I dont know why I feel compelled to write this. Perhaps its our current climate in the world… the palatable vitriol between people– that “us” and “them” mentality based on the color of skin and the decision to wear a mask. I can envision people basking in some masturbatory anonymity as they pump out tweets and status updates vilifying those crouched around their digital screens waiting for responses and praise. The trolls are no longer under the bridges, they have unionized and are moving to suburbia.

Eight or Nine years old. Living in Fort Lauderdale, Fla. Apartment living with my mom. It was a hot summer and I had been spending my days at the local common area riding my bike and doing… well… Kid shit. At this time in my life I was a pretty scrappy kid… and I had a reputation for kicking the shit out of this kid named Shane. I hated Shane… when I first moved to the apartment complex he was the first kid that ever blatantly came at me as a bully. It took one time of him messing with me and I beat him so bad that he ended up puking on himself laying on the ground. It probably didn’t help that I kept sitting on him and jumping up on down. But that’s what I did. Every couple weeks…Shane and I would go at it…. I always coming out the victor. Without knowing…like some bad movie plot… I had become the bully that I despised. But , hell…no one liked Shane….so I didn’t feel that bad about it and it kept the other kids from messing with me. Everyone had brothers and sisters… older and younger… so there was always someone watching you… what you were doing. Being an only child…I had to be a very prickly fish in a sea of sharks. That being said, I was not the only lone wolf in the complex.

Lawrence…or Larry as he was called was this pudgy kid that, unfortunately, had a birth defect on his left hand that made it look more like a claw. if memory serves he must of been my senior by a couple years…or at least he looked older. That being so, it didn’t do anything for his personality. But what sticks in my head was his smell, Larry had that odor of urine and sweat that people with too many cats in an enclosed space acquire. These things combined made Larry the default kid to harass for the apartment complex.

I wont lie… I would follow Larry around with the other kids..making fun of his hand…being a bully. It would always get to the point that Larry would retreat home shouting expletives as he skulked away—- just far enough that he could dart away if anyone chased him. The older kids were always the ones who started in on him– chastising the weakest in the pack—reinforcing the hierarchy.

One hot summer day I found myself roaming the complex with Eric. Eric was basically my only friend and that was because we both lived in the same building. We were riding bikes from the front of the complex to the back-with the obligatory pass by the pool and the tennis courts to see what every other kid was up to. As we turned the corner we came upon Larry stomping down the path. PISS-MERCHANT!!!! I will never forget those words. Eric shouting them the oncoming Lawrence who returned a volley of cuss words and insults. As we shot by him one of his legs shot out striking the back of my bikes tire. The force of the blow sending me topsy-turvy into a skid. I recovered before falling to the ground but that rush of adrenaline had initiated my fight or fight response–and as you’ve read above I wasn’t really living my best “flight” life at the time. So I spun around with nothing but bad intent. “Fucking dickhanded cat fucker”— Yeah.. I was a foul mouthed kid…and I was tough…. and I had already beat up Shane this week and not I was gonna kick the shit out of that fat ass Larry.

Larry wasn’t a fast on his feet– he was pretty much a coconut in crocs. His attempts to get away just exhausted what energy he did have and had me peddling my “space invaders” bike down apartment building hallways to cut him off. Eric wasn’t far behind, feeding off the hunt. We were now wolves chasing down our pray. We caught up with Larry about 50 yards from the front of his building. Building AA ( assholes anonymous we called it). I peddled past him and then reversed my stroke to lock up the rear wheel and skid to a stop. I dropped the bike and stood there ready. Instead of turning and running–Larry kept on trucking. I think he was hoping his Mom would see the incident about to happen and shout from the balcony above saving him. But–no mom came to his rescue.

I hit Larry square in the ear… I was aiming for his face–but I did not account for his approaching momentum–(something I learned later in life)–and I missed that pudgy piss smelling gob and landed in that mass of oily hair and cartridge. He turned as my fist returned to my side–I could see the tears in his eyes already welling up– “FUCKER….YOU FUCKER”– Larry didn’t have much articulation of the word. But I guess my fist had struck home… sometimes those sensitive places hurt more than just getting punched directly in the face. ” FUCK YOU—I’M GONNA KILL YOU”…. Continued use of the word did not make it any more frightening –but the “kill you” did have me a little pissed off.

— Thats when it all changed—

Larry turned around…trying not to visibly show he was crying. Then he moved to the side where a couple cars were parked—returning with a beer bottle in hand. I was certain that he was going to throw it at me as was the custom in the complex. Sticks, rocks, fruit, soda cans— all of it was fair game to be thrown. You never really aimed for the person but you wanted to let them know you could if you wanted to. I think the legal term is “brandishing”. This wasn’t Larry’s plan– with a quick down stroke from his dick hand he tried to break the end of the bottle and use it as a weapon. It didn’t go as planned.

The bottle shattered in his hand–driving shards of glass inward and cutting his fingers. The blood flowed crimson down his fat wrists and the look on his face was pure mortification.

He let out a howl that was somewhere between a distressed cat and a wailing widow. “YOU STUPID FAT FUCK! ahhhhh hahahahh… ” was the verbal consensus Eric and I came to. You would think this would be the end of the confrontation. We were kids… this was an emergency… playtime is over. But it wasn’t– this is the day I realized that part of me harbors an darkness. A insufferable character flaw that I’ve kept in check for the majority of my life.

Larry’s face turned to panic– and now his fight or flight response had definitely grown into wings. What was left of the bottle dropped to the ground and shattered. His only concern was making back to AA. There was literal blood in the water–and the sharks were near. To this day I regret what I did next…not only as a person–but as a human being. As Larry moved to run home…I stood in front of him–blocking his route. The look in his eye was that of defeat and horror. This wasn’t how the game was played…this isn’t was kids do. He advanced and I would block… the blood now running down his arm in a thick stream of escaping vitae. I don’t know what possessed me to keep him there… maybe it was I felt if he was going to go to the extent of using a bottle as a weapon that I was going to make him pay for it. Eric said nothing–his mouth agape. I dont know if the seriousness of what was happening hit him… earlier he and I both were playing with star wars toys—and now his friend is holding a mutilated cripple hostage— odd day.

5 minutes. I believe that is how long I made that poor kid wait… going as much as holding the apartment complex door shut from the inside so he couldn’t come in. Him pleading with me to let him in–his hand now just a red glob of drying blood. Eric rode off–this had gone on too long.

I was making Larry serve a penance– or that is what I told myself. The reality of it was that deep dark part of me… the hunter killer… the latent sadist… was feeding from a buffet of pain and anguish. Larry was under my control… and he shouldn’t of fucked with me…this is what he got. Finally, as he started blubbering… tears mixing with snot and sweat– I let him in. That and I heard the talk of adults coming down the hall….. that would of stopped it anyways… the adults always ruining things. Larry slid through the door… cradling his hand as he went– the smell of sweaty cat piss Larry going with him. I was riding high… Eric would tell the other kids what happened. Gossip and rumors would abound. My young mind could not wrap around the concept of what I just did. I was guiltless— until I felt the weight settle it….the reality of what I had done.

As I laid in bed I expected the door bell to ring… for a police officer and a distraught Larry Mom to be there. My mother coming into my room to pull me from my bed with disgust. But nothing happened. Days passed. Nothing. Not to say there wasn’t fallout– Eric didn’t want to hang out for a while. We didnt see Larry for a long time– and when we did he veered far off course from ours. The kids at the common area looked at me different for a long time… but a few months later I moved back north and the deed was lost to playground myth.

That moment has lived with me for over 35 years. And I think of what it has done to my character. I wonder what ever happened to Larry… what path his life took. I still feel that darkness inside from time to time… I think many of us do… we push it down with booze, sex, video games, etc. I have been in many fights since… been the victor and the loser on both sides. That feeling you get in the heat of it… the adrenaline… that lizard brain reasoning. I just wanted to get this stuff down… wanted to tell Larry I was sorry…wanted him to know I carry the guilt of what I did to him and that I’ve tried to be a better man that the boy he feared. I guess that is all we can do..is attempt to do better…to be the light to our dark halves.

Hey…..

you are still reading this shit.

…. well …lets continue with the drivel

Sometimes I feel like I constantly rehash shit with a new coat of paint.   I feel like I’m trying to sell you a 97′ impala with a bad engine but the interior is mint…and if you check  out all the photos on marketplace you will see what a deal this is.

Fuck me.

and well fuck you too , slappy.   Cause unlike that kid with the impala….I’m not gonna like to you about the amount of coke and ejaculated dreams were spent in the back seat.

I’ve been teetering between this writing thing and  some Youtube monetized “rape you per video” vs. “no money at all” thing that was suggested by a “friend of mine” for a few days now.

Congrats.   I can still type while drunk and I’m ugly as fuck on camera ( unless you wanna swipe right and I’m down )

So years ago I got invited to a “party”.   Mind you, in those days I was thinking of “co eds” and perhaps sexual experimentation.   Turned out…. it was a group of people who where in the service industry… popular as fuck with all the “norms….and…here in a small basement in shitswallow, michigan……were playing Dungeons and Dragons.

If you stop here….there really isnt any judgment and you can forever see me as the door guy in your dreams.

But…

Dog in a dress.

It wont mean alot to you if you dont read all of this…cause it builds.  You cant really porn hub fast forward to the 30 seconds of craziness you need.  But … there is a solid point that will perhaps give you pause and reflect…. more so than that sock you just ruined.

I wont bore you with D&D shit….yes, I play….but the nugget in this diatribe is this.  No matter what it looks like…it’s a dog in a dress.   Why? Cause its funny.  You fuckers on Reddit and Pintrest that dont have some weird shit squirreled away are allhypocrites.

A buddy of mine had this character that always had his “companion”  as a literal  “dog in a dress”   Literally a Rottweiler in sundress.  Problem being is that… all the “non players”  saw it as a normal thing.   It was accepted even though it was sorta “shady”.   When entering situations you either come in as analytical or observational.     Being in my mid 20s, I was very  “analytical” depending on my alcohol intake at the time.    Sidebar: the person playing this character also ended up being a roommate of mine for a few years….. which could be literary foreshadowing …or not…. (hint hint …it is)

Dog in a dress.

Why the fuck is it funny.   Dont know….but you can meme search it to your hearts delight and there are thousands of poor pups in female wardrobe.    For years.   Why.     Cause it’s funny as shit.  But here is the reality of it all…and if you have managed to trudge through this words per min bullshit I hope you get a pearl out of this shit oyster.

You will be presented, in mass, with people who are that exact thing.

A dog in a dress.   This fun thing that, at its core, is a hollow purchase.   But fuck will you buy into it.    I can tell you this, in my 44 years… I own a K9 wardrobe of lessons.   I could seriously go on about the dangers of alcohol…. but then I’d have to put down this scotch… burn “the old man and the sea”….. shit on Hunter Thompson…..and basically get golf clubs and a membership to Costco.

Dog in a dress.

That metaphor comes in both shades.   Guys and Gals,   understand friendship is based on these tenants.

Sacrifice –   understanding that some things are not meant for you…..at least not now..and perhaps never

Loyalty-   word is bond…but trust is sacred.    Burn that and you burn the foundation of love….between friends and lovers]

Heart-  Not mentioned. That late night feeling where no shot…no pussy or dick will replace that gift.  Heart is something you don’t realize you give…and one day the above 2    armor it.

Time– the one thing we dont get back. no matter how someone… fuck it…your person justifies it cause it was “the relationship” rationalizes it… fuck them..  Time is a fucker… cause each one above… will make you regret many in your past by reading this.   So… don’t regret….fuck it.

Dog in a dress.

So here we are…. at the end.   The dog in a dress is just that.   The laughable .   You can dress up all this bullshit in you life and see it…accept it cause everyone else does. People will present themselves as something they are not….     something they are ….   something in a fucked up sundress.   You aren’t wrong in asking  ” wtf”, before you betray all the stuff I mentioned earlier.

So this is something I really sort of joke about.  Cause I seem to handle anything of any seriousness with a touch of comedy…cause it dulls the sharp edges.. and whats the use in being so serious?

I am depression.

There…insert drum roll.   That high-hat ring and base drum thump.

Pretty anti-climatic.

Cause it seems to be the “go to” thing for anyone who is having problems… same thing with anxiety or ADHD..or what every psycho-combo happy meal we decide to throw together.  If you know me… you know what this shits about and how I deal with it… the booze…the craziness at times… the late night pontifications.  Half the stuff I write ends up in some digital locker on wordpress…it’s tentacles not allowed to touch the “publish” button for fear of….. you.    But the gospel must be written…or so I’ve read somewhere.

So lets get to the meat of this…the quick that reminds you it’s there.  There is some symbolism in “the fall”… cause it’s the time of my decent.   So lets give it a rough timeline so you can relate….

Mid to late August…..

I notice that weight in the air…the smallest differences in the day regarding daylight exposure.  I notice the traitors. Those weakest of the flora and fauna that turn into red and yellow warning flags of what is to come.  Even as I try to armor myself… telling myself that lie…”this year it will be different”…. I can feel it slip itself into my brain-pan.   And this is how it goes.

” soon. Soon fucker.  Soon this shit will all be dead and dying… these days are gonna get shorter and your life is gonna get more expensive.  Oh… that Arizona idea… well you gotta fix that bathroom… oh..and what about those dogs you committed to life for…   good luck getting a place to live with 5 dogs… and what bout your’ shit, you fool.   You got a whole machine shop in that barn… how you gonna move that, genius?   Your fucking in your 40’s now.. you are losing time and what the hell you think you are gonna do?   Oh…that bike shop you wanted to build… Motherfucker you got bikes in your garage that you cant even finish for yourself…Your a biker without a running bike— thats fucking irony.   Oh.. your gonna work on them this winter? haha.. year right…  You cant stand that winter.. it takes you 2 hours to warm that shop up… and by then it will be so dark and cold you will just go back to the house… pour yourself a drink and sit and think….tomorrow… tomorrow I will work on that. ”

That shit starts late August…..and true to nature, I mention it to someone…cause who doesn’t like to commiserate right?  Well that shit is a divine edges sword cause those of us who live this shit wear every kind of mask you have ever seen.  And as you sit there and tell me about ” medications” …” exercise” ….”tanning beds”…..”yoga”….” nutritional supplements and diet”……   I sit behind that mask and want pluck your god damn eyes out your fucking head and give you a first hand look at my life during “the fall”

But I dont.   I just nod my head.  I say thank you… I understand you care…. blah blah blah.. socially accepted responses…blah blah blah… “Oh, really?  I will look into that… I didn’t know herbal cheesewhiz peanut butter jalapeno cactus enemas where good for depression”    Cause thats what it sounds like.

So lets move on to September and October…cause these two run into one another… like a build up and then a massive let down.

September comes on with the first true cool days of the impending fall. I love the summer nights… I enjoy the heat…the sounds…the potential.    The open door to the deck where a myriad of life sings to me about creation… of that chase of reproduction…the hunt of the bounty.  Ya know what September brings? …. fat fucking crickets and some all too friendly wasps..and you basic bitches… you start milking that pumpkin spice cow way too fucking soon and I hope you get the shits.  But wait… that voice… still here…louder now.

“hehe.. told you… hows that self empowerment now?  Taxes are due soon…food or taxes?hmmm… what ya gonna do there, Goliath? What happened to all that shit you wanted to get accomplished this summer? Dont see the front landscaping done….just gonna wait til next year, huh? haha..year right.  Leaves are starting to drop…gonna haul your ass out and keep up on them this year or just let them drop and deal with all that fuckery in the spring.   Gonna get cold soon…. gotta fill that pig. Ya know a real man would have this shit handled.  Where in the fuck do you spend your money…. Are you ever gonna finish the upstairs?  Dogs need to go to the vet… a good dog father would have that handled…guess you aren’t their “savior” are you.  Ya know what… why not just take a nap.. Cant sleep?  I’m too loud? Well why not get that bottle you love so much, big baby?  Yukon Jack always makes it easier… your funny then… people like you….you can sleep…and I get quiet for a time. ”     Yeah that is roughly where I’m at right now…  So lets hit a side bar cause it gives you, my reader, a perspective.

If you have never read and C. S Lewis… give him a shot.   I read the Screwtape letters when I was younger… so that voice that comes to me at these times is very reminiscent of Screwtape dictating to his nephew Wormwood.   There is this odd mentor/student thing… I know that voice in my head wants me to beat this shit… but his way of “helping” is paramount to swinging a sledge hammer in a bullet factory.   At somepoint something is gonna go off with unintended repercussions.

So lets slide down into October because, on stop as we “fall”… we had one night of absolute joy.

I’ve always appreciated the macabre.   As I write this I am looking at versions of skulls… antiheros …and sublime oddities.  It’s my office… and where I spend alot of time during “the fall”.   So it would make sense that Halloween is my P.O.C.     What is the P.O.C?   Its the self imposed Point of Cutoff.   I invented this namesake when I worked out west.  There was this point where radio signals sorta fell off once out went over this ridge in the Uinta Mountains.   You were… alone.     A mile away and a good upward climb would establish communications again…but for that period of 5280 feet… you were a ghost.    After Halloween….I enter that for the next 3 months.   Dont beleive me? check my writing history…I fade.   Not because there is nothing to write about… it’s cause I’m fighting myself and trying to save my liver from a constant flow of libation and damnation.

October…

”  Hey, fucko!  Ya know it gets dark at 6 now right? … You gonna dress up this year? When was the last time you dressed up? …like 98?    You’re too “badass” now arent you?   Well at least your somewhat festive.   This moping around the house shit has taking a toll and you know what happens during November… The fall is almost complete and that heavy stone rolls onto your back and we begin that path.    No wonder all your relationships ended in the winter… cause you are an absolute fuck to be around.  What…that Arizona thing again? You are NEVER gonna get there…What have you done to get ready?  oh that motorcycle you bought?   haha… just another link in that chain that you keep building…connected to that anchor of a house.   You know there is a way out of this… but we will talk about that again in February… just like we did last year…and the year before…tick tock….     What? Different this year? Who are you kidding… Just go out and smoke your cigars… tip your whisky and pretend to be that big bad ass… but we both know who you are.   Your demons are my demons…. but the difference between us is that… your demons are my friends. ”

ohhhhhhweeeeefffffff……. That is what a cigar sounds like you exhale after writing the above passage.  Cause for all it’s accuracies it doesn’t even come close to describing the actual events in ones own psyche.  As a writer…ha…attempted writer…you want to bring the reader close…but fuck if I have any idea how to do that.  As far as I know…if you made it this far… this is just some ammunition for a bad fucking meme about self deprecation and facebook attention.   Cause all too often thats how it end up.  I post what I write as a link …..not as a flag.   You read this… you are free to comment as you wish cause the way I feel… each one of us will be gone one day… and this is what I go thru…what I went thru… and I’m still here… and if one of use outcast dead can find a light in it… well fuck you , screwtape.

So November is a  hardening of the soul….   and I dont know if I’m ready to dig into it.  I’m not ” feeling” it yet and I really dont want to summon it before it’s time.   It’s like seeing Christmas decoration out before December…..you get a little bewildered and sickened.  November are the  the first 2 of the 4 hardest.  But the first 2 deal with family and friends.  That ending of the year and what it means to family and what not… and I’m not ready to go there.   I hope your not disappointed ..oh wait…dont really care.  haha.

The biggest thing I’ve ever found in writing and reading is being able to maintain resonance with the authors prospective.

I never knew what that meant until a friend of mine told me the story of the snail.

It’s a simple story but it defines perspective. Basically the story goes that a elderly wealthy hunter was on a guided tour… and on the 4th day of being set up in a prime spot he has saw nothing… As his guides were approaching his blind they heard the hunter giggling and letting out a high pitched “weeeeeeeee……weeeeeeee” every now and then. When they finally got to the hunter..they asked him what he was doing?

” Just remember the sail!” is all he would say.

3 more days go by…and each time the guides would go to the blind…the hunter would be there whispering “weeeeeeeee….hahaha…weeeeee” Finally , in desperation, the guide asked the hunter what he was doing. The hunter let out a long sigh and sat back down…

“I am remembering the snail” he retorted…but continued on. ” I used to come on these trips and kill deer, bear, and even a mighty bull moose. A years ago I found myself in almost the same position….days of hunting and no game in sight. On the 9th day my frustration had hit a high point and I was about to give up. My guide, an old grizzled man, took me to a hunting spot overlooking a swamp… I was convinced this trip was a bust…and sitting next to this mosquito infested swamp was just the way of the guide of making my life an absolute hell…but being a younger man my stubborness and resolve kicked in. I was led to the blind and climbed in…as my guide was leaving he looked at me and whispered ” weeeeeee……weeeeeeeee…. remember the snail”…… I thought this was just his way of prodding me one last time—adding insult to injury since we had been on this hunt almost two weeks. The day passed… mosquitoes feasted….and I once again grew impatient….then I heard it. ” weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…..weeeeeeeeeeeee”. I was convinced it was a overly zealous mosquito dive bombing my cranium…….then it stopped…. but within minuets it returned… closer… “WEEEEEEEEEE….WEEEEEEE”….. still I could not see what was making this noise…it was coming from the front of the blind…down in the swamp…but no other indicators of origin. I was convinced that my guide was having a go at me… and when he returned at dusk I scolded him for it. Still… the old guide said ” tomorrow…same spot….remember the snail….”

For three days… this went on…. every day…an hour before dusk… the “weeeeeeeeee….hahahah….weeeeeeee” would come from the swamp… My guide insisted it was not him joking around… there was a great trophy in that swamp…I was missing it somehow. So on my last day there I decided to leave the blind… I waited near an old stump close to the ground. It was my intent to pounce on my instigator and finally have some resolution. Slowly dusk arrived… and the familiar sound of “weeeeeeeee……weeeeeeeeee….heheheh…weeeeeee” got closer and closer. I leap from my hiding spot and ……fell flat on my face in a pool of stagnant water and mud….face to face with an old tortoise plowing his way thru the detritus an inch at a time.

Then I saw it… sitting there atop of the tortoise… wearing little pilot goggles and wearing a red scarf blowing in the wind…. was a small snail holding onto a saddle. The old reptile lurched forward on his daily route….and the snail let forth a “weeeeeeeeeee…..haha…. oh boy!…weeeeeeeeeeee” and continued on his way. I sat there dumbfounded by what I had just witnessed.

My guild returned a few hours later to find me sitting on the hill outside my blind… I was laughing and repeating over and over ” weeeeeeeee……..weeeeeeeeeee…remember the snail… remember the snail.”

The trophy that my old guild was hoping that I would take from this hunt was that of perspective. Here I am… full steam into life without any perspective but my own…. but what about that snail… riding a turtle…having the time of his life going as fast has he thought possible. It’s all about perspective and we lose sight of that –we lose intent. So I may not be out here harvesting the biggest trophy… or anything at all…… I’m just remembering to refocus my perspective……. weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee………weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

When you get to a certain age the idea of “dating” becomes a profound hassle.  To compound that hassle is that the world has created a plethora of dating sites and social media outlets to exponentially complicate it even further.  This gulag of digital dating and profile swiping has, at least for me, led me to recoil like a man taking his first dip in icy waters.  I’m turtle-heading it all the way.  So when I happened upon todays topic I was somewhat cynical about casting these words out into  the digital realm.

Part 1 – The well runneth dry, cheeseburger picnic, and Jack the Dog

If any of you have been following my Facebook feed you will know that I have been battling a mechanical issue with my well pump.  I have preformed various in depth surgeries over the past few days…all with minor successes and bigger setbacks.  My quest for replacement parts has produced a running electric motor that now kicks on and off as it should.  This was quite the boon since I was almost certain it had went to the great pump house in the sky.  The flipside is this..once reassembled and and hooked up…the pump side of this equation had numerous leaks and bad seals that only an online purchase to the Amazon god could fix.  So no water til Monday…This leads me to my next point.  When you dont have water it sorta limits household functions.  No flushing of the toilets…no water for laundry……no cool drinks from the garden hose.   This morning has been quite warm and with all the aforementioned hindrances I was inspired to take a dog or two to the park for a splash and soak– per our agreement every time we go there is a 50/50 chance that a magical “cheeseburger picnic” can happen.  So loading up Jack the dog and some provisions we sat out to Island Park for a dip and a dine.   Jack is an amazing dog… he is the stoic of my pack and also the clown.  His love of people and the park is something I could genuinely learn from… a K9 zen that is a mixture of slobber and tennis ball appreciation.

Part 2 –  Can I call her “robust”? –are we allowed to do that anymore?

If you live in Mt. Pleasant you are more than likely very familiar with Island Park.   It is “the place” as parks go in town.   “All roads lead here” pretty much sums it up if you are traversing any paved trails in town.  When I first returned from Utah and Colorado I worked for Mt. Pleasant Parks Department and spent a lot of time emptying garbage cans and cleaning bathrooms.   Everyone comes to Island Park at one time or another…from bums to millionaires.  Baseball, Softball, Basketball, shuffleboard, heroin, meth, timbertown.  It’s all here at different times.  Public parks are the true melting pot of a towns cultural and economic diversity.

Today Jack and I decided this was our destination.  There is a spot where the water is easily accessible and Jack can stride right in like the waterdog he pretends to be.   We parked and headed over for a lazy dip… Jack was adamant about stopping every 20 feet and letting any other passing dog he had been there… copiously.   Our water adventure was a quiet one…and afterwards we decided a walk would be needed to dry out shorts and fur….and to mark our path—copiously.    As we approached the spray park I noticed my furry friend panting and I thought a good drink was in order to cool him off.   So we sat down and I poured water into his collapsible dish..him eagerly lapping up the cool water we have been denied at home.   The spray park is like–like the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese.  You unleash your kid into this fenced in area and hope for the best knowing that there is probably a myriad of waterborne nasties being shot out water cannons at high speed.  You put your kid in and set the timer til they fall down, get tired, or start fighting with little Billy.   People do this because it’s “fun” and its a great way to cool off ( mind you the river is literally 25 feet away)  Today was no different.  The minivan mob had arrived and was unloading …. like a stuffed seahorse giving birth… spewing out toddler after toddler .   It was literally like a bus of midgets had escaped their holding pens.   Every now and then you would see a disheveled parent trying to wrangle the little menaces… trying to apply sunblock and gather up towels.   Having Jack so close to the park probably wasn’t the best decision on my part…not that Jack is aggressive or anything… it’s that these little window-lickers zeroed in on him like a detoxing meth-head.   Luckily their wrangler guided them toward the spray park and we were only bombarded with the fading sounds of ” puppy….puuuuuppy….dogggie…..dooooogggie”.

There are only a couple–maybe three types of people at a public spray park.   The first being families…second moms/baby-mommas and lastly  dads(dads with visitation) and baby-daddies.  The last two of these is what brought about this essay.   As one of the “dad” types got out of his car I heard him say “fuck” into his phone before hanging up.  His look was that of frustration and indignant retort.  For that split second my synapses fired off and I thought to myself ” wow… we are all sorta fucks arent we.  I mean…none of us got here any other way… we are the product of the “fuck”…so essentially we are all “fucks”.  As “dad” got his crew up to the fence and did the safety check before sending his two little ones into the biological battlefield I noticed a set of younger girls bringing their posse of tots to the DMZ.  Thats when I saw it.   The older of the two girls ( I say girls but obviously in their early 20’s) looked over and saw  “dad” making his final inspections.  She mouthed the words ” he’s hot” to the other girl who smiled and nodded.  The dad rose up as his two minions ran off toward oblivion.  ” Hey Girl” he said as he noticed the older girl….and started to walk toward them…his demeanor changing from the indignant phone guy to a suave slide and glide.   Mind you…neither of these people were what I would call… attractive.   He appeared to be in his late 20s still holding on to that flat brimmed hat and lil’ Jon dialect.  I’m sure he had probably said ” yeah” like 20 times to himself this morning alone.   The girls…  I would say… Robust.  Can guys say that?  I’m not body shaming..but there was added padding in places that would not make her Wrangler “husky” but both ladies were rotund.   I realized that this is how they do it now….how you meet people and date.   You take the products of your last relationships and throw them them into the communal biological cesspool as you try to hustle to copulate with another person under the guise of parental obligation—or fun… so you can get more fucks…and who doesn’t want more fucks in their life right?

Part 3–  Speed dating and this is my “boy”

Jack was laying next to me…licking his paw.  Jack has 3 toes on one paw due to an adventure he went on a few years back.  The toe tends to bother him from time to time–cold ice and hot pavement exacerbate it.  I reached down and looked at this paw–and although he protested–he allowed me to pick out the stuck gum there.   Kids and gum— little fucks.   I placated my canine friend with a hidden cheeseburger from my pack and all was well with the world.   As we were about to get a move on a well used impala drove up…. boom….boooomboooom…boom.  There is no other cliche that encompasses the spray park dating scene more accurately than a late 20’s baby daddy driving a mid 90s grand am pulling up to the scene with his kids in the back booming out mumble rap.    Our previous dad turned around as to see who was playing the music of his people…

” Hey, thats my boy” he stated to the ladies.   The skinny guy gets out of the maroon vehicle and adjusts his obviously too big wife beater.  “C’mon..les go” was his motivational speech to the two youngsters in the back seat.  I could still see their heads vibrating from the bass.  You wonder why your kid is hard of hearing–but you continue to “drop it like it’s hot” on full volume. Amazing.    The two little boys scramble out and one trips at the curb.  That instant “am I dead” look in his eyes before realizing everything is 5×5.  ( rule #1 of spray park club… you dont cry before getting to spray park club)   and off he goes.   ” Jordan…Jordan…tell ya brother his inhaler is in the car” yells dad no. 2…..and away Jordan went.   I’m sure dads words were some mumbled sounds that made no sense…the bass turning them all into charlie brown adult words— and if Jordans brother needed his inhaler… well… if he dies he dies.   Dad #2 approached Dad 1….and it happened  ” Ooohhh yeah…this is my boy Mike and his kids Jordan and Steven” –I knew there was a little lil’ John piloting this guy from the inside… if I can get him to say ” crunk” does a magic portal open to 2005.     Mike says hello to the girls…obviously the second girl was his intended meetup…   Speed dating.   Show up and blow up… Yeeeahh.

Jack is now just staring at me.  Stalactites of slobber are coming from his jowls.  I’m pretty sure he is sensing the other cheeseburger in my pack.  It’s time to go…I’ve lingered long enough and saw too much… or too little .  Seconds of my life I cant get back wasted on fucks.   So we head back to the Van  ( thats right…I drive a van… for those mobile fucks)….they are setting up for the Chippewa Water River Fest… I sit down with the back of the van doors open and pat Jack down with a towel.   Mmmmm… wet dog-mcdonalds cheeseburger smell.

Is this how we do it now?   We create opportunity  out of ignorance? The 4 people I had just observed all had kids…1 or 2… and were in the process of getting to the process of attempting to make more.    Personally, as a Fuck, I find it fucking hilarious. That there is no dichotomy to it…just randomness and absolute chaos. So sail on you children of Idiocracy….you Mikes and Lil’ Johns of the world.    May you spray as recklessly as the spray parks you let your little fucks frolic in… I will be here on the fringe… with my cigars… my booze… my pornhub and my cheeseburgers.

Shalom.

Back at it… bending words like a keyboard Jedi. (Btw..we have come so far technologically that auto correct ..or auto grammar…makes me capitalize Jedi)   I always have these pauses in writing during the summer months…I guess it’s because the need for exposure to radiation and bikinis has a larger pull on the lizard part of my brain.  I attempt to roast myself into a golden brown yard Nazi…(oh, more auto grammar capitalization…so Jedi and Nazi share some grammar equality… the collapse begins)

So I’ve never been a fan of the Beatles…well…a few songs here and there… and after the break up I have a few here and there also…but I’ve never been on the Beatles bandwagon.   I say that because I’m gonna go into a little Lennon stuff and it’s important not to get the point maligned.   Been caught in this mental loop of applying the lyrics to “Watching the Wheels” to many situations in my life.   Lyrically it’s not a complex song.. following a cadence that I can tap my hand on the bar to as I choke down a swig of amber colored enlightenment.  But somewhere I find myself giving Johns insights purchase in my synapses.  I’ve never seen “Frozen” but John was belting out “Let it go” long before Queen Elsa cashed that Disney check.  (–had to capitalize Disney… Nazi…Jedi…I’m seeing a trend)   I want to believe that Lennon was at a point in his life that he had that moment of clarity that we all long for… where the Bodhisattva pierces the veil of enlightenment.  That this was truth and all of the outside was just the static of existence..for a brief instance he had a compass and a map…and the path he drew were lyrics and music.  I’m a firm believe in music…it encompasses much of the human condition… love…pain…hurt…want…life and death.   One of my favorite places to write is in the bar.. being that guy sitting in a booth with a glass of whiskey and a pencil…or maybe a laptop if my fingers haven’t become drunken dancers on a scrabble board. A person can see all of those aforementioned milestones of life in a few nights of people watching.   You develop your own internal razor that cuts to the quick of peoples intent.

I have been thinking of writing a book. A collection of thoughts and stories.  When I was younger I used to push a pen around a notepad trying to tell a brown eyed girl how much I loved her…and when she left…how much I was hurting.   After all these years there is an old tattered briefcase of yellowing paper in my closet that cries out now and then.  Its youthful confusion has been asking for absolution for the past year and a half… it’s odd how the wheel of karma spins on so many levels–perhaps it’s more like the inner workings of a clock… tick tock…a spin here a winding spring there…meshing of choice and consequence playing out in a myriad of possibilities.  Someday your on the upswing…some days headed to the sixes.  Maybe I notice it more because I have the time– not bound by the daily obligations of normal life…no spouse…no kids…just my small 1 acre fiefdom here in Greendale township.   The Oil City Philosopher, ha….more like the Polebarn Hermit.   I don’t think I take any offense to that.   You may find it lonely…but solitude brings an envious freedom.  I don’t have to deal with the problems that many of you do…and I find that comforting.

I think people unknowingly undermine themselves. I think that’s why we get lost in the computer…the social media….the grass is greener.   We want to be OK…to be happy.   But seriously… does anyone know what the fuck that is?   Maybe Lennon did… for a second in watching the wheels… letting it all go ( fuck you, Elsa) …   So I’m gonna let it go…that shit I have been watching cause those wheels… the ones that make up Karma are gonna roll regardless and there is only so much you can do… I’m gonna get lost in the music… the radiation…the bikins….The wheels going round and round…the collapse.

See you in the ether…. Shalam…..

I remember watching “Fight Club” in the theater and the line about how teeth were just “little tiny bones sticking out of your head”.    That line always has stuck with me for some reason.  It makes me think of how oddly amazing we, homo-sapiens, are.   We go through 2 sets of teeth in our life, our hair and nails continue to grow our entire lives ( and for a little while after death I am told)  Our ears and noses is just flesh covered cartilage that also enlarges as we get older.

The real oddity is that this whole assembly… the body…it’s parts…. its logic and its emotion….it’s sole purpose is to cart that 3lb of gray matter situated between our ears around.

Thats it.

Ya know what is even more trippy.  Is that we all have this inevitable unknown expiration date.   That point… when no matter what we do… we shed this mortal coil and return to the dirt.   I’m not gonna get into a religious/spiritual transcendental theology discussion.   We die—and soon as we do our bad bacteria and all the little baddies come to eat us.  True stuff.

So as I sit here in this office and stare at this screen.  I’m writing what will be left of me when I’m gone.  See–we do facebook, instagram, twitter—- pictures, quotes, blurbs, memes.    But what essence of that is truly you?

Am I the sum of all my memes?

Probably not.

I guess my point is that it’s difficult to “be” a person in that medium.  When you write you have to convey something–you have to keep someone wanting to link these words together to develop a “you”.   So if you are familiar with my writing skills ( lack there of is often used) you will know that some days I hit shit so square on the head that your ears ring…. but most of the times I am out here in the dark… with a match… in a windstorm…riding a tornado…trying to see where I’m supposed to be.

So last night I was sitting on my couch rough housing with one of my dogs.  We got a little rough and he ended up coming at me off the top ropes and power-bombed me.  His head hit me square in the cheek..and at that moment a filling and part of my tooth gave up the ghost.

I sat there with that taste in my mouth like I just licked a wood spoon or tested a 9 volt battery.   Then the sudden rationalization that one of my tiny little bones was now floating freely in my mouth.   Being swirled around by the sudden production of saliva as a reactionary response to trauma.   I quickly located the awol piece with my fingers and pulled it free to examine it.     I was thinking to myself ” I’m 44 years old… and a piece of me fell off. ”    But we are conditioned to not take it that seriously.  In comparison– If I was just sitting here and my hand just fell off…I believe there would be more concern…I think I might be quite alarmed if my hand just popped off and left a stump.   But here I am… a piece of me, although minute, was no longer connected to the fatherland.

This spawned another thought.

Why am I so attached to the shit I own when I am barely affected by a piece of me falling off.

( Thats some kind of 32nd level introspective bodhisattva shit right there)

I have stuff. Like a house and polebarn full of stuff….and why? Seriously… what for?  I’ll tell you why “someday”.    Thats right …. SOMEDAY.    Someday I’m gonna finish that bike… Someday I’m gonna play that guitar….. but much like the limited shelf life of—-MY LIFE….Someday will never come.   It’s procrastination by proxy.   I’m going to do it… when I can do it.      Well people go their entire lives by pretending that one day you will have all this time to do these things.   We dont.   So do it now.   Do what you want and fuck the timeline.

I have pieces falling off… of me….but I keep adding tiny bones to my life….. tiny bones belong in a graveyard…..not in a persons life.