Tell me about it

“You need to write or have someone listen to you talk for a few hours over a beer and under the night sky.”

That was said in reply to me saying, “My head will not be quiet.”

I do not remember the last time someone offered that up to me. Well, actually I do, but it was a long time ago. I am a firm believer in therapy, in any way in which you can get it. You can build something from scratch, cook a meal, paint a picture, go take some photographs, write, hit the gym, hike across the continental divide and get chased by a grizzly bear, or have a nice long conversation with someone you trust. I don’t hit the gym or paint but I’ve done all the rest and it has managed to keep me sane for almost 37 years. Conversation, actual face to face conversation, is my favorite with being chased by grizzly bears at a close second.

You can write e-mails and letters, send text messages or make a phone call. None of those can ever replace a conversation where both parties are within reach. I need to see your eyes and I need mine to be seen. I do not have a poker face and even if you do I’m good at catching the tells.

Sometimes it feels like I’m in a foreign country and I do not know the language and the language I speak is just as baffling to everyone else. It sucks and not in a good way. Most folks don’t really care what you’ve got to say, they’ll ask you how you’re doing but they don’t want to know and they only ask so they can tell you about the pile of shit they stepped in earlier. It’s human nature, I suppose, it happens too often for it not to be.

I’d trade just about everything, and give up more, for a long conversation about anything other than sports, work, or the weather. I have no desire to discuss politics and will only discuss religion with about two people. I want to know what crazy ideas are bouncing around in your head. I want to hear you talk about the things that are dearest to your heart. I want to hear about the lost loves, the mistakes, and that one thing you did so right it had to have been fate. I want to hear you describe, in great detail, the last time you took a walk while holding someone’s hand. I want to know where you’ve been, what you’ve seen, and who you’ve loved. I want to know the whys, the wheres, and the hows. Give me the coulda, shoulda, wouldas. Look me right in the eyes and tell me you have no regrets and then tell me about every damn last one of them.

There are some folks who will read this that I know very intimate details about. I know their secrets and their desires. There are some folks who will read this that know the same about me. These are the people who have said things I will never forget. Simple comments and hour long conversations. Thank you for being inspiration. My muses are many, varied, and all beautiful.

The Gambler

I think that some people need another person in order to live to their fullest. Sometimes that need is symbiotic and at others it is parasitic. Reciprocity is a beautiful thing. Rare. There is great truth in the statement that the one that loves the most is at a disadvantage. Strange creatures creep into your life, at night, when the moon tends to not shed its light in the nooks and crannies. You can never really tell exactly what those creatures are all about. They just loiter around waiting for the day to break and then you see them for what they really are, no longer shadowed by love and lust. You see resentment, lack of respect, depression, and selfishness. Loneliness. You see tiny, savage monsters that wait to twist kindness and appreciation into ulterior motives. And then the worst monster of them all shows its face. It's the moment you realize that those other monsters are just as much your conjured nightmares as they are anyone's. It's not their fault or your fault. It's everybody's fault.

Companionship is an amazing thing, powerful. It can turn a bad day to good. It can warm cold bones and steady the stumbling steps we tend to take. There has to be reciprocity. If you love me today when I am in good spirits, smiling, and my eyes are clear; then you must love me when I would rather bleed than breathe. I’m going to love you if you’re sad, happy, manic, or asleep. We all need a friend, a companion, a lover, and a confidant. We all need those things to exist within one person. One person that we can look at and feel safe with. One person who looks at us and their eyes say, “I’m right here. Everything is going to be alright.” It’s the love of God and the love of Mothers and children.

All things stem from that. There can be no passion, not lasting anyway, without that unassuming love. There can be no honest discourse without that love. There can be no future. Without that love you dwell in the caves of your past.

I’m not a gambler, never have been. I prefer the consistency of a sure thing. That being said, I have rarely ever not taken a chance. The only thing I have ever been good at is being bad. But I’m damn good at it. I can type a whole lot of words and hope that two or three of them make some sense to somebody. I can talk my way into anything and back out again. I’m not making judgments about my own character. I’m flawed and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t revel in those flaws. I don’t hide them either.

What I’m getting at is this, through all of those flaws and the animalistic nature that sometimes abounds, the willingness to bleed rather than breathe; only one thing has ever settled me down. Been the music. The only reason I have not self-destructed and blown apart everything is that I have been blessed to be able to look over, from time to time, and see eyes looking at me. Those eyes, they would gaze at me from a beautiful face, and in them I could see, “I’m right here. Everything is going to be alright.”

What I’m getting at is this, I talk a whole lot and I just hope some of it makes sense.

 

Blue Skies

Here's the thing. I need for you to look over to the right just a tad and put your email into that little spot that says, "Follow By Email". You'll have to do just a tiny bit of work but it'll pay off in the end, I promise. I don't have to write this shit, which I think is obvious since until about a week ago I hadn't written anything since July. It's already in my head, I know what it says, I know all of it, even what I forget to put down here. I know the allusions and half-assed metaphors. I understand it completely. I know who the Christ figure is and what fatal flaws every hero has. I know exactly when the denouement happens. Every single time. I know how it's all going to play out and when I'll take another five or six month break only to pop up out of nowhere, again. I also payed attention in Mrs. Huey's class. I guess what I am trying to say is this, I have a real strong need to know who is reading.

I'll be 37 in a month. Shit has changed. The qualities and characteristics I look for in both friends and companions of a softer nature have changed, substantially, over the last decade. I might go a year without hanging out with people I consider my closest friends. It doesn't matter. I know that things will pretty much be the same when I do see them. I also know that if I need them, they will be there. The same is understood of me, I suppose. I need you to have my back. I need you to be able to back my play, all night, even if you know I am dead wrong. I need you to understand that telling me I'm a damn fool should only be done when no one else is around. I tell you what you get for being able to do those things. You will get exactly the same. All day, every day. I don't care if you think I'm right or not. You can think I'm dead wrong, and you can tell me so. As long as you don't let anyone else know.

You and I can be walking down the street on a sunny summer day and as we pass by other folks you can turn to them and say, "Hey, the sky is PURPLE!" And I'm going to stand there, head tilted a little to the right, eyebrow arched, a scowl waiting to bloom from my face, and wait for someone to say any different. "Purple, are you crazy? The sky is blue." Nope, hell naw, what? "Did you not hear what my amazing walking partner of the day said? The sky is purple." Then you and I will continue on our purple haze shaded way. The discussion is over, the sky is purple, and those other guys are idiots. If they want to press the matter of what primary color the sky is then we can have a dust up in the middle of the boulevard.

That is about as simple and as pure of a relationship as I can imagine. You back my play and I'll back yours. When we get back home and it's just us sitting on the front porch, drinking a beer, and talking about metaphysics or the price of a gallon of gas, then you can call me a dumb ass and we'll laugh. "Purple? You big dummy."

I'm too far into this thing to be worried about having to watch my back. I'm fully committed to seeing things through at this point and I don't have time to worry about who is backing my play. You can call it selfish, self-absorbed, and short sighted. I'm going to call it love, respect, and admiration. And if anyone is around I'll agree with you and you can agree with me.

Two months ago it was the day after I had a routine extraction of a wisdom tooth. I knew something was not right. I mean, shit, I couldn't breath, swallow, or talk. This was not normal. I waited a day or two because I'm a stubborn fool and when I went to the ER, finally, I told the doc, "My throat is not sore, it does not hurt like a sore throat, I have had a sore throat. This is not a sore throat. Something is not right." He, looked inside my mouth, told me I had a sore throat, and sent me home. Two ER visits, three doctors, and a lot of cussing later I finally got someone to listen to me, they did a CT scan and within 10 minutes I was on my way to have emergency throat surgery. Let me quote the smart doctor, "We're calling to see if General has an ENT on call because you've got to have surgery before you die." Hey, thanks doc, I appreciate that. I'm pretty positive that the only people who believed me, backed my play, were my dear mother and father. Mom never left my side and pops was debating whether or not to go strangle the original doctor.

When you commit to loving somebody you commit to backing their play. Save the dissension for later when it won't affect the morale of the troops.