I was so thankful I was outside when the SpaceX Dragon streaked across several states a little before 4:40 a.m. I’m glad I didn’t head to the top of the parking deck here. It takes a lot to surprise me. The speed of the spacecraft as it streaked across the United States caught me completely off guard. Though my picture does not capture how beautiful it was, the spacecraft fluctuated with a huge variety of colors and left a surprisingly wide trail behind it as it blazed across above me. When it first became visible to me near the Northwest horizon, I simply could not believe the speed in which it approached. It was like a fiery prism running across the sky. X .
The internet can be fascinating. I had words sent back to me from years ago: “Do you speak from the hollow place in your head? The repository of current events and reaction opinion. Or do you speak from the place of you, the one in which the authentic you can laugh and be upset without concealing who you are? It’s a seesaw. You’re supposed to sit to the right, as far along the lever as you can. Functionally, it’s the only way a seesaw works. And it only works well and beautifully when you understand that someone has to sit on the other end for it to be enjoyed and used properly. Like a mouthful of fire, who we are should be impossible to conceal.”
X
PS this one has come back around to me so many times that I’ve lost track.
NSFW due to a wild mix of subject matter and personal commentary…
My brother Mike died without fulfilling my desire that he write a book. He absorbed the false honor narrative of some of my family members. He was a big man, my brother. I took these rules from conversations that Mike and I had on the phone when he was winding down. I’ve shared pieces of them before. My brother Mike had an interesting life. He was a great writer. We both recognized that between the two of us, we might be able to capture the horror, dark humor, and insights that we experienced. Of all the things that piss me off about the way he went out, it’s that he didn’t have enough clarity to see that he should pull up and find a way to live a few more years. Had he chosen to find a way, the resulting book we would have written would have been an irreverent mixture of Pat Conroy and Stephen King.
I’m paraphrasing my dad: “You’re going to get punched in the f mouth. There’s no doubt about it.”
My brother Mike saw a few fights that I didn’t. While I did witness my dad getting his ass whipped, Mike saw a few more of these than I did. Dad had whiskey courage. He read a few too many Westerns and got the wrong lesson out of most of the movies.
Take them for what you will. My dad was a walking contradiction. I despise a lot of what he did. But I understand it a hell of a lot better as I get older.
Rules:
If you’re going to drink in a bar, you’re going to need to be deaf or have a thick skull.
If your buddy is getting his ass whipped, you have to get your ass whipped too.
If someone threatens you… There are no rules, no warning. Do not think about it. Start hitting.
If someone says they’re going to whip your ass, don’t wait for them to prove it.
If they’re close enough to hit you, hit them first. Don’t stop hitting until they’re down.
The most dangerous man is never the loudest.
Don’t punch them more than you need to. But if they are intent on killing you, don’t walk away when they’re on the ground.
If they dress like a dandy, they will not want to get dirty. If they wear a tight shirt, it’s a sure sign that their muscles are for show. Except if they have dirty, scruffed-up boots. You don’t mess around with people who work hard for a living.
Nuts, throat, nose. If those don’t work, bite anything that gets near your mouth.
There’s no such thing as fighting dirty. If they are coming for you, everything in the room is fair game.
If you deserve to get punched, let them hit you in the face. If they attempt to give you more than what you’ve got coming, remind them that you’re a dirty bastard.
Once you’re done fighting, men have a drink. If you can’t have a drink with a man you just fought with, you’re not worth the hat that sits on your head.
… Dad tried to make a man out of me. Whatever that means. He had his demons. A great deal of his alleged teaching resulted in me choosing the opposite. I never could get my head around that kind of violence. But if you ask me if I understand it, the answer is yes. Especially so when the universe fails or when people fail to honor the fact that violence should never be out of proportion to what caused it. Dad scrambled my brains a few times, but one thing that came out of it was that I learned that many fights come out of nowhere. And a few people who should have scared me didn’t. That’s a part of the Bobby Dean legacy that fills me with contradiction.
I’m forgetting a few of his rules. Despite some of the negative things I have to say about him, he surprised my brother and me many times with how he phrased things. I sometimes forget that he was smart. I would snarkily mention that he often failed to incorporate his intelligence into his behavior. But I’m tired of getting hit by a bolt of hypocritical lightning.
I’ve confessed before that my brother and I actively thought about killing my dad more than once. I’m not proud of it. But if Dad had survived a few more years, he would have appreciated the dark humor of this truth a lot more. Mike realized when we got older that it probably would have been me who would have done it because I experienced and witnessed a lot more of the violence. When my brother Mike got older, Dad looked at him much differently. Mike would have hurled him through the kitchen window like firewood.
Knowing them both, I am 100% certain that one of them would have pulled out the whiskey bottle and poured the other a shot.
They were the kind of men I did not aspire to become. Whatever dark streak ran through them has luckily remained mostly dormant in me. I’d love to have the devilish prankster spirit. I wouldn’t tie someone to a hunting camp tree stump and light it, but I would enjoy making someone think it could happen. There is a fine line between lunacy and free-spiritedness.
I’m sharing this because it’s supposed to be a tip of the hat. It’s not an accusation. The history is there, written as fact in my mind. One of the crazy lessons of ambivalence is that you can witness a tornado but fall in love with how the lightning looks across the sky. Life can be appreciated similarly, even if you would rather flip the light switch off for some moments.
Some days, there are so many triggers I feel like I’m at a gun show. I wish I had the capacity and audacity to consistently see the truth in my reflection. It’s one thing to intellectually know that the past is a shadow behind you in the mirror and another to nod at it and give it the finger. It’s true that the past is our shadow. That’s all it is. A phantom and needless stone that we carry in our pocket instead of putting it down. I often think of the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I know each day often gives us the miracle of a new attitude if we simply decide it. People are going to carry in their heads an image of you that no longer exists. Fighting it is idiocy. If you can accept that is truth, you should be able to accept that swatting away the shadow in your head is equally possible. I think a lot about my sister because her scenario highlights the hypocrisy I practice. All she can do is stay on the new path and let time do the rest. I call myself a hypocrite because I catch myself judging her against the backdrop of her previous life. It’s a natural and normal reaction but one that serves no one. The optimistic people among us know that radical change is possible. The practical side of us nods towards the idea that we know it’s not likely in many cases. We’re all going to fall down in the mud. It really does boil down to whether we will wipe it off and keep going. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t listen, hear, or see someone managing to salvage their life or sanity. Some days are the opposite scenario. The same circumstances turn one person into a cynic and another a saint. All we need is Rocky music playing in the background when these things happen. X .
I voted today and my precinct was amazing. I waited literally zero seconds for any process of my voting. Though I am a liberal independent, I voted in the Republican primary like I did 4 years ago. The goal was to be able to say that I voted against him each time he’s been on the ballot. I’ll leave you to speculate which candidate I’m referring to. As for presidential politics, I do not expect either major candidate to be chosen by their respective parties, each for different reasons. It’s a bold prediction but when I’m confident in.
X
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PS I realize that just a few days ago that I said expressing your political beliefs is like sticking your head in the microwave. My political beliefs can be best described: qualified, intelligent, and compassionate candidates who are committed to doing what’s best for each set of circumstances without resorting to ridiculous ideology. In this day and age, that’s tantamount to saying that you have lunch with leprechauns.
After doing what I had to do in order to do what I want to do, aka work, and doing a blizzard of chores… I could not resist the call of the creek. I followed one of the little tributaries until I was certain I would break my neck doing so. Even though it’s 80 plus, the water is a bit chilly and my feet started feeling as cold as a senator’s heart. I could not quite make it to a tree with at least two dozen huge crows in it. It sounded like a management meeting wherein everyone was arguing about what color the cover sheet should be for the new TPS reports. Light breeze, the sound of the water cascading, and would-be managers cawing crazily in the overhead canopies of the trees. Maybe because it’s been a while since I’ve walked down the middle of the stream beds… It’s hard to simultaneously bear a grudge against the workday while experiencing such a familiar feeling. I tried hard to find something to gripe about. But the water cascading kept telling me to be quiet and be still. If you’re not prone to overthinking, you might not understand the imposed stillness. X .
Someone asked me if I was the one writing the political messages on the sidewalks. No. I don’t see anything wrong with it. It washes off. My sidewalk antics are always shenanigans. If I were to ever write anything controversial, I would sign it. It’s part of the reason my Facebook posts and other accounts are public. You either enjoy a good combination of wacko and introspection, or you don’t. In this day, trying to sway someone’s political opinions is exactly like attempting to microwave your own head. With just about the same results.
Yesterday morning, I watched an older lady painfully collect her bags from the EZ Mart counter. When I left, I rolled down my window and offered her a ride. I could see the look of distrust in her eyes. She said thank you and immediately turned away. She struggled with the bags as she walked.
Today as I left the worst convenience store in the history of mankind, another older lady seemed to be talking to me from a distance as I drove away. Because my car has ancient roller windows (even though it’s a 21 model), I leaned toward the passenger side and rolled down my window. She asked me if I could give her a ride. Honestly, assuming she wanted a ride to a nearby location, I had time. It’s rare for me to hesitate. But something about her seemed off. I told her I could not. She smiled and said thank you. And then she added that she loved my purple glasses. Something about her saying something nice and adding a smile after she realized I wasn’t going to give her a ride banged a gong in my head. I’ve given plenty of rides to questionable people if I’m alone because the risk is only to me. Or them, if you know me well enough.
Love, X
PS The picture is unrelated to my story. I took it Saturday. My cat was rolling around under the tree debris as if it were catnip. He’s on lockdown again after yesterday’s shenanigans. .
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 