Limits

I’ve been without my regular computer for some time; I hope by week’s end I will have it back. So, all the blogs for the past few months have been written on an identical yet foreign computer. Now this may not be a big deal to some, especially since I have an identical back-up… but you know it’s not truly identical. You see all my music and a good chunk of my writing is on my primary digital interface. Which sucks since I really enjoy cuing up my own personal soundtracks and try to make sure my fingers can keep up with the tempo that blasts out of the speakers and into my waiting ears.

            So, where does that leave me? Especially since I don’t do spotify and I hate listening to streaming radio? Simple, youtube. For tonights selection I have cued up “Iron Maiden Rock in Rio” the 2001 version. It is truly one of my favorite playlists to write to. And after a night like tonight, a night in which I almost lost my cool. I saw red and was on the cusp of reaching out with my greedy stubby fingers and grabbing a hold of the bloody edges and immersing myself into a pool of verbal savagery that borders on the precipice of physical and mental torture, I was able to step back and hold inside of me the maniac that had rooted himself just behind my eyes and taken root in the pre-historic Cro-Magnon man part of my brain.

            I know, I know, you’re saying to yourself “Skip? What could make you so upset, so angry? So volatile?”

            Simple, I was accused of something I believe and feel I did not do. Now, any one of you who’ve ever worked inside the food service or even the retail service industry know, a person takes a lot of shit from people. Customers, fellow employees and even owners; tonight was such a night.

            It is not uncommon, in the place I work part-time, to get blamed for things that go wrong. Even if you are not there, or it clearly wasn’t your fault, someone always seems to get accused. Right or wrong, this is the way it is. I can honestly say that ninety-nine percent of the time I pretend I’m a duck in situations like this. I just let the water and verbal sludge just sluice right off my back. I don’t get confrontational, I don’t try and defend myself, I don’t demand justice or evidence. I just shrug my shoulders, grin and walk away. Because I know that no matter what I say, what I do, or even what evidence to the contrary I may have, it won’t mean anything to anyone. I won’t get an apology, I won’t get an expunged reputation, and I won’t feel vindicated. I just chalk it up to people who’ve had a lifetime of repression and disappointment trying to make themselves feel superior to others. This keeps me sane, that and the fact that I know my shift is only four to five hours long and I’ve suffered worse mental and physical torture at the hands of trained military personnel.

            I’m not going to go into too many details, since I’ve already given you the gist of the events you really don’t need to know the raw, human emotions. I will say that initially, I laughed the whole situation off. Like I normally do. But after thirty minutes of passive-aggressive backhanded comments made to others I work with and in front of me I finally had had enough. That’s when the red crept into the corners of my eyes. There were four of us all cramped into a five foot by three foot space and I was forced to take a step back in an attempt calm my maniac, to chain him back to the walls of my id so that he would not get the best of my demeanor. After all, isn’t that when your opponent wins? When you lose control. Yeah, that is what happens. They win, you lose. Game over.

            So I took a step back, collect my thoughts and once composed, stepped forward again and with four simple sentences, in a raised but not angry voice and through gritted teeth I unleashed my defense towards my accuser.

            My accuser, looked as if I had just ripped out her heart, taken a big bite of it, threw it on the floor and then squashed the evil, black, festering and rotten thing under my boot. The accuser turned and walked away. The accuser also refused to speak to me the rest of the night. No loss on my behalf.

            I say that simply because I know there are people in the world who always see the negative of any given situation and they thrive on it. The negativity of life is what gives them solace in their own existence. Others misery is like mana to them. They look for it in any and all situations. Someone dies? They look for all the bad things they’ve heard others say about that person and then regurgitate it back into existence. Someone gets fired, they thrive on the gossip of the where’s and whys of the termination.

            The misery of others is what makes their misery more tolerable. I can understand that. After all, I like horror stories and movies. Although I don’t watch too many horror movies these days, I can still understand the psyche of someone whose only happiness comes from others travails and trials. I’m not like that. That is to say, I don’t do it all the time. There are times when a person actually gets their comeuppance and I just chuckle to myself while thinking the great creator does get things right and that while I don’t always believe in karma, it does occasionally happen.

            I know this is not over, it never is. I know I will have to go back on Saturday night and there will be repercussions to my actions. I really don’t care. I don’t often get pushed to the limit of the amount of shit I can take and when I do, I always feel better about standing up for what I believe is right. I do know this though, after all was said and done, one of my fellow employees who witnessed the entire affair said that I had acted in a reserved manner and that she thought I was going to lose it but I didn’t.

            That alone makes me feel better about the whole situation. So my question to you, on this damp night, what gets your ire up? What keeps you from going bat-shit crazy and what is your limit?

            Have a great week.

So Ends My Radio Silence

Which is not to say that I have been idle, I have not. I’ve written a nice flash fiction ghost tale during these past two weeks. I’ve even managed to write a blog, but, I never posted it. Which is strange for me but where all of this began…

            You see, two weeks ago, after I had just finished what was to be my blog for the week, I got a bit waylaid. Not in a highwayman manner. No, this was more subtle. Subtle in the form of a social life that I’ve never really wanted but now seem neck deep in. Game night, once a month at a buddies house, usually there are six to eight people there. We play “Magic the Gathering”, eat snacks and then play “Cards Against Humanity”. Some guys bring their significant others, most of us though, geeks from conception, adults through age, and wise from experience, know our lady loves don’t dig on grown men slapping cards on a table and talking about wizards, spells, plainswalkers and magical artifacts.

            Matter of fact, the ladies that do show up, spend this time sitting around the living room and surfing internet fashion sites. With an occasional stop by a cute kitty picture site, which to us mages, makes up chuckle. (I’m sure the ladies do their own type of chuckling, hidden behind raised hands and rolling eyes.)

            I’m usually the first to leave since I get up early on Saturday mornings, the rest of the gamers play till the wee hours of the morning. Good for them.

            Also, on the social front, I’ve spent many an evening with the Garage Gang. Most recently sitting around bonfires where I find my mind wandering away from the nothing discussions of the folks around me. Usually I end up in places of my brain that lead to writing and discovery, in those cases, where I’m not over-analyzing but hyper-analyzing life, fire, comfort, friendship and where we all fit in the universe, one of the Gang recognizes this and will jab me verbally with sword of nonsense. Then I snap back into the moment.

            Those moments, beautiful, heady moments of men, women and children in the throes of life’s brief seconds of living. Stationary moments, frozen in my mind’s eye. Smiles, laughter, joy, passion, and a communal oneness that I can’t seem to sink into like they do. Mostly, I feel they, my friends are earth and I’m the satellite moon in constant orbit. I’m two-hundred-thirty-eight thousand nine-hundred miles from sitting in the midst of humanity even though I’m physically two feet from the nearest person. An emotional detachment? No. Physical? No. Mental? No, not that either.

            It’s something different that slows my immersion into the messy, wallowing, mud-slinging, dirty, complicated, hilariously simple world of human relations. Sure, I joke a bit, I answer questions, give my own two-cents when I’m asked and sometimes not asked. But, I always feel as if I’m an observer to some alien species. It’s all good though, they accept me for who and what I am, they don’t even fuss when I leave without saying goodbye. After all, there is only so much one can take of interactions with others. At least in my case that is.

            This seems to be an overcomplicated explanation of why I’ve been absent for two weeks. I don’t think so. I want you to understand I wasn’t ignoring you, instead, I’ve been thinking about our relationship. Me writing, you reading, and for a day or two there, I actually thought about not writing at all anymore. Then something happened…

            Something , someone said to me years ago came true…

            I won’t say who was involved but I discovered that what I’ve been doing, what my words have been doing, have had an impact that I would never have thought. So I shall keep going, keep writing and keep bleeding on whatever keyboard happens to be in front of me. Damn all the bullshit, damn the pain, damn the exhaustion. Just one look, one word, one smile… that’s all I needed.

            So for better or worse, my exile seems to be over and you guys are stuck with me.

            Have a great week.

Happy Birthday

           

This Sunday, April 13^th, 2014 will be the birthday of one of the most fascinating men in American history. I wish I knew why I have been drawn to this particular character in our history, but I think if I ever did figure that out I would not be so enamored with his life, his views, his insight, and wisdom and yes, even his hypocrisy.

            The man I’m speaking of is Mr. Thomas Jefferson, a man who was an ambassador, governor, president, father, husband, gardener, bibliophile, lawyer, architect, fighter of human rights and a slave owner. Any one of these aspects pursued in this day and age would be a lifelong commitment. Well, except for the slave holder part. I still have a tough time with that.

            Maybe the charm of Mr. Jefferson comes to me in the fact that he was the first person I ever heard of that like me, he did not have a middle name. Then, upon further research his accomplishments in life were breath taking to me.

            You see, back before all the internet and ready informational access, if a person wanted information you had to go to a library and search through the books or the encyclopedias to garner any knowledge. I did that, both at my school and at the public library. I soon found myself surrounded with so much information that my pre-teen brain felt as if it would explode. This however did not detract from what I wanted to learn about this mystery man who latterly lived on a mountain top.

            I learned a lot and I’m still learning, his letters to his friends, confidants, advisors and family are legion. One could get lost for years in those letters. Letters so well written that when one reads them, one can almost feel as if they are sitting in the small letter writing room in Monticello listening to Mr. Jefferson’s quill make slow, precise scratches against heavy vellum as the hand crafted ink is slowly transferred to its dry, yearning fibers.

            So here today, I’m going to post the five quotes that have been posted inside the Thomas Jefferson Memorial in the Tidal Basin in our nation’s capital.

            Happy Birthday Mr. Jefferson, thank you for enriching my life even after yours has passed.

Southwest

            We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal. That they are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights, among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights governments are instituted among men. We solemnly publish and declare that these colonies are and of right ought to be free and independent states... And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of diving providence, we mutually pledge our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor.

. Southeast

I am not an advocate for frequent changes in laws and constitutions. But laws and institutions must go hand in hand with the progress of the human mind. As that becomes more developed, more enlightened, as new discoveries are made, new truths discovered and manners and opinions change, with the change of circumstances, institutions must advance also to keep pace with the times. We might as well require a man to wear still the coat which fitted him when a boy as civilized society to remain ever under the regimen of their barbarous ancestors.

Northeast

            God who gave us life gave us liberty. Can the liberties of a nation be secure when we have removed a conviction that these liberties are the gift of god? Indeed I tremble for my country when I reflect that god is just. That his justice cannot sleep forever. Commerce between master and slave is despotism. Nothing is more certainly written in the book of fate than that these people are to be free. Establish the law for educating the common people. This is the business of the state to effect and on a general plan.

Northwest

Almighty God hath created the mind free...All attempts to influence it by temporal punishments or burthens...are a departure from the plan of the Holy Author of our religion...No man shall be compelled to frequent or support any religious worship or ministry or shall otherwise suffer on account of his religious opinions or belief, but all men shall be free to profess and by argument to maintain, their opinions in matters of religion. I know but one code of morality for men whether acting singly or collectively.

The Dome

I have sworn upon the altar of God eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man

To Suckle.

            And so draws a close to another week. Yes, it has been a crazy week for all of us. Here in the heart of the South, it started out cold, wet and miserable, but it ended, warm, sunny and pleasant. Although, if you are me, it ended up with me standing ankle deep in raw sewage and three hundred people wanting to know why they are not allowed to use a bathroom. Ok, not exactly, since I am ending up on my porch with a tasty Gurkha after said disaster.

            Of course I should mention that the evening also ended up with several city officials on hand making sure the cleanup and maintenance of the pipes was done efficiently and with the utmost care of the public at large. Me? I played a minor role in the fact that I managed traffic flow, calmed nerves of the public and officials alike as well as ensure that a good time was had by all while one of many “fires” reared its ugly head. All in the name of promoting a band, a good time and fund raising for the greater good of the community I call home.

            Now, to say that the week was easy would be to lie. You see, an old shadowy friend came to visit at the beginning of the week, a friend we all meet eventually and there is no escaping our fate from holding hands with. He took someone I care about and escorted him into the netherworld. I didn’t like hearing this news nor was I in a mood to converse about it then and I am not in a mood to converse about it now. But this “friend”, one with whom our meeting is inevitable, cast his shadow over my family in a much more intimate way as well. For this I am conflicted. While I don’t want to see the end come to a family member, I know that the inevitable result will be a joyous one for the hereafter.

            Does this thought comfort me? Does it offer me a sense of peace? Does it give me consonance in my faith and the fact that one day we will be reunited? Nope. Not at all. The way I see it, our human condition that is, is that we are suffering this mortal coil for almost no reason whatsoever with the exception of the ability to make choices and experience life in a way others are unable to.

            We are able to love by choice, live by choice, feel heartbreak, pain, loss, suffering, joy, bliss, ecstasy, free will, hate, anger, virtue, and yes, even friendship in the form of people older or younger than ourselves and learn from them.

            We are the gifted and chosen. We shall not always be here but while we are the dash that separates the date of birth from the date of death on our tombstone is the only thing that will follow us into the not so distant future. We have to make that dash count.

            Whitman said

            “That you are here-that life exist and identity”

            Emmerson said

“Thou must mount for love,—
Into vision which all form”

Cummings wrote-

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

Poets are funny creatures, to me at least. They speak of love lost, found and unrequited. Yet they all agree that one must live their lives to the fullest. Seeking out the new, the bold, the untamed in an attempt to fill their dash with as much as they can before the brief existence of their flame is extinguished by the mortal clock we all face but rarely acknowledge.

It is no secret to you, my dear and passionate reader, that I’ve not only held the hands of my fate, but danced the endless dance as well. Yet, for some reason, a reason that seems to escape my addled Polish brain, I still share this spaceship we call earth with you. And, for now at least, I will continue to share breathing room with you. Whether you like it or not. Also, I will be subject to the loves and losses of life’s never ending drama, comedy and adventure story until such time as I meet my inevitable fate.

That being said, do I like, love appreciate and accept the time clock that is placed upon us when we are conceived? No. I do not. I am not a fan of any type of metronomic meter of life and what ones fate is. Because, if we truly do have free will, then aren’t we able, by the sheer act of will, to say when and where it is we are ready to dance our last dance? Sing our last song? Suckle at the marrow of life and the joy, pain, love and loss? I say yay. We are.

            We are in charge of our will. A will that was gifted to us by our creator and a will that can change the course of not just our lives but the lives of mankind. This of course is not taking into account any kind of outside influence. Such as a bullet to the head during a convenience store robbery. But from firsthand knowledge and experience, I know, when the chips are down, when all is lost, when hope is but a fictional word, a person’s will can deliver them from the hand of the one trying to take them from this plane to the next.

We all have it in us. You, me, the person sitting in the car next to you, we have inside of us a well of unfathomable strength that is rarely tapped into. A strength that can bring one back from the brink of nothingness or, if unexplored, goes to waste simply because one has given up and does not want to see the dawning of a new day.

No, I’m not casting aspersions on anyone. I would never be so bold, but I do know what I’ve gone through and the times where saying “Fuck it, this is it for me” was the easy road. But my love for life, the dreams of a better future, the sound of birds in the morning and the spring blooms of flowers and trees have brought me back from that abyss. That love gave me the will to say “NO!, I will not go gentle into any good night. I will fight for this state of being and all it holds for me. I will prevail and I will drink from the marrow of life and experience all I can while I’m still here.”

It just pains me when others give up so easily, especially when I know they could have been so much better. Even when it means you end up ankle deep in human wast.

Have a great week.

Cracks

Have you ever had one of those weeks that seems to defy any and all description? You know, you sit there late on a Friday night sorting through all the adjectives, adverbs and nouns in your small, insignificant brain and not one word seems to be able to pinpoint the exact word to sum up the codified rollercoaster of life you’ve been leading? Yup, that is where yours truly finds himself tonight.

            To begin with, last week a buddy of mine with a tortured soul came down for a visit. He stayed for a week with a mutual friend of ours. We spent over fifty hours together catching up on the years that have passed like so much water going under a bridge. On the other hand, we worked together and tried our best to keep our sanity and keep our personal demons at bay.

            The week ended with me and a bunch of knuckleheads grilling steaks and all the trimmings for fajitas in a garage. To say the in-between was anything but mediocrity on a level playing field would be a lie.

            Now, I’m almost twelve days into a nonstop work week and I’m looking forward to a day off yet I can’t seem to shake the feeling that there are many things still left undone. Cracks so to speak. Cracks in your life that you don’t really see nor that you ever see until you are falling down them and the only thought in your head is “How the hell did this happen?”

            Now, I’m not saying I’m falling, but I do know I’m standing at the precipice of a void, but then again, I always feel as if I’m staring into the senseless, bubbling turmoil that reaps nothing but havoc. All of this has made me realize a few things.

            While I like to live as much as a hermit as I can, and I try to keep most people at bay, sometimes, those unseen cracks not only allow things out, but allow things in. My realization is that I have a crack, a chink in my personal armor that keeps people at bay. My gruff demeanor, my snarky wit, my insensitivity to people who can’t seem to do for themselves has all been a good defense but some people slip in. They get under my skin and I find myself searching for the company of people who have endeared themselves to me.

            My pal who visited whom I haven’t seen in three years is one of them, the garage gang is a slew of others, a few of my work mates are more. Yet while all this is happening I know there are peoples whose company I yearn for, people with whom I’ve found myself thinking of more often these days and when those thought come, as they inevitably do, I feel a mist descending upon my like the dew on a cool spring morning.

            Then, there are those who seem to be able to look beyond my barriers, my façade and instinctively know what’s going on inside my mind. I had lunch with one of those people today. I call him “Friend” even though we don’t hang out much and our lives are so filled with duties that seem to pull us in a hundred directions at once, when we do get together, well, no matter what I say or how I say it, he knows how to read what I mean. He is one of those unseen creatures that have slipped through an unseen crack. For that I’m grateful. But guess what, especially since you are reading this… I’m shoring up those cracks as fast as I discover them. Not to keep folks out, but to keep myself as sane as possible and to keep my focus on what needs to be done.

            Now this may be some cloudy thinking, as cloudy as the evening is that I’m writing this, but, it is something I need to do. Am I saying I’m shutting down any and all hopes of creating new friendships? Nope, I’m not. What I am saying is that I need to find the faults in my philosophies and try to fix them. Is this flip-flopping? Nah, nothing so extreme. I consider it my own personal preventive maintenance from a future of standing in a suit at a graveside and wondering “Why did this happen and what the hell am I doing here? Why are there so many assholes still walking and talking on this earth yet here lies the physical manifestation of a once animate person who I cared for and loved?” I get pissed I guess is what I’m trying to say.

            For I know, like we all do, that life truly is a terminal illness. We only have ourselves to rely on and the few people we allow inside our walls. But when those wall are faulty or when the people we’ve come to rely upon start to disappear, what do we have left? We have our own selves and our own philosophies and theologies. I’ll take all my personal knowledge and mistakes and forge them into a working, living, breathing formula for the existence I have left. After all, it’s worked for me thus far in my life.

            So to you my dear reader, I ask this, “What works for you in your life to keep and maintain your sanity when you are bombarded with a metric-ton of crap that has been dumped into your life on a weekly basis?

            I look forward to hearing your answers.

Where does it Come from?

It’s been a hell of week here in the heart of the south. Aside from the menopausal mother nature, I’ve dealt with family issues as well as an old friend coming in from out of town for a short visit. Now, don’t get me wrong, my buddy visiting is not a hardship in anyway, all it means is that I’m going to be spending some time which I normally dedicate to other things, as far as the family issues, they are unwanted, unneeded and undesired and I wish they had never reared their ugly hydra like head.

            So where does that leave me? Simple, in a corner between responsibility to family and a rock full of friends. Good thing my family understands, because I rarely have friends visit here let alone want my company as a brief respite from their daily lives. (Yes, I am that breed of asshole.)

            On the other hand my buddy is interested in what I do, and has no problem hanging out with me during the day or night for that matter. The problem comes from the fact that he is a Vet of the first order. He served in Iraq and the other country, teaches younger folks how to blow shit up and is one of the most upstanding guys I know. I would entrust my life to him. But… and this is a big but… he has issues most people don’t and while he is trying to work on those problems, I am trying to sow seeds of hope. All in the unlikely hope that in the future, one day, not far from today he will realize that not all is lost and what he has is something to hold on to.

            But in the meantime, I enjoy his company, his stories, of which there are many and of course the camaraderie of feeling a loss for those that came before us. For you see, while he is the epitome of a hard drinking, hard smoking, hard case hard ass, he also has insight that most of us in America don’t understand or appreciate.

            He is alone in his mind, body and souls. No matter how hard he tries to fill it with Jamesons, nicotine, hate and temporary company, he will be alone. That is until he shares what is going through his mind and what he has been through.

            I’m honored to be one of the few recipients of his adventures, am I shocked, disturbed or even amazed? No. I am not. I knew what was coming, simply because I’ve had some experience in what he is dealing with. But does that mean what he says is not important? Nope. It makes what he is doing, going through and been through all the more relevant. For you see, while I can’t say I know what he has been through, I can say that I understand what he is going through.

            Most of us 80’s sailors have the same story… we can’t or won’t talk about what was going on in the Reagan era. We’ve signed papers, made promises and even in some cases, taken blood oaths. So to say what my younger armed service brother is going through is not relevant to what I’ve experienced would be a lie.

            I hold no grudges against any of the armed services, we all hold a special place in the stability of democracy, but to see one person so affected that their life is almost at an impasse as to what they can do and what they can’t do all the while knowing that on this continent it does not really amount to a hill of used coffee grinds is painful.

            But knowing this, and other information, does that mean we can’t be friends? Can’t be brothers in arms? Can’t have similar interests? No. As a matter of fact it does not. All it means is that we, as a collective service to the community, feel more alienated by the life and liberties of those around us. Sure, we dive head long into the pool of freedom and liberty once we are back on familiar soil but we never forget what has been sacrificed not just by ourselves but by those that came before us over two hundred years ago.

            I guess what I’m saying is, that while I am a Jeffersonian at heart and try to live by our third president’s principles, I also believe that without our military and those who have served and giving more than just their lives, we would never be in the place we are now.

            Thank you to all the past, present and future vets. We are a brotherhood that knows what the price is even if we don’t want to pay the bill.

            Have a great week everyone

Zeus, Pandora and Rock and ROLL!

            I love music. Classical, blues, jazz, rock, classic rock, metal, punk, early rap and even some gospel, but I've never been a fan of pop music. I don’t know why, well, that is a lie. I do know why I don’t like pop music, my reason is simple, it doesn't really speak to me nor do I think it really holds up over time. Just my opinion, I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am.

            Now, being an offspring of the 1960’s, raised in the 70’s, became a man in the 80’s and matured in the 90’s I know I am now in my middle age. Yes, I believe that 46 is middle age, for me at least. Because to me middle age is your halfway point in life and if I live to 92 then I am correct, although I don’t think I will. The odds are against it. Besides, by the time I’m 92 I’m sure my brain will have more holes in it than a piece of nice Swiss cheese.

            So, you can see from my decades how I was around for some very interesting changes in the musical industry, to me Dylan was always electric but I knew about his acoustic stage, I was around to understand why Kiss shows were so amazing, and I knew firsthand about stadium rock and the insanity it brought with it whenever a kick ass band came to town. During all of that though, I was learning how to play classical music in school as well as jazz and I fell in love with those styles of music and appreciate what they represented.

            One of the most interesting things that music has done for me is that it always seems to speak to me. Seriously, when I feel like crap I turn on the radio and it seems the DJ is playing just the right song I need to hear to make me feel less craptastic. When I’m angry, good metal always seems to drown out the screams of frustration and revenge that rage inside my head. When I’m down, blues and jazz soothe my soul and make me feel less lonely and when I just need to be mellow, jazz is always the cure with a spattering of Mozart.

            Today was one of those days. I’ve been living deep inside my head for the past 48 hours and for the life of me I couldn’t find anything in my Zune to play, even though I have over one thousand songs and four hundred artists loaded into the high tech piece of plastic, glass and microchips. I couldn’t pull the trigger on what would soothe my inner maniac. So I lived with it.

            That is, until I arrived at my part time job. Well to be honest, for the first hour there, during set up, I listened to the Thomas Jefferson podcast. But once we opened for business and the customers started to roll in I was not in a position to listen to my ear buds. However, the chef in the kitchen listens to a local classic rock station and over the course of twenty minutes here are the songs that spoke to me:

1.      Limelight by Rush

2.      Under Pressure by Queen featuring David Bowie

3.      Jack and Diane by John Cougar Mellencamp

4.      Walk this Way by Aerosmith

5.      No Sugar Tonight/New Mother Nature by The Guess Who

6.      Jesus is Just Alright by The Doobie Brothers

Now each of these songs has specific lyrics that spoke to me and the shit I have been dealing with on a level that I’m sure most adults eventually have to deal with. No, I wont go into specifics here but know that those six songs, yes, I listed them in the order they came on the radio, seemed to give me certain balance.

A balance that I lost not just a short time ago.

I suppose I could explain it like this:

I’m sure you know the story of Pandora’s Box. In case you don’t know, Pandora, in Greek mythos, was the first human woman, she was married to a man named Epimetheus and the box was a wedding gift from Zeus. The box came with a warning label telling the newlywed couple to never open the box. But Pandora didn’t heed the warning and as soon as she was alone she cut the seal and all the evil inside was released into the world but the last thing that left the box wasn’t evil, it was good… it was Hope.

So, that is what I’m trying to read into the lyrics of the songs that spoke to me. Oh? You want examples? Sure, I’ll give you some in order:

1.      Cast in this unlikely role, Ill equipped to act, With insufficient tact, One must put up barriers to keep oneself intact.

2.      Cause love’s such an old fashioned word and love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night and love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves

3.      Jacky say, “Hey Diane lets run off behind a shady tree, dribble off those Bobby Brooks and do what I please”

4.      See-saw swingin’ with the boys in the school, with your feet flyin’ up in the air, Singin’ hey-diddle-diddle with the kitty in the middle, you be swingin’ like you just don’t care.

5.      Lonely feelin’ deep inside, Find a corner where I can hide, Silent footsteps crowdin’ me, Sudden darkness but I can see.

6.      Jesus, he’s my friend, Jesus, he’s my friend, He took me by the hand; led me far from this land, Jesus, he’s my friend.

Yup, it’s a strange life and somewhere out in the great and unseen ether there are strange and incomprehensible machinations afoot. I don’t think I will ever understand it and I to tell the truth, I don’t want to. In other words, the void I’ve been staring into as I stand on the crusty and crumbling edge as all the evil stares back at me with its dark gleaming, mesmerizing eyes there seems to be a hint, nay a glint of shining hope deep within the void.

That glint, seems to act as a mirror to me. A mirror that shows not just what is within all of us and the evils we feel in the dark recesses of our ID, but also, the hope that hides there. Like a ninja the evil can’t see. Because evil can’t truly look upon hope and goodness because then it’s own existence would cease to exist.

In some strange way, I want to thank Zeus and Pandora. For the hope that was released into our lives, the hope that acts as an unseen and unknown barrier to the human race because the evil will not only never see it, it will never understand it.

Have a great week.