Shhhhh….listen carefully

Rick,

This is your other self, the one who sits in your thoughts watching you walk through the world, seeing you smile while propping up a weak self image.

What you want you cannot deny.

What you fear doesn’t exist the way you think it does.

A generation from now, your grandchildren won’t know what you were like so any worries or frustrations you felt only show themselves in major decisions you made.

Do you want kids of your own? Why wait?

Drop the ballast, cut off the anchor, set sail into unknown waters, make her the one with whom you want to raise kids.

Love is nice and all but it’s not the same as you think it is.

Being kind doesn’t matter if you died childless when you could have sired offspring.

Take it from me, your wise self, billions of years in the making!

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Coffee, mate

A comma divides an artificial nondairy creamer into a roasted bean drink and a word with many meanings.

Mate, pal, buddy, friend.

Mate, join, reproduce.

Can we analyse the combination of coffee and mate in light of multiple meanings?

Is it a demand that coffee reproduce?

Does it imply that artificial creamers are friends of Coffee?

Or do we clearly see that artificial creamers naturally join / fuse with coffee?

Ingredients are not listed on the packaging so I cannot determine chemical compatibility.

Neither one can reproduce with the aid of the other.

I am perplexed.

I do not have a ready answer for my breakfast drink inquiry this morning.

I may never figure this out (low importance, no urgency).

Oh well…

Boo hoo

Knowing I will remain alone the rest of my life, giving up any last hope…

I don’t want to be that person.

I really don’t.

But there is only me left here, left to fend for myself, sitting in a cafe by myself, not interested in talking to anyone else because I’d have to turn on the chameleon, the people pleaser, suppress the contrarian until the conversation was over.

My dear, dear friend, I am broken for life, incapable of letting you in, trapped in a pretend marriage that both makes me want to kill myself and keeps me from doing so.

I have wanted you in every way that this brutish male body is prone to do but only know how to treat you as my genderless equal.

I’m pretty sure you don’t read this blog so you don’t even know I’m writing and thinking about you.

That’s okay.

I’m not sure you really exist.

At the beginning of summer I gave up any hope of escape from my marriage; rather, I decided to let my wife’s heterosexual, monogamous subculture beat me down one last time — it always won in the past, it might as well win now, too.

I’m borderline hopeless.

I think I have given up hope of living 400 more years, dying on Mars after pioneering multiple outposts and colonies there with you.

It’s not worth the effort to pretend anymore.

I am permanently despondent, food tasteless, politics uninteresting, state-of-the-art development lost in translation, stuck in a kind of retirement home limbo, waiting to die.

Boo hoo. Woe is me. Lol

Time to stare truly mindlessly into the void…virtual suicide.

Releasing the demons

When I was in junior high school, fifth grade, just after my girlfriend of three years died, vulnerable, alone, afraid, I was sexually assaulted by guys in both the boys’ bathroom and locker room.

There was no God to rescue me from the assault.

From that moment on, I was firmly an atheist, trusted no one, and feared intimacy.

When younger, preschool on up, my father beat me until I passed out, beginning me on the path of atheism, no deus ex machina, creating a barrier between me and the rest of the world that lasts until today.

Trust no one, especially when alone together, has been my modus operandi from a young age.

Assault can come and probably will come from your closest friends and family.

Build masks, layers upon layers of them, that you can let others remove for you, hoping they’ll find and heal the real you.

Learn to lie to yourself that one day you’ll be okay — become a good if not great storyteller in the process.

Understand that life sucks but suck it up, buckle up, batten down, and pretend to be the happiest, most serene, meditative guy on Planet Earth who just happens to want to leave this godforsaken planet and live free from humans on Mars.

No longer will I keep this private, sharing only with my closest friends that i was raped by a guy in high school.

For creatures who’ve build amazing civilisations, we’re still brutes who will satisfy their sexual cravings with anything that moves.

I fear guys in general.

Every gal I don’t know what to do but treat them as equals, aware that many of them have been beaten and raped by guys.

The few women who somehow found their way through the outer walls of my thoughts and I let them seduce me found my body physically fit, my caring, sensual foreplay arousing and my average six-inch erection sexually satisfying; all but one of them (my wife) broke up with me because they said I was too nice of a guy and too smart for them, freeing me to find a nice, smart, life companion, especially the one I kept comparing them to (my wife).

I met my wife at summer church camp the year after my girlfriend died and was first sexually assaulted by guys. There wasn’t an ounce of sexual interest emanating from my wife. She was a classic nerd, genderless, picked last to play dodgeball, sarcastic to guys in general.

I couldn’t help but find her attractive in a life frirndship sort of way.

But I burn with sexual desire, much more than my wife wants to share, putting me in the awkward situation where she won’t be intimate with me as often as I like and I’m afraid to approach anyone else.

C’est la vie.

Life goes on.

I’ll do my best to interact with humans despite my fear of most of them.

I’ll continue to pretend to be Mr. Happy, giving hope to others when I have no hope for myself.

Burnt coffee

Finished a midnight shift,

Serving my species by helping to save strangers’, maybe stranger, lives.

Sitting at the tire and oil change shoppe,

Sipping burnt coffee,

The styrofoam cup covered with black sugar sludge…

Listening to one man bragging,

His son having completed Navy Seal Team 7 training,

The father, a firefighter, keeping up, tandem skydiving nearby.

What does the coffee grower know of this?

Or the person picking coffee beans?

The coffee processing plant workers have an opinion, surely?

Do I?

Belly full of laughs

Here in my hand the universe pulsates.
Here, the stuff of the universe resides.
Here, I hear waveforms, feel rhythms, detect patterns.

All sets are temporary combinations.

The sets of states of energy we call humans, the species Homo sapiens,
Create for themselves selective pattern markers they call history,
Reducing planetary changes within a changing universe down to
Anthropocentric stories told so children can repeat as the truth
Whether they believe the stories or not.

Does the oak tree tell a story to an acorn?

What story does the bee tell the hive?

Sets built upon sets, all interconnected.

Does the Sun tell Jupiter their shared history, why they rotate around each other?

I have no children,
No offspring to perpetuate stories for our ancestral heritage.

But I have nieces, nephews, cousins and friends — mostly younger —
Ones with whom I share stories
Both culturally significant and the stuff of urban legends,
Sometimes with a punchline,
Sometimes with a punch.

I do not expect to be remembered after I’m gone,
Only significant enough for others to recall my face and perhaps my name,
Maybe a biographical detail or two when we meet and talk.

I don’t know much about my bloodline ancestors…
I can trace my family tree, can place family members on parts of Earth
During major anthropocentric historical changes,
But I can’t tell you what they looked like, thought, dreamed, accomplished
Outside of birth, marriage, offspring, divorce, death
(Maybe a few governmental assignments and societal achievements).

I can recite artificial numbers assigned to Earth’s revolution around the Sun:
1066,
1492,
1776.

I can even place at least one ancestor on the North American continent associated with that last number.

But what does it really mean to me?

I mean, really, now, here, at this moment, on the Interwebs, typing electronic poems,
Saying what I want within the confines of polite society?

Do I care about the freedoms that have allowed me to be here?

Do I care about the restrictions that have prevented me from being somewhere else?

I can pretty much travel to any point on this planet and within a few hundred miles of the surface, given enough money, travel visas and space travel training.

Is that not enough freedom?

What more could I possibly want?

The only fears I have are being homeless, broke, feeling incurably painful, locked in a prison with undesirables, socially isolated…

The joys are endless because my view of the universe, including our species, is endlessly entertaining, filling me with happiness.

Dark memories of my youth still pass through my thoughts but I know, because of friends who suffered similar, if not worse childhood conditions, and support me, that the thoughts will fade away and total happiness return.

I live to laugh and have fun, not worrying about a legacy or making historical changes on my own.  My impact on the planet is small, completely insignificant on galactic scales and that’s as it is for all of us, despite our storytelling efforts that seem to turn some humans into gods.

Forever alone?

At one time tragic,

At one time fearful,

Most times happily,

Knowledge of being alone with oneself revealed one’s self to oneself.

Yet, alone I am,

Have always been,

Will always be.

The innate biological desire to procreate

Burdens me with sexual desires never sated

With others or myself;

Thus, I wander this planet

Waiting, hoping, wishing to die sooner

Rather than later.

Explaining that to others,

Particularly those of the Christian religious belief set,

Grew old in the first telling.

I am alone not only mentally my whole life

But also in my home and work life,

Able to do as I please,

Sleep most of the time

(Simulated death, reducing my active living state as much as possible).

If I avoid social media,

I also reduce the automated responses

From my three-headed self —

Chameleon, people pleaser, contrarian —

But I’m married and have immediate family that I depend on financially,

Trapping this gigolo in a gilded cage for life,

Forever alone entertaining passersby in a crowd.