Confrontation...Part One...

I'm not really sure how it came to be, but I am basically a pacifist. It has been 25 years since the last time I was in a physical altercation. OK it was fight. A bar fight to be exact. Provoked by a bigoted drunk that couldn't mind his own business. 

Violence and aggression are wasted on me anymore. It's the lowest action a human being can take. It's purely instinctual. Require no thought. No reason. No basic human decency. It is the easiest of reactions. 

When your challenged, certain things happen. We all have the capacity to react in any number of ways. To me, the easiest way to react is with violence. A primal response that proves little and solves nothing. It's much more difficult to respond with calm reason and an understanding (or at least a chance of understanding) of your challenger. This can be done in a variety of ways. None more right or wrong from the others as long as it done in a peaceful fashion.

I still have the ability to be physical if it were a matter of life or death. I still have the ability to be aggressive when I'm challenged. At 6'3" and 200 lbs it's possible even, to be intimidating. (except to kids, they see right through me) I still remember that bar fight very clearly. For years after I even bragged about it. I was proud of the fact that I taught some drunk a lesson.

In reality, at that time, I'm pretty sure he learned nothing from the experience. Hopefully, he, like me, learned something form it years later. I'm sure I would react differently today. 

I believe that it's best to not judge others. Never underestimate.(you have no idea who that person is, or what they may be capable of doing) I believe that it's best to solve problems rationally and intelligently or except the outcome and walk away...

The White Zone Is For Emotional Baggage Loading Only. No Unloading, No Parking!

Sometimes everything seems to hit at once. It's not necessarily the moving that has gotten to me. We have moved dozens of times. Having it forced on you is a bit worse but it's nothing we can't handle. The expense of moving we could do with out. Knowing that there is really nothing we can do about it because renters have no rights, torques my shorts.

I tell myself every morning, "It's going to be alright. Things will work out." I reassure Precious of the same things. I have never seen her so depressed. She's feeling the pressure. As I am.

The last two years have kick our asses. Hard. I'm loosing it. I'm beginning to wonder if things will really be alright, but I can't admit it out load. There are no guaranties. Bad things happen. Life is seldom fair.

I wonder if my life has become a self fulfilling prophecy. Maybe I am an unhappy person and I'm bringing this on us. There have been hard times in my life. A life time ago. I hid behind drugs. Lately I have begun to feel the pull, and remember the allure they had to me. That they have on anyone that is in a tough patch. It gives escape. It makes you forget.

I can't escape this time. I have someone the depends on me. For everything. I have to be there. I have to make everything work some how. But I'm lost. I'm at wits ends. How much can a person take before they break.

I'm worried about Precious. She's at the edge. I know because I was standing there already. For the first time in my life I am truly afraid of what is going to happen to us. So much of life is beyond our control.

Every morning I hold on to Mr. Man before I leave for work. He's an angel. He has no idea and I need to keep it that way. I never want to let him go. But I have to. I have to go out into the world. I feel completely vulnerable. Like a target.

If I can only hold it together at work. Don't break down. Tell myself over and over, that it will be alright. Maybe I can make something happen. If I can only make something happen, it will be alright.

I hope that the other drivers can't see that I'm having a mini break down as I drive. I hold my hand up to shield my face from passing cars. Tears streaming down my cheeks. The pep talks are becoming less and less affective. I have started to doubt. I doubt myself, my abilities, my future. For the first time, I doubt myself.

The reality is that we are, at any given time, about two weeks from being homeless. I know it would never come to that. We have places to go, and family and friends that would help. But dear God has it really come to that? Have we really fallen so far?

I start throwing blame. I blame God. I blame Washington. I blame greed. I blame Precious. I blame myself. The only place it applies is with me. I am the one that is responsible for my life. And now theirs.

I know Precious prays. A lot. I don't see it helping her and it makes me sad. I remember praying. I can't any more. Some where along my road I have lost my faith. I have seen too much. I wonder if that is what's brought me here. A message from God that I've forsaken him. Maybe he just hates me. Maybe he's not listening, or maybe he's just not there.

My life has become filled with self pity, self loathing.I have become much less forgiving of myself. There is so much that is still good in our lives. Why can't I focus on that? My thoughts always seem to drift into how much worse things could be. I don't even want to think about how much worse things could be.

I just need to keep it together. Things will turn around. It's going to be alright. I want to scream it to the universe. It's going to be alright dammit! It has to be alright.

Precious told me that she needs someone to talk to. She can't tell me her darkest fears. But I know. I can see it on her face and hear it in her voice. They're my fears too. Wondering if our best years are behind us. Knowing that every month we are getting farther behind.

I'm not looking for sympathy, or pity, or advice, or help. I just need to scream at the universe. This is where I can do that with out causing a scene or being arrested.

It's funny. When you ask the universe, "How bad can it be?" You almost always find out. When you ask the universe, "How good can it be?" You never get a response. Makes me think that the no response, is the response.

In The End...

Everything will be alright in the end.

If it's not alright,

it's not the end.

What Do Thoughts Sound Like?

If people could communicate telepathically, what would they sound like? What would they hear?

Would you hear the other persons voice in your head? Would you hear your own voice telling you what the other person was thinking? Is it more of a sixth sense thing, where you just know with out sound?

Would sound even matter in a telepathic world? What if you were deaf? Could you hear telepathically?

What's The Word? A Contest...Rules And Prizes...TBD

 missing, mislaid, misplaced, vanished, disappeared, gone missing, gone astray, forgotten, nowhere to be found; absent, not present, strayed; irretrievable, unrecoverable. off course, off track, disorientated, having lost one's bearings, going around in circles, adrift, at sea, astray.  missed, forfeited, neglected, wasted, squandered, gone by the boards, down the drain. bygone, past, former, one-time, previous, old, olden, departed, vanished, forgotten, consigned to oblivion, extinct, dead, gone, died out, defunct, vanished, destroyed, wiped out, ruined, wrecked, exterminated, eradicated. hopeless, beyond hope, futile, forlorn, failed, beyond remedy, beyond recovery. damned, fallen, irredeemable, irreclaimable, irretrievable, past hope, condemned, cursed, doomed; accursed. engrossed, absorbed, rapt, immersed, deep, intent, engaged, wrapped up.

Dear Dr. Bob,

Most of the time I internalize my life. Good or bad, doesn't matter. It is very seldom that I let my emotions be shown. On purpose anyway. An even keel has always worked for me.

So I say. It's been many years, decades even, that, deep down, I knew. I know.

Knowing, doesn't change things. It's not just the bad times that cause problems. If things seem too good, internally, the pressure is the same. Strange but true.

Externally, emotions are seen as good or bad, happy or sad. Each with a different reaction.

Internally, pressure is pressure, it's all the same. Building.

When enough pressure builds, it has to be released or the container can burst. It can burst from any where. Any where, there is a weak spot.

To avoid a rupture, you need to release some of the pressure.

There are time though when the pressure builds faster than it can be released and more drastic action is required.

Take something sharp, like a kitchen knife, Swiss Army knife/tool, surgical instruments, needles etc. They all work depending on your needs or urgency.

Locate the area with the most pressure and make an incision. If you still have pressure you can go deeper or make another hole next to it or some place else.

I carry a Swiss Army knife in my bag, every where I go. I haven't used it for years, but, pressure can build fast, you never know. It just might save a live.

The release of pressure is much like a drug. Abuse is often fatal.

Find another release. Go for a bike ride, a run, bowling, anything. I learned once that the pressure can be let go of, with our minds. We just have to want, to let it go. Face our fears.

Easier said than done. Knowing, doesn't always help, at first, but it's getting easier.

Sadistic Cruelty....

How long must we face off like this? Back and forth we go. Face to face or across the room.

Empty. Depleted. Exhausted. I pour my heart and soul into this. Into us. Into you. I give and give and give some more. When there is nothing left but the shell of my former self. A broken man. Somehow I find a little more to give you. For us.

Bloody and broken. You've beaten me down.

Why must I love you? Why must you hurt me? Hurt beyond my comprehension of pain. So simple in your cruelty. Silence. Cold, distant and indifferent. That's the cut that goes the deepest. Your ease with indifference. Your most lethal weapon and you can use with out a care or effort. You're a natural.

I can no longer see where each of the scars begin or end. There are so many.

How many others has there been before me? How many gave their lives to you? All eager and willing to walk into the mouth of hell. Hand in hand.

I lash out in my sorrow. I say things I don't mean. I love you. I have more for you. Don't go. Don't leave me. I need you.

You're expressionless and silent. You stare back at me as if I don't even exist. Say something! Do something! Give me something! Please! Please...

Your silence. Your silence shatters me. This time the slice had intent. Purpose.

A rush of searing heat and the pain begins to wash away. This slice was the last. Soon you wont be able to hurt me. I will be free of you and your sadistic cruelty. I can't look at you, but I can hear you. Watching me.

Silent.

Indifferent.

******

This story is fictional, and has no basis in my life or the lives of anyone I know or have ever known.

Oh, I have a new Macbook. Hi kids, I'm back.

Why Must You Mock Me...

Sometimes the voices get so loud. And of course they all want to talk at once. It makes it hard to hear any of them clearly. Ignoring them is usually the best. Eventually they fade.

The visions on the other hand, are soft and quiet. Crystal clear in my mind. Every detail is right there in front of me. But they're stuck.

No matter how clearly you can see them in your mind, getting them out is painstakingly difficult. No matter how you beg and plead with them.

They taunt you like a play ground bully.

What do you want from me? So close, I can almost touch them. When I reach out they pull back and fade away, only to come back clearer than ever.

Curse you! Stop it I say. Come out or go away!

For days, weeks, months and years at times. You toy with me. Just when I have you out of my mind you poke me with a stick. "Here I am, come get me."

I reach out only to have you pull away again. Re-opening the wound, rubbing salt in it and laughing at my pain. Mocking me.

Why can't I just let go of you? Why?

I beg of you, please...

Point Of View...Part two-Rules Of Engagement

If you picked option C, you could be my investor. It is so great to be involved with people who care about your well being and want you to succeed.

At least, that's what I'm told. The people I work with could care less about us.

I have been trying to picture what would happen if I took their advice and only worried about getting their money back to them.

Stop paying rent...No building for the business. Reported to credit bureaus. Possibly sued by landlord.
Stop paying vendors...No product for the business to sell. No sales, no income. Possibly sued by vendors.
Stop paying the staff salaries...they can't pay their bills. They lose their house. Default on their personal bills. Go bankrupt. (The staff consists of Precious and myself.)

So, I take their advice and in a month or so, I have no product no building and no staff.

How exactly do they think I am going to get them their investment back?

The more I'm around people, the more they disappoint. Clearly, I'm hanging around the wrong people.

I live my life by a few basic rules that I was brought up with. They have been a pretty good guide up to this point in my life. The times life has been hardest was because I ignored one or more of my rules.

That is exactly what has happened here.

The first rule I ignored. Trust my own judgment. It's always been pretty good. When I have a gut feeling that says,"...why would anyone come to this place? There is nothing here to encourage sales or growth." I should listen to that feeling. I'm having it for a reason.

The second rule I ignored. Never do business with family or friends. EVER. One of the investment partners is someone I have considered a friend. I knew the second he asked about investing that it was a bad idea.

There are a few other things I managed to do wrong with this endeavor, but I'm pretty sure those can be fixed. The first two, well that's a little more difficult.

Viva la Revolution...

I heard someone whisper my name. I turned and was struck in the side the head. Everything went bright white and fuzzy.

Floating above an arena as if to hold a bull fight I looked down to see the infield of a baseball diamond. The wall was right behind the players. There were two people where the short stop should position would be. The one closest to second base was wearing what looked like a large heavy black apron.

A ball had been hit right to him. He was using a catchers mitt but fielded it cleanly. He ran toward the pitcher mound as if looking for where to throw the ball.

Suddenly I was on the ground, watching this all happen in front of me. Was I an umpire? One of the other players. The ground was hard packed clay. Shiny and smooth except for where cleats had made small holes and bug up small chunks of the ground. The man in the apron still holding the ball was frantic. Looking from side to side, desperate to throw the ball to someone. Anyone. As if his life depended on it.

In a small room there were six of us. All sitting on small squares of white cardboard. They undulated under us as if placed on top of a water bed. The room was dark yet I could see each of us clearly. There was a man I guessed to be in charge, or the leader. A guru type figure I had never seen before. He sat, legs folded in front of him, back straight, eyes closed and softly chanted. What I did not know and could not understand. A girl I knew from high school sat on his left in the same position. It was odd. She had died almost 20 years ago. I was pleased to see her. She was having trouble staying on her square of cardboard as it moved up and down.

I stood and walked away from them. As I turned to face them all and look at the other three figures I feel to ground. Back to the arena. I was the man in the apron, still holding the ball. A runner was going from first to second base when I spun and threw the ball to the second baseman. The runner was tagged out by the other player. The umpire held his arms wide to call him safe. I fell hard to the ground, distraught with grief. In agonizing pain. My face was laying on the hard cool clay of the field. My eyes sprung open a torrent of tears. Like a fire hydrant had oped between my face and the ground. Water was quickly running across the clay covering the surface.

The umpire stood over me looking down, puzzled at my expression of pain and sobbing. The runner who had been called safe was jumping up and down. He ran toward me with a look of utter satisfaction and joy. He knelt down close to my face and screamed "Viva la revolution, viva la revolution. I am sorry for you friend but it is a joyous day for me". He stood and ran away. Jumping and screaming the phrase viva la revolution, over and over.

Monsters....

It was about 3:30 am when I awoke to a very soft "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, save me Daddy".

"What's up Mr. Man?"

"Monsters Daddy, save me." He was standing just outside of our bedroom door. Afraid to go back to his room, afraid to come into ours.

We spent the next hour hiding under his covers until he went back to sleep. Me holding him close to keep the monsters away. I knew exactly how he felt.

I still have trouble sleeping most of the time. I often have horrible nightmares that stay with me for days. They started when I was young. They can be terrifying. So real at times it's hard to convince myself that it was only a dream.

When I was 6 years old I started have a reoccurring nightmare about a giant that would stomp on houses and snatch up the people trying to get away. When he got to our house he would duck down and peek through the window at me. I would run outside and hide behind the big oak tree. Just as I would look to see if he was still there I would wake.

I had that dream for years. It would play in my mind as if on a loop. Over and over and over. I can still see it as clearly today as could then. It has been some time since I had the dream but in a way, it still frightens me because I have never forgotten about it.

I felt helpless holding Mr. Man. Telling him (and myself) that monsters were not real was of little comfort. Because in your mind, they are real.

The world can be such a truly ugly place. I want to shield him from the violence and hate that surround us. Those things have no place in the mind of a child. Or even in the mind of an adult. There is no place in our world for such things. Where do such things even come from?

Loud And Clear...

There are times when I stand at the edge of the abyss. I scream for someone to hear me. Not really anyone. A specific someone. Almost always I get silence in return. No matter how I plead for a voice to show me the way. Nothing...

I have always know that one day, after I cry for help and get silence in return, I would take that one step further...over the edge. If they wont come to me...I'll go to them.

Well not this time my friends. This time I was answered. Loud and clear.

My problem Is that when I scream and cry for help. I very seldom stop to listen for an answer. As if I expect to hear a clear voice telling me what I need to do. You see, the universe speaks a different language. At times it is very subtle. You have to be very quiet and listen close.

First of all, thank you to all of you that sent your support. You 're great. I adore you people.
I was listening.

As nice as it was to hear from you, something else slapped me up side the head and said, "Hello. Listen up!" Well universe, I heard this one. I felt this one. This one changed me.

Let me share it with you all.

Yesterday I was at the gallery. Clients of ours came in to look around and say hello. A month or so ago, Precious had sold them one of my paintings for their home. They wanted to meet me. I love to hear people like my work, who wouldn't.

The couple have a daughter. About 7 to 9 years old I would guess. When they introduced her, she ducked her head behind her dad and said "Oh...wow..."

It was very cute. I figured she was shy, like most kids that age are when meeting an adult.

They were going to buy souvenirs and then go to lunch. Hours later when they returned. The little girl shyly walked over to me. Her parents assured her it was alright. She handed me a drawing.



"This is beautiful" I said to her. "Keep practicing and someday we will show your work here." Then I tried to hand the drawing back. She dropped her head again a turned red.

"It's for you." she told me softly.

I looked up at her parents with a puzzled expression.

They told me that she was very moved by my painting they had bought. When they came to town she spent her souvenir money on a pad and crayons. When they went to lunch she sat and drew me this picture.

Then I turned red. In all of my years of selling my work, I have never been so moved. I can honestly say that it was better then thing my work has brought me.

My work has touched this child in some way. What I heard was the universe telling me not to give up. My works mean something. Even if I never sell another work. One of my paintings meant something to this child.

That is why I paint. That is why I will continue to paint.

There is not enough money in the world to make me feel the way this young girl did.

I'm so glad I stopped feeling sorry for myself and listened.

Poof...Gone...

How often do people disappear?

Have you noticed it? One day they're there, the next day they're gone. Sometimes I wonder if they were really there to begin with. I don't have the best memory in the world. Did I imagine these people?

Many times it has been my fault. I have a problem letting people get close to me. I move more often than most. It can be hard to get to know someone anyway. Always being the new kid make you build walls. It is easier that way. When I leave, I usually don't even have to say goodbye, so I don't. One day I"m just gone.

Lately I have been thinking about the others like me. Where did they go? Do they think about me and wonder?

Over the years I have met some wonderful people the I will never forget. I wish at times that I had tried to keep in touch with them. I didn't. I didn't try. One day I was just gone.

I know I'm not the only one like me. I have know many others who simply disappeared one day. Without a word. Without a trace. Life is so short and so fast most of the time. I have learned to let go more easily than most. Is it society that has made people...disposable? For lack of a better word.

Blogging has made me think about it much more than I used to. I notice it more now. A person that you meet on your site will leave comments or emails. You respond. It's like you know one another. Then one day the emails and the comments stop.

If they are a blogger themselves you can always check on them. Visit their site. Sometimes the site is gone. I wonder what happened to them. Why they stopped blogging. When I moved, I packed my things and physically left the place I was. In blogging it doesn't matter where you are. Did they not like it? Was it one of us that drove them away? Was it something we said?
Maybe they took it personally.

I used to take it personally when someone would disappear. People I thought were my friends, but I guess were just acquaintances. Sometimes I think about trying to find a few of them. This has been heavy on my mind since Shelly's sister contacted me. Shelly was like me. One day she was gone and no one knew why or where or what happened.

Of all of the people I have know that disappeared on me. I wonder if any of them died. There are 15 of you that I know have died. Is that why the others are gone, or did they just go somewhere else to start over? How many of them think I died?

With blogging it is never really that personal. It's not like I actually know any of you. I have met a few of you, once. Several of you that used to visit don't any more. Your gone from my blog but I know you're still out there. I can see you. Was it me? No, really?

A few of you stopped blogging. Just gone one day. You are the ones I wonder about the most.

There are about two dozen people I have know in real life that I think about on a regular basis. Almost daily. I knew some of them for years. Some were very close for the time we were together. I moved, they moved, and it's over. Gone.

With six billion people on the planet, it is things like this that make me feel very alone. At any minute one or all of you could be gone. So could I.

Will I ever stop thinking about them? I most likely wont run into them on the street one day. Is it worth digging through the past to find them? Do I need that closure? Probably not, but a few of you left a lasting impression on my heart, mind and soul. It is you in part that has inspired my latest series of works. They are all about "Isolation". Each lonely beach is one of you. One of us. Me.

The Crowd (in my head) Goes Wild...

Sometimes my life is complete and utter chaos. The crowd noise is deafening. The crowd, is for the most part in my head. I am easily distracted. In the middle of a project, the crowd screams and starts a wave. Next thing I know I'm throwing my arms in the air...and I'm off to the concession stand.

*****

Thank you for the offers to help with changing my template. It was the angst. I'm not really upset with my layout. In fact I like it. There is really no need to make more changes. I am still thinking of changing my host though.

*****

Over the last six days I have slept for about three hours a night. This is part of my problem lately. The crowd gets much louder the less I sleep.


*****

With not sleeping comes more time in my studio. At times the insomnia can be a benefit. I usually don't get enough time to paint. When my mind is in a good place, the extra time lets me produce a lot of work that I wont have to paint over later. When my mind is set on puree, I produce a lot of work that for the most part never gets finished. I start a painting, the crowd roars, hey look at the shinny thing on the floor...who needs a beer and hotdog?

*****

Here are three of the latest paintings. 24 x 36 inches each. I have several more layers of paint to put down. Provided I don't wander off.


These three are about isolation. Something that has been weighing heavy on my mind as of late. I always seem to feel more isolated the larger the crowd grows.

*****

Those photos stink. Time for a new camera.

*****

Mr. Man has learned several more choice words. I love the timing he has when he decides to use them.

He loves to greet people when he's at the gallery with us. Someone comes in, he grabs one of our business cards, takes it to them and says, Hello, ticket please." then he hands them our card. It is so cute.

This week, he went to greet a couple. The totally ignored him. Which was rude but, anywho.

Mr. Man tried to hand them a card, says hello. They walk past without a word. He turns to me, throws down the card and says, "Well that's a bitch."

*****

Oh, look! Fire works!

Kick Me...

Can I get a, WTF?

I used to work with a woman who was always telling me that our Moon was in retrograde. Or Mars or something like that. Quite honestly I never really listened to her that much. She was a bit of a curmudgeon. I never could figure out how our moon was ALWAYS in retrograde. Although I never knew what that meant. Still don't. Nor do I care.

The point. She always said it when things were going poorly, or out of sorts. Today my Moon is definitely some place it should not be.

Despite the fact that I only slept for about 3 hours last night, I had a positive outlook on the day. That is until my day actually got going. This is where I need the WTF?

I can't see it but I know the universe has put a kick me sign on my back. And kick me it has. Repeatedly!

Ok, I give. You got me. Everyone laugh.

If I am ever given the chance at a Super Power. It's going to be Invisibility.
This is the reason people use drugs. It's days like this that the voices get really, really loud.

*****

I know, indulge me while I rant.

I have been talking with a family about a painting for the last three weeks. They all love it. It's $3500.

Instead of buying it, they spent $5000 to spend three days in Las Vegas gambling. Then told me they went to Vegas hoping they would win enough to buy the painting. And they were serious.

Did I wake up in Bizarro World today?

Lets see...

Spend $3500 on something that will appreciate over time. Something that they can enjoy for countless generations to come. Something that will give them daily pleasure.

Or...

Spend $5000 on three days in Vegas pissing away your hard earned money gambling.

I so don't understand people.

Someone...for the love of God...explain this to me...

Can you hear it?

He rubbed his face and eyes. It looked as though they were going to pop from his head.
She cringed as she watched, telling him that wasn't a good thing to do.
He ran his fingers through his hair and held his head.
Something was going on and she knew better than to ask. He couldn't explain it to her. He didn't understand it himself.

He's hard to live with when he gets like this. Like a caged animal with O.C.D.
He paced around the house, over and over. For hours he paced rubbing his face, running his hands through his hair.

Every now and then he would stop to stare blankly out over the ocean, sometimes for hours without moving. Silent tears would run down his face.

"You can't hear it can you?" he would whisper to her. "It's so loud."

"What?" she asked. "What do you hear?"

He would look at her with a pain on his face like she had never seen before.
Pure anguish. Something had hold of his soul and was squeezing the life out of it.

Then he would pace. He had told her long ago that it had nothing to do with her. He was like that before they met. He had always heard it.

He drove her crazy when he got like this. It was happening less often that it used to. Sometimes it would last for days. He would go without sleep or food. Rarely stopping for a Vodka Martini that did nothing to ease his pain.

It had been many years since he had smoked but he could still taste it. Still feel it on his fingers as he rolled them by hand. The sensation of it on his lips.
One joint and this would all go away. He just wanted it to stop.

He knew that if he gave in all of the years of going without were gone. All of it would have been for nothing. It had been too many years to go back now. You can't go back for just one visit. It all comes back as if it were never gone. It wasn't the answer. The pain would come back and he would be in this same spot again. It had always been there, even before the drugs. Even after, it remained.
Times like this made it hard. The cravings were so real. The temptation so great.

He would pace for miles. The same routine over and over. It drove her crazy. She couldn't watch it anymore. After years of this she knew enough to leave him alone.
The others tried to help him and it destroyed them. The last one used to tell him,
"I know you better than you know yourself...". This one knew, that only made things worse. What a stupid thing to say.

He would always go back to them. He needed them. They filled him. This one need him too. She would wait. Trying to be patient. Trying to understand. Trying to stay clear. Before she started to hear it too.

The only one who could reach him now...

Was himself.