Things come to me in very odd ways…. like looking over while driving and seeing this woman with a mole on her face and wondering about self acceptance and personal beauty as one ages….or seeing a person in crocs and wondering about self worth and stereotypes…. and then there is stuff like this….. I was thinking of this yesterday as I sat there, hammer in hand, striking a piece of stubborn sheet metal against a homemade anvil.   The anvil is this scavenged piece of train track that I welded to a steel pipe.  It has been a faithful tool in my shop for years and has seen many a project forged on it’s steel plateaus.   Today…as this 9 lb hammer dropped onto heated metal…hoping it would give purchase to a rolling curve that would fit into the guts of that old Ford I’m working on… it struck me ( pun intended) .  What if life was sorta like the anvil?

Life goes on.  Regardless..unwavering…existent.  Look around… pretty much everything you are looking at will still be here after we have all turned to dust.  Life will go on… even with a natural disaster …life is gonna find a way, Mr. Goldblum.   So when you think of life…it’s very east to compare it to that anvil.   It bends and molds us to it’s will in many ways.  It applies heat and force….sometimes gentle…sometimes horrific…that molds and forges us into who we are.    I know it sounds sorta rudimentary.   Oh… we get beat up by life and it changes us…oh Chris, you are such a pessimist…life is beautiful and a gift.   I totally agree..but all of it was made through conflict and change.   Life being the anvil…change being the hammer…. we being the medium.

With that in mind you have to start asking personal things about the quality of your mettle….oh what…I mean metal.    Traditional samurai swords were folded steel…or nihonto…pretty much Damascus steel to us.   Folded hundred..perhaps thousands of times.   Each fold creating a stronger blade.   Starting out..that thin metal…was useless…but with time….heat…change…the anvil… it is forged into something almost magical…honorable…timeless.   As I am getting older…..I’ve seen people go from being a razor sharp katana to a useless butter knife in months.   Choices made… quality and integrity loss.   I wont lie…sometimes I feel my edges dulling and my compulsion to spread dairy products starts to become undeniable.  I guess we all have to do our own policing when it comes to things like that or hope we have a someone who can drop the hammer when it comes to it. I’ve been lucky to have people do that to me once in a while… guide me back to the forge… let me remold myself into the person I know I truly am.

So…can you see why this piece of old train track is such a metaphor? No matter how strong we think we are…how tempered the steel… we are constantly heading back to the forge…to be heated…hammered…molded…quenched and tempered.   We find the best and worse of ourselves in the process and not in the destination.  The artistry is in the technique not the show.   Without –us the anvil is nothing more than the forward march of time…but it is a constant…it’s this that lets us fill our years with an evolved spirit.

Lately my spirit has taken up some emotional spelunking…delving into those parts of myself that I may have shut off or ignored…. maybe out of pride…maybe out of the blindness of love… or just because the door I shut has not been ready to be reopened. Thats the beauty of the anvil…when it is time to work…its a tempest ready to be unleashed…

I guess my message here is that we are all works in progress…no one has this spiritual superiority over one another because we all are in the process of being sharpened or dulled.   The beauty is that we can always remake ourselves if our intent is true…it’s only when we lose sight of that progress…become stagnant or let someone else take the hammer… we lose the intent that the anvil was intended for.   We have all had people who have swung down on us and struck our lives in a good or bad way… it’s how we shape ourselves is the truest test of our integrity.

I’ve sorta been revisiting this over the past week or so in my mind since it happened.  It was something that reminded me how disconnected I have become and how a part of me is excruciatingly aware of it now.

The simplicity of touch.

A little over a week ago I was on a business excursion to Falmouth, Mi.   It’s not a bustling town or hamlet… just a small collection of stores in the middle of a farming community.  It does have an absolutely fantastic butcher shop/meat market/ kitch  subterranean coffee shop- L.L Bean dealer.  It was here that  I viewed something that I had since just become so oblivious to that I could almost chalk it up to being forgotten.

As I was waiting for a friend to cash out with his haul of succulent roasted and candied meats I was suddenly passed by a young boy.  Possible 9 or 10…. shorts, sneakers, carefree… you remember them right?   As he slipped past, his right arm extended and found purchase right around of the shoulders of a young girl approximately the same age… shorts and sneakers.

Both of them smiling…shoulder to shoulder like old friends.   I heard something being said about ” My grandma is waiting” before they lock stepped away in some sort of “Hey Hey, we are the monkeys” theme song tribute.   At that moment emotions suddenly flooded into my conscious mind about how innocent that interaction was.   How , even being on the cusp of such a crazy time in a young persons life, that they were in the moment where an arm around a friend was just that.  The sharing of an unspoken intimacy because there was no endgame.  No predilection.   Just the experience of youth.  It made me extremely melancholy for a few seconds— for in those moments I was flooded with the memories of a different me… the younger me… shorts and sneakers.

That experience lit a fire under my ass to go home and write.  But I didn’t.   I ,instead ,let those feelings distill in my psyche for awhile.  I began to think about my own personal experience with the act of touch.   I had to asked myself when was the last time I experienced someone placing a hand on my skin.  How uncomfortable I was with it.   How I felt extremely disconnected from the act.  I also had to ask myself when the act of touch was only associated with another act…and how now…and for years I had fused the two together as one.   I know I’m not alone in that.  The raging hormones of the teenage years slowly changing that viewpoint into a chariot for my libido.   Touch was lost and replaced with the seedy lounge singer called Lust.  But that is another story and I think it betrays the essence of this diatribe by going off on that tangent.

I think in that moment when I saw these two youngsters that this 43 year old me became…for the instant…jealous.   Jealous of the beauty of innocence.   Now I could be mistaken…my interpretation of what was going on as seen through the prism  of my subconsciousness need for human connection… but I would rather think of it as my realization of the purity of the moment, and that they unknowingly took it for granted as normality.  It made me realize  that I am not this fractured person that has totally closed himself off , comfortably residing in his own darkness…but a man that has cracks in an armor that protects the softest parts.   I would like to think it’s much akin to  Leonard Cohen’s prophetic chorus…..” There are cracks in everything…thats how the light gets in”….for a fleeting moment I saw a little light between those two… shorts and sneakers.

Let me preface this with…I’m not a madre’.    She’s  in FLA.   I will tell you about my dogs. Mi familia. ( oh by the way I’m Irish so forget the syntax)

I’m 42….oh so quickly approaching 43…and I have 4 pit bull rescues and one very old and wise German-short hair.     I don’t have discovery channel or history channel money or whatever shit is cool right now.   What I will tell you ….is I love…I am in love…with my dogs.

1000 years ago I would of been a pimp.   Not in the female abusing way…but in the ” I got this with my crew ” way.   Now a days thing are limited to Kongs ( if your are reading this I could use a sponsor) for the blessed ability to gnaw through bone and some kind of plastic inedible facsimile.

I will also say that each one of these…kids…has changed me for the better.  MY KIDS…have made me a better person.  I have seen every emotion I know played out in the most basic form in each and every one of them .  I deal with random barking, whining, baying, farting, anal glanding ( I ‘m so copy-writing that) and random drooling.   I do this cause I know how special each one of these “kids” are.   I only wish that I could do more for the people who sacrifice to do more than I can.   Many times we are looked at as being foolish for our commitment  to such a prosecuted animal.    I ask you this… how come there is  SUCH a stance on Pit bull and Staffie acceptance that people and government continue to ban and refuse adoption of these humble and loving companions.

I’m sorry. I regress.   But you can see that my “pack” influences my fingers.  Even as I sit here…the  ” leaves” are invading my yard…and each one is telling me that with barks and bays.

7 years ago I was asked to take a stay into my life . This ball of feet and tail.   This injured and scared dog that was labeled ” Pit Bull” .  Dangerous.

I was sitting on a bar stool.

I was unprepared.

He changed my being.

He set the canon for the rest of my life.

I love you, Jack.

Thank you for changing a fool to cool.

-Workman

Cold rain… a chilled reminder of winter slowly soaking everything in view.  I’m sit here in a darkened corner looking out in to a world of lost worlds, spaceships, servos, transistors and motherboards.  I currently work for a company that use to have a video arcade and pinball machines in the 80s. The arcade and pinballs have long been retired from service but from my vantage point I can see their dusty silhouettes lined up like terracotta soldiers–waiting for the “call” that will never come.  As my gaze swings around I can see the wall of parts and pieces….pieces and parts.  Boxes of triacs  and condensers, bumper rubbers and solenoids.  If I was building a watch these would be called the Grand Complications.  The meaning derived from all the little gears and counterweights that go inside a watch case—- the complications.  I’ve always liked the pairing of those words.   It always seemed sorta ominous— ” We cant just go barging in! They have the Grand Complications in there!”

I guess if you think about it people are very much the same way.  Ultimately filled with grand complications that define how they work and function. Unfortunately people aren’t easily fixed when things go awry.  There is no big rack of parts to put ones psyche back together…to  mend a broken heart…..to fix a fractured soul.   We use other complications to do that–those being just as bad or even worse than the original.  That is life, figuring out how this all goes together to make the cogs turn, the gears spin…the hands swing and the feet move.   I hope some of you know that it is the inward struggle that is the worst. The unseen maintenance that is mandatory to keep all the complications in check and functioning harmoniously.  The daily grind to grind it daily.

So… I took a hiatus.   Writing is not something I do to fill pages of copious drivel.   I know who I am and what I’m about… and sometimes it takes awhile for me to actually fill my “ships hold” with thoughts and observations that actually have substance.   Sure…I read blogs from people that basically squirt out pages of thought comparable eating McDonald’s for a week. So…whats in the hallowed halls of my mental sanctuary?   Over the past year I’ve been employed full time and immersed myself in corporate dronary. ( yes,  I made this word up).   I have my cubicle and my assigned tasks and my weekly paycheck.  Yay me!  I listen to conversations from fellow coworkers about life, love, and the pursuit of happiness ( which equates to home purchases, weddings, and family functions).    As I have said in the past–Humans are the smartest beings on this planet and for the past 1000 some odd years we do nothing more than have pissing contest around water coolers to see who has more useless shit.   I don’t know what makes us feel that this is an important endeavor,  I could give a shit less what new truck you buy… My 94 Toyota pickup cost me 500 bucks..so when the phallic-wagging 60000 dollar diesel “rolling coal” crew comes in…I have to hand my head and remember my “water cooler” comment from above.

I was thinking earlier today , after my usually barrage of friends facebooks posts telling me the Auchwitzinnian designs that Donald Trump has for Muslims and Illegal immigrants that were contrasted by others from the right wing informing me about  Hillary’s collective 1984 mind crimes testimonials…..I finally had enough.  So, for those of you who know me in person it shouldn’t come as a surprise when I say… Are you Fucking Serious?

Here is a little primer for anyone deciding to back any presidential candidate.

Follow Closely—–>   THEY ARE ALL LYING TO YOU. ALL OF THEM.                                                                         EVERY SINGLE LAST ONE.

Hope the reality of that didn’t hurt too much. All of those bowing at your Bernie Sanders alters and your Trump monoliths wont probably bat and eye…but that the truth.   The reality is that it’s all manipulation and bait/switch.   You can stand there and blame Bush….demonize Obama…. Right did this….Left wants that… blah blah blah.  It’s a big sham and we, the people of this United States of America, drink it in on 6×3 inch screens we needlessly carry around with us.   Ya know that 20 years ago a person would actually have to seek out the news….inform themselves and make decisions.  Now it’s pre-packaged drama snacks that we choke down with a Kardashian latte.  Yeah…it’s that bad people…and I really dont see a remedy for it.

With the invention of “safe spaces” and aggressive condemnation of “white privilege”, “black lives matter” “Save the whales” ” Free Mandela” “Hell no we wont go”…oh… wait… got off track there.   So before anyone starts to “check my privilege” let me get it all out there so you have a nice big target.   I’m a white, 40 year old male—and…I’m not ashamed.  Sorry..don’t feel bad at all for who I am.   In the past this same conversation has come up and after stating the exactly what I did above… my very white, twenty-something , female friend— with a look of disappointment in her eye muttered—- ” And that’s the problem”

Well shit on me… I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for how things turned out on this planet.  You know my Irish/Native American ancestors and their large plantation—oops… hold on… I apologize for my apology on the basis that your premise is BULLSHIT.   Look.. do we have some serious socio-racial issues in this country?  Hell yes… Do we have some of the goofiest political ass clowns to every decide to take up the race… Affirmative Ghost-rider.

The reality of it all…is that most of the time…the truth is offensive.  It burns away the glossiness of whatever hype or propaganda we are being dealt.    And people have an extremely hard time dealing with that…they dont want to hear that they are not special…or they dont matter…or their cause is… dumb.    Some days…this shit I say and do…doesn’t matter…I know and understand this… I believe all lives matter in the sense of the right of existence… but  I have little empathy for some slighted social aperture because of something that happened before I was born.  I know 40 years of real history….. dont expect me to feel bad about some shitty slave owner in the 1800s and what happened then… not my problem.  It’s my responsibility to make sure it never happens again but not my obligation to coddle a person who feels they are owed.   Like I said above…my empathy can be waning.

So a rant is a rant. I’m sure there is someone out there…shaking their head about how obtuse my viewpoint is and…buy some self-imposed lamaesque superiority they are going tell me how right they are.    The same type of person is running around with a selfie stick trying to get a good Instagram photo of themselves pushing beached whales back into the ocean.  It’s not about the cause it’s about the idea of self importance.  The ” no idiot left behind” mentality.    One day when a “bomb” does go off…and the flash of light and heat burns a nuclear truth across the land…I shit you not… there will be some fuck trumpet there with a selfie stick trying to get that last final shot.   A million years from now when archaeologist sift through the rubble the will find a persons finger bones fused to a stick holding a camera pointing at themselves…in contrast… in Pompeii… people were holding one another…

I think people are afraid of silence anymore.  Without being blasted by 100 different distractions a second people feel cut off.  It’s like we’ve all become so environmentally “thick” that when an absolute moment, and  I mean a moment, of peace and silence come to us….. we frantically search for some kind of diversion that will lead us back to the noise foundry so we can lose any thought of that “bad” place we were just in.    The hum of cooling fans in my computer, the expansion and contraction of the wood frame in my home, the confirmation of a bad seal in my commode…even the little water the seeps past makes a sound finding it’s destination.  My own heart beat, the inhale and exhale of my conscious body.  My dogs.   All of these are part of my environment right now.

I have only experienced that true silence a couple times in my life, the natural mute that must of what the universe was like before creation.  Sweet  is the best adjective I can muster for it.  There are better descriptors, but  then I would be back to complicating something so simple.  One of my previous vocations was working for the forest service in Utah, and there were many times I would spend chilly early spring nights in the backcountry. Silence there is almost perfect…but there are other things that make noise.  I’m not talking about bears , elk, wind, or anything else.   I’m talking about the night sky.  I think we’ve all lost our connection to it.  We live in such a horizontal existence, very rarely looking up above ( unless you live in Russia…I bet you they all look up more now). The night sky in the back country is like shaking a glass globe of silver glitter.   All of those stars and worlds that are bleached out by mans illuminated world come back into view.   So even in that silence of a cold Utah night,  the cosmos would speak volumes…but this was what I wanted to hear.  Language without words or texts…just experience.    I feel that we have become vessels for our own ego. Myself included, but when you look up at that darkness…and realize that our horizontal 2d life has depth…then this 3d image comes to mind of how small we are in the grand scheme of things.   That silence we may have in our environment is crushed by the awe and befuddlement of trying to comprehend our place in the universe.   I would rather have moments like this in my life than be intellectually under siege from the world at large.

My buddy Eric has this dog.  He’s one of those pups that has only a few things on his mind. 1. Where is the Ball?  2. Want to play Ball?  3. Please throw the ball again!     And they pretty much all fall in that order.   Something that Eric said to me really made me think of peoples existence.    “Everyday is the best day of his life”   Seriously, how many people could say that about their life. And here is this pup whos got it all worked out.  Why…cause it’s simple.  It’s not complicated.   It doesn’t involve anything more than being happy.     I always wanted to be hypnotized like in “Office Space”.  Just embrace that attitude that I really really do not give a rats ass about anything other than enjoying my life.

I dunno, I started out with a purpose writing this thing, but perhaps the time….or the pain meds have left me at the wayside once again.  I will leave you with this. Life can be too serious most of the time, and in a campaign to make it easier for the 99 percent out there, they have opted to take the intelligence out and replace it with entertainment.   They try to camouflage it, dress it up, liquor you up and do all they can to get you to believe in it.  The truth is that your mind is the one thing they can never take without your agreement.  See thru all the bullshit, live happy….