is brilliant execution, followed through with a deep rumble of heart.
So yeah, I guess something that can light a fire under our asses isn't necessarily a bad thing. I just want to believe that it shouldn't be needed, somehow that fire stays lit by the individual's own accord. It's the fire of life.

Each of us takes our own course of action. What happens, regardless of what just occurred, speaks to our individual stakes in the matter. A moment after the toast and we are doing what we do and will.

That’s when you take the drink. Not a sip, you swallow hard at it. You don’t take it lightly. It’s strength provides a warmth. Drink in the life.

And finally it's your opportunity to retort, one chance to empower your active voice.

You got something to say about it? Let’s hear it.

Response to Way of the Clay's "A Light at the Tunnel (Not the End) "

It wouldn't send to Jeff's email cause he's a school teacher from the city of (New York) Whittier...and apparently email sometimes gets blocked due to content. WTF is that all about?

F me,

That's what I like to say. Leaving work today afforded me another opportunity to look on the dark side. Let's face it, sitting in rush hour traffic for over twice the time I had before moving isn't exactly fucking bright or enlightening or whatever. It's developing one of my stronger qualities...cause deep down I'm a really big asshole, as if you didn't already know that. All I live for is to bring that inner me, that thing I can only feel when thinking to myself, the shit I do behind your back...ahhh, I mean...integrity stuff, bring it all out. Spill it. It's not that bad...or is it?I mean really....in this day in age (whatever the fuck that means), why don't we have cars (or not cars) with magnets or something? They could magnetize together when going straight down the road becoming, in a sense, railroad cars that are always moving, working together, but never stopping or going 15 mph next to a sign that says 55 MPH. Don't get me wrong, there's a certain release that is accomplished in vocalizing the frustration to the interior of my car, "Seriously...stopping....really....Come...ON!" cause I can't figure that out. Why the fuck would you need to stop?

The magnet would also have to work to repel as a safety feature in order to keep from crashing which I could then also minipulate to bounce off the incompotent and incapable driver's cars to truly show my appreciation of sharing the road with all that talent.

I'm not sure what's on the road ahead of me, but I can see the fuckin road and I can get there faster when I'm able to remove the speedbump-like drivers. I'm so anti-fuckin' speedbump. I'm going to a halloween bash or two tomorrow as Wolverine. All those highway magnets just wouldn't work....although I could stand to take a great big motorcycle going the long way around, exceeding both speed limit and reason; A real ball builder.

I tried that today with the Murderbu sans excessive speeding but it backfired and the drive took longer than it's ever taken. And that's why I'm here, keeping myself from walking my own edge. My consulation prize, I'm reminding myself, is that the costume will work. I'll get my ass kicked so they can see if I heal. It's a true power (that I don't have....only the lamb chops, wild hair, and cigar) that inspires a risk taker or at the least, a life liver. It begs the question, when's the last time you've tested the limits? And so it goes sitting in a traffic jam of blank thoughts and bad driving.

Time for a beer to make me hoppy. Don't laugh at that. Just working on my utopian mindset super power.

HONK HONK,

10-4, niner

The Least I Can Do

Upon examination, half of what I say no longer makes sense. People get the jist of it though. They know the lingo. Read between the lines and all that. But really?....R E A L L Y? Same difference .? Love you to death? Anyway, I stopped myself recently with "It's the least I can do". Why is this an appropriate response for something, anything? Maybe we all need some real "tough love" to open our eyes.

Truth is, I could do more. So could you. But we're held back for one reason or another and mostly I blame myself (cause it's the least I can do) It's like we're all waiting for a ride there, the next wagon to jump on. And if we could, we'd rather someone else take the ride for us. But we hesitate to even make the call, go hungry for awhile, before taking the great pain to even call... for something as small as pizza delivery. We'd rather starve than have to make that call. We'll wait to see if someone else will make the call first. Fall to hunger pangs, conceding to expending the energy, the great sacrifice. Why the struggle? It goes unexplained under the guise of disconcern, "I just don't want to." The pizza's not that good. If there's a mistake, the caller is somehow linked. It's not worth the money. Selling out to the idea that you can't make pizza better for cheaper or that it's just too much time and work. It's the least you can do....? Until the pizza arrives and everyone is ravenously huddled around the box waiting for it to be opened commencing the grabfest.

It's merely an opinion but a small sense of urgency would go a long way. If you feel it will come in the afterlife, than get there. It's one thing to wait for your set of waves but it's another thing to drift into shore not having ridden.

And when I look back at the footprints in the sand to see just one set, I know how they got there.....I carried my dumb ass after a real good hard ride!

Hat hangin'

With all this talk of houses I remembered having gone on a tangent on hats. Particularly, the ol' saying that home is where you hang your hat has taken on multiple meanings for me. For one, I've had a hard time keeping hats in my possession. It's as if my hat hangs at the last place I lost it. I miss some of those hats. RIP. So... I'm a man of many hats, in a matter of speaking. And I tend to like that diversity. I don't endorse particular products, teams, or bumper sticker philosophies for such extended periods of time like Nascar race winner interviews who switch multiple hats while drinking multiple beverages from their car's sponsors. It's hilarious that their victory speeches almost mimic their costume changes...."I'd like to thank Budweiser, my king, Jesus, my savior, my pit crew for the gas and rubbers, and the new blueberry flavored energy drink for the colorful pee stain down my pants, etc...."

But I digress....

Hats. Pictured on top is one of my fav's, still in my possession, perched atop Hope Peak, in Resurrection Valley on Turnagain Arm south of Anchorage, AK. Not a bad place to hang my hat if I do say so. If you ask me, and most people don't, I'd say it was 10 miles high if it wasn't 2. This incredible hike was payback for a crazy bike tour of Mpls that I gave Jeff (pictured) a few months earlier. While I apparently left him for dead (easy pickin's), this hike left me hobbling for a week afterward. I thought my knees were going to buckle every time I went down a flight of stairs....not from soreness or pain so much as a feeling that my muscles lacked the strength or stability to negotiate the weight. And this went on for a week...seriously. Needless to say that this experience sticks out in my head.

This is where I think the ol' saying lends more meaning than I had originally considered. Instead of picturing the typical finale to an 8 hour day culminating in the return to the nest like Mr. Rogers hanging his jacket in the closet, I'm extending the idea past simply answering the "where" you lay your hat to include the situation leading up to it, what has made it the place to lay your hat.

Honestly though, all my hats are on a hanger in my apartment and I don't often even wear a hat (albeit a fashion decision or for hair loss prevention), but when I do, it is humorous to conceive of how a hat's diary might read and tie that into what new meaning "home" derives from such background. While the Mr. Roger's example drowns in "normality", I'm stretching my imagination to find some unconscious corollary, that somehow the gesture of taking off one's hat marks a break in time, initiating hindsight and foresight after a period of constant now. It's works like removing a costume accessory to show one's true identity, taking a rest from an activity to view the accomplishment. In all of this there is a kind of positing of existence, the short term recollecting of thoughts and actions that have gotten you here. So yeah, here's one of my favorite hat hanging stories:

Going way back to my Xmas tree farm working days with Myron Jackson, one of the best mentors anyone could have, we took lunch on the ridge of the field of Xmas trees we had just shaped, half done and half not. Having arrived early enough to scare off some deer, we labored tree by tree only looking around to see how far down the next row the other guys were or which direction we'd send the leeder flying (a fun and exceedingly precision chop to complete a perfect tree trimming). By the time lunch came, the sun was reaching its apex, clothes were dirty, sweat mixed with sap over taut muscles, and the lap of machete cuts around a tree had become so effecient as to make John Henry proud. In times like this you relish the taste and purity of water knowing that its refreshing quality is more of a life force. It feels pretty good dumped over your head too, but you gotta take your hat off for that. Yep, that stinky sweaty hat. After shaking out your machete hand, taking the catcher's guard full of little nicks off my right leg (nothing makes you snap to attention like hearing machete slap against guard on a weak/off swing), grabbing sandwich and beverage out of the cooler before replacing the top to use it as a seat. And here it is....my dirty, sweaty hat is on the ground next to me, my legs stretched out to the sides, hunched over a bit, my entire posture revealing signs of fatigue and need for rest while my mind seems completely clear, alert, and open. With fresh air, blue sky, and the sounds of nature surrounding us, words weren't needed, especially between PB+J bitefulls, but in looking out over the field we see to our center and left all the gorgeous rows of perfectly trimmed trees that in a few hours time have turned from 6 or 8 yr old pine trees to potential centerpieces filled with magic for some lucky family's xmas celebration. Then, in looking to our right lies the other half of the field, untrimmed....waiting, but not for long.

Pimp my Cave

Livin' the sheltered life?

What a bunch of dandy's!

I'm probably not ready to throw on a loin clothe and start eating raw meat off the bone of my most recent kill but it's alarming how "far" we've come that people can stay indoors for such great lengths of time and have provided for them so many modern conveniences. Why lift a finger if I don't have to! Or breathe for that matter? No but really, I have this picture in my head of prehistoric days when shelter was just that, shelter. I picture a safe place to eat, rest, be protected from bad weather, and if you're lucky, room to store your bare essentials. Otherwise, you're out in the world under the sky. And I romanticize this, no doubt, but getting into the great wide open where sites reach the horizons, voices echo from mt. tops, you can smell approaching weather, hear the wind whip, and it's all more than refreshing, it's living; interacting with the world, not just what's inside your cave walls or in your noggin.

Now, we fill these spaces with so-called "valuables" that are not simply to improve resting, eating, and hygiene but items that keep us more and more from the outside world. As the years quickly pass, I find myself acceedingly susceptible to the allure of privacy for events that might typically take me into the public domain. I prefer cranking my home stereo in listening to a favorite artist's new album over fighting a sold out crowd of beer spillers screaming irrelavent jibber-jabber mid-hit/fav song while all the 7 ft tall people find their ideal viewing spot right in front of me. (sidenote: I still take extreme pleasure in the rare occasion of finding the lesser known, up-and-coming band, who play intensely entertaining shows at smaller venues to a more appreciative and captive audience, where all you can do is wipe your bleeding ears and yell, "Rock Harder!" (Thank you Dead Meadow for your most recent 7 st. Entry show)) I'd rather kick back on the couch to watch the game with good store bought micro-brews for the price I'd pay for lite beer at the stadium, not to mention there's no line for the bathroom. Movies are the same except I don't eat popcorn or drink soda by the bucket. But this complacency has gotten to such an extreme that people are more likely to find out the weather by turning on the TV rather than opening a shade, window, or door.

Privacy is nice, and in part, necessary. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't be the same without it. But the safety and security of the nest is over reaching and society seems to be losing it's community built foundation. Blame it on population, there's simply too many of us to meet and remember (sad really). Somehow we assume that we relate due to proximity but we really don't know. For instance, I'm from the same home town as Harry Houdini and Joseph McCarthy (Red!), etc... but, well.... I guess we all have our versions to conjuring accusations. I prefer to direct that kind of magic upon myself.

On the other hand...

The dry farts of our society grow exceeding fat and lazy while anxiously pressing the "easy" button awaiting their next free rations, their share, cut, cause we are all owed that much, right? Welfare, social security, ect... is about asking what our country can do for us, and seemingly the noblest thing we can do for our country is take a bullet. I wish there was more. To adapt the joke, we are less and less Ameri-cans and more and more Ameri-can'ts. And I do believe that it is tied to all the materials we snuggle into our nest, addressed early in philosophy as the issue with private property, going against Native American's belief that the Earth does not belong to us, that we belong to the Earth, and in the tough, Fight Club speak, "The things you own end up owning you." And it certainly is remarkable how the money to fun ratio are synchronizing without much notice. Are the best things in life free any more? I still want to believe it but...

All of this comes about as I make every attempt to get excited about the biggest financial decision of my life. I'm getting a nest, a new cave, my biggest material purchase yet. And somehow in the search (what a great market really!) I'm seeking out this imagined chi, the inspiration feng shui, an energizing central stasis, the epicenter of calm, nooks and crannies to expand thought processes, stretching creativity, letting the force flow from a jedi, so I can sweep the leg and get'em a body bag like any ninja would. What's going to get me there is a tricky equation, and everyone has advice to give. "Foreclosures are a steal." "You can change your house, but you can't change your hood." "You don't need a Realtor." "Realtor's are paid by the seller." First time owners discounts, how to get the best rates, making'em an offer (they can't refuse) 20% less than the asking price.... Ugghhhh, compounding all this decision making is that it's followed by the physically exhausting (no doubt some mental exhaustion as well) of coordinating the actual move. This is so f'n FUN!

I've been listening to The Black Eyed Snakes song "My New House" in which Chicken Bone George throttles the mic screamin, "SEEEEEEEE MYYYY NEEEEEWWW HOOUSSSE!!!! MY NEW HOUSE!!!" Yep.

A Rat's Ass

Go to your "happy place"
Find your fucking power animal
Seize the damned day
Get sick sucking the marrow out of life
Choke on that half full glass
Eat shit and die on that cloud's silver lining
And at all costs, keep lying to the mirror

While you're at it, be thankful
Be thankful no one understands, especially you
Remember the bliss of ignorance or...
Remember your plague, your disease, your faults, shortcomings, forgetfulness
that long list of mistakes, regrets, shortsightedness, lack of and mis-understanding,
utter confusion, that false sense of who you are;
the confidence, assuredness, the blessedness, self-righteousness,
all that talent, natural ability and oh yeah, certainly that bad-ass rebellious side.

Let it really sink in so you know why

You take your medicine
Rock your scotch off godfather
smokin like a hippie, stoner
Mary Jane and Randy
Tricks and nose candy treats
You're the fungi, fun guy
Mary Poppins those Pharmies
Climbin' Jacob's ladder
You're in Disney now Mickey, says Bukowski
And just like Alice, you're Mama's little helper's bitch
Another nail for the coffin
Puff, puff, give....up
Needle around some more
Go get your fuckin shine box
and Vaffanculo!

You're a regular short bus racing champion
A bullet catcher in life's war
Leading the charge of the knuckle draggers
fighting for your one certain right
Left right, left right, left right
6 feet into the ground
Better yet, place the ashes in a tray where they belong
Bow your head and blow
Amen, a man no more

Half smiles and Handshakes

It's casual.


Like so many everyday encounters and activities that fall under a routine, there's a veil of the mundane, the universal commonality that everybody else is going through relatively the same thing. We're all stuck in our own traffic jams, racing the clock for one reason or another, maneuvering around this obstacle or that, and dealing with it all with our best defense mechanisms. We know this works because it has all been done before, tested and true, and we're still here to prove it. We can practically do it with our eyes closed, in our sleep. Turn on the autopilot and suddenly the day is just going through the motions. The familiar is so comfortable this way. For as much as this involves personal habits and tendencies, what's really illuminating is the way in which these habits form societal norms, setting "appropriate" behavioral expectations to given circumstances that become so standardized that any diversion seems so improbable that it's virtually against the laws of nature to do otherwise. No doubt, practicality stands paramount to such populous living amongst one another (relatively) peacefully and there are advantages to regulating activities so as to encourage polity, convenience, and access and to discourage invasion, strife, and disorder, but what of the complacency and contentment of behavior, personality, individuality, creative expression that results? What happens to originality? Authenticity?

So this is it.

I stake the claim. Amidst all the elements that funnel humanity into neat little categories, patterns, and all the unbenounced criteria that positions us to do, make, say, think, etc nearly identically to so many others in our society or the world, predicated upon magazines, TV, newspaper, or any form of media distribution pronouncing some image or idea as fact or the prime example, like an endorsement to products and services that turn want into need, fashion into status, money into power, etc all with an homage to the common "good" or seemingly common sense, there always remains choice, will power, motivation, inspiration, imagination, etc. to see things completely different, to see based more according to our own logical or illogical reasoning. Then with the Stoic powers in each of us, we can posit our existence with greater respect to our personal beliefs, instincts, thoughts, feelings, etc. Though this diversity is not inherently subversive or rebellious, the variations in which people "flow" with or against the grain provided each unique situation stands to offer "more" for the simple fact that stakes are raised, the issues hit home, and your "cause" placed in question.


Half smiles and Handshakes....

is a mockery of our ho hum existence and the way it progressively accustomizes our outlook or idea of life or reality. We continue to gloss over more and more of the world's subtle nuances in their seeming repetition. This repetition can fascinate if recognized as such, but it's the opportunity to break free of the mainstay in expectation that can lead to greater appreciation of our place and time, a dropped jaw at the infinite possibilities (the forest for the trees and the trees for the forest). So as much as it is a mockery, it is also a call to action, to realization, to being present in the moment so that when you're going through life or when you meet John Doe, you know like Socrates that you know nothing; that each breath could be God and ol' John D might be Jesus C. So pay attention! Cause if that happens you're not going to have to ask WWJD, you're going to have to know what the fuck you're going to do.

"Hi. How are you? Blah, blah, blah....Neat to meet you. Buh-bye"

Find out what it means to be the change you want to see in the world (Gandi) and declare your independence by taking responsibility for the thoughts and actions within your ability to do so. Respect others for doing the same even though they may oppose you. Show them what you got, what you're made of. Make your best better. Show what it means to you to be alive. Shake the world with clenched fists, bleeding heart, and a fervent bellowing that awakens the living and echoes in eternity. I AM ALIVE!

If Half smiles and handshakes doesn't interest you, perhaps I could give A Rat's Ass!