Duran Duran, Ellen and My New Years Resolution

Resolutions and Goals for 2016:

Write the great American Novel.

Keep the house clean

Stop swearing

Get a new job that makes more money

Do 100 things that make Mrs. M happy

Learn 100 new things

Exercise and lose 30 lbs.



I can’t even type on this laptop without the mouse skipping the cursor around and me swearing, so t #3 hat’s # 1 and FUFUCKCK FUCK FUCK!!!!’

Yeah, this list sounds great, doesn’t it? But it’s not bloody likely.

I’ve looked back at life and it seems like I’m the pressure valve for everybody else, and frankly, I’m fucking sick of it.

For anyone else, who I would describe as “normal,” such a list might be completely reasonable and very possible. But here’s my list of resolutions–I’m going to do the following in 2016:

1) be realistic.


I was just typing and a whole fucking paragraph highlighted itself and erased itself because I have a stupid laptop and it does that shit, which is why I can’t write the great American novel.  If I did, my computer would fucking erase it.

My wife watched Ellen today and I was a captive audience.  I have a confession to make:  I fucking HATE Ellen Degeneres.  It’s not her; it’s me.  I know, Ellen could buy and sell me like a million times and not care, and she does good things for her fans.  I hate her like I hate all of the talk show hosts (except now-retired Craig Ferguson.).

It’s not their fault.  Except the really stupid irritating ones.  Irritating are the so-called “experts” who tell people how to live, what to eat, what to read, what to buy (because everyone SHOULD just have enough money to do that(recognize them?) Smug rich irritating ass holes.

I once heard a fucking preacher tell an audience of men that we should all just give our wives a fifty in the morning and tell her to buy herself something nice.  Except I don’t have an extra fifty to do that.  And I wonder how many men in that audience wanted to tell him he was an arrogant rich shithead for telling us we should be able to do that.  I never went back to that group.  And never bought any of their fine Christian literature again either, because if I’m going to spend that fifty, (over three or four purchases, because I  don’t roll that high), it’s going to be on Mrs. M.

I suppose I’m too poor and realistic and that’s why I’m not a preacher.

The next show was Dr. Phil, smug, rich fucker Dr. Phil tells fucking EVERYBODY how to live.  I shut that shit off before it started.  But Ellen was chatty about her domestic partner.  And after that segment Duran Duran is back after like 20 years of silence, with their “We-need-more-money-to-afford-our-lifestyles Tour.”  Their 80s vibe came on strong, but they sang my new years resolution:  “Pressure Off.”

Surprisingly, the first song they sang was about being anti-consumerist, although I’m sure that backstage they joked, like the old Ringo Starr song, that they secretly hoped everyone would buy the album.  Like most fluff, they didn’t say a whole lot, but they said:

Everybody everywhere,
step out into the future
It’s time to take the pressure off.


I want that, selfishly, for me.  I can’t do life like everyone, including my family, tells me to.  Because they think everyone should be doing the rat race of keeping up with each other, buying the newest latest and greatest, and just happen to have an extra fifty lying around every fucking day for Mrs. M to splurge on herself.

FUCK EVERYONE, especially that kind of presumptuous, smug shithead.  When my lottery ticket comes back as a winner, that’s still my happy fucking new year sentiment for everyone who tells everyone else how and what to do and be:  FUCK YOU.

Anyone else notice that Depression and Pressure have the same root? Makes me wonder if those wise old people who invented language were maybe onto something. I’m going to avoid accepting unnecessary pressure in 2016. It’s my new goal in life. I bet it helps my mental health, and probably my physical well-being as well.


PS. I remembered the Ringo song, and found it here:



Surprised by a mellow but loud Christmas

They know how I like to be able to hear myself over the loud relatives, so they got me headphones. We drove to the in-laws and I’ve stayed somehow perfectly distanced so far. I had a nap. It’s been a shockingly nice Christmas.

If any of you live vicariously through my blog (poor poor things), you’ve had a nearly perfect day, other than the panic attack driving on the highway, especially through the construction and the turns, and the construction on the turns. I just hate the concrete walls.

Arrived safely at the in-laws and stayed the fuck away from everyone as much as I could. No triggers except the loud “talking.” They’re not fighting, really, they’re just talking fucking louder than anyone else I know on the planet. And only grandpa has hearing aids.

There are kids opening presents. how magical. Can’t wait to be home,but being here isn’t so bad.

Merry Christmas, everybody!

Christmas Bliss and The News from Craptown

I checked my page and somewhen I found 128 followers.  I managed to miss 50, missed 100.  I am SO not doing this right, if  I’m supposed to care about that.  But I do care about all of you.  You rock.

Sliding sucks, and no one in my real world helps.  I cooked and of course today would be the day that one out of three dishes came out of a crap freezer bag and that was our only meat, it was freezer burnt.  And Mrs M wants to tinker.  It’s one of my triggers ’cause my brain says “dumbass Deon, you can’t cook worth shit, let me fix it,” so I left the kitchen and her fix didn’t fix anything.  Dear daughter starts laying into Mrs M, another one of my triggers.  Fuck!  And I can’t say “fuck!” around the kids, so the rage has no outlet.  FUCK!

So a perfectly good day is triggered to shit and I wish I had money enough to answer- “Let’s go out to eat.  How about a bottle of wine?”

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.  I’ll see if I can do a better job- at cooking AND limiting my fucking triggers.

To all of you and yours I wish the happiest of Christmases just in case I don’t have time to say anything on the actual day.  I’ll be fine, the stupid downward spiral is such a fun ride, and the family just makes it that much more entertaining.

At least there’s Eartha Kitt, and Mariah Carey, mmmm hmmm. My favorites.

Merry Christmas everyone! You are loved.


| fightorflights on WordPress.com

Source: | fightorflights on WordPress.com

This.  This exactly, is what I want for Christmas.  I want “the ability to deal with” “problems.”  I honestly don’t care if they go away, I’ve given up all hope of that early in life.  After all, I accept John 16:33 as Truth from “The Truth.”  33 “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

“Are You there, God?  It’s me, [Deon]… “(you literary folks might remember Margaret)

Ok Jesus, YOU have overcome the world, but I haven’t.  This shit is fucking overwhelming and I can’t deal with it, and I want to be happy.  I know we’re supposed to be “joyful,” I know that’s different.  Fine, I’d love a dose of “joy.”  To me, Joy is being able to trust that God will take care of me and carry me through the problems.  And I don’t feel that joy for a myriad of reasons. Most of them involve problems that I can’t deal with, that continually crop up faster than I can deal with them.

I honestly don’t mind the problems, I just want to be able to deal with them.  The bills.  The things that fall apart.  The doctor, the dentist (I’m at an age where my teeth are falling apart more pricey than I can afford to fix them), the auto mechanic (cars is at that age too), the plumber, the time I don’t have to deal with house things and family obligations.

And if I can’t deal with them, God who taught Paul to say “My God shall supply all your need according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus,” (Philippians 4:19) “exceeding, abundantly, above all that we ask or think” (Ephesians 3)  then would You please “supply?”  Not 4 days too late like Lazarus and me where we need a huge miracle, but on time so it can just be your average, everyday run of the mill miracle?

Yeah I said “Lazarus and me.”  I said it because my needs are being supplied, it’s just taking forfuckingever.  I want times when I’m free from these fillings that are old falling out and teeth cracking, medical bills, mood swings, car hoses and gunk and rotting and antifreeze and tires, and on and on (and on) not to mention all the things I’m praying about for friends because I’ve all but given up praying for me.  So if you would, because I know you can, according to Ephesians, I would love that.  And I’ll tell everyone about it.  Just like Mary and Martha (and Lazarus) told everyone about that whole after-death-experience of Lazarus’.



Loneliness isn’t too bad.  I have time to do whatever I want, whenever I want.  Or time to do nothing.  I’ve built things.  I’ve designed.  I’ve written.  I’ve thought the deep thoughts.  I’ve felt the feelings.

My purple skies are different than your blue ones.  And your black nights different from my grey ones.  You haven’t seen me yet, but I’ve seen you.

When I found your planet, I checked your history, and scanned your media transmissions.  Your planet, for all if its’ inhabitants, is a really scary place.  I was curious before I started, and might have come by for a visit, but I don’t ever want to come now.

You don’t like each other.  And if you don’t like each other, you’ll certainly not like me.  You have a long history on the planet of disliking things and people that are different from you.  You’re selfish.  You’re hateful.  You’re cruel. Things that shouldn’t matter make you into these evil, spitting-mad beings from your own hell.

I don’t understand.  You want only what you can take, using legal means, or persuasive means.  You then want whatever else you can take, by intimidation or force.  And you seem to enjoy this kind of existence, playing life like it’s a game.  Sometimes you even celebrate your evils by putting them on your mass media, such as television and radio news, or your internet.  But you’re all the same creatures, stuck on the same rock out in space, with no where else to go given your current technologies.  Why won’t you all just help each other?  Why won’t you share?

I know a lot.  I could help, but I’ve seen where that would go.  The old powerful are replaced by the newly powerful, and they’re just as bad as the old, or worse.  I’ve also seen when once One came to help and I know what you did to Him.

No thank you.

I’ll just stay here, alone.


Misty, 12/21/2015, Deon Mumple

The weather today feels like the thing
hovering, slowly circling,
Cold, damp, dark, and
hitting me at rand-
om, still soft so far,
but no less annoying.

Closer now, feeling like
A shower-curtain’s vinyl,
Stop touching me!
There’s no escaping,
No corner to crawl into
To press myself in, to
get away, no place to hide.

Circling my brain, the alien presence
Will eat me from the inside
Secretly wearing my skin
I’m screaming in a cage
I’ll watch from somewhere deep,
Controlling but not controlled,
Fighting to hide the rage
As the pain becomes my essence

The deep sadness of being,
Is the thing I’m feeling,
Now orbiting, now inside my soul,
Cold, damp, dark, and
Hitting me at rand-
om, harder, closer, feel it breathing
Its’ spikes now extending
Like a soul-shaped iron maiden.

Wow, the places that see my dreck…

WordPress can sometimes really kick ass (in a good way).  Wonder if people who see my stuff actually like it?

Naaah, that’s not possible.  They might say they do, but I suspect the truth would hurt my feelings, which is why they’re so kind as to not say it.

I’ve been trying hard to write to distract myself from the impending downward spiral, what comes out in my writing during that time is a lot of crap if I have time, a little crap if I have a little time, and occasionally some bad poetry.

Why there are still people who still read is beyond me.  I’m sinking into a shithole, I can feel it but right now I’m only up to my ankles.

But somehow, in the process, I’ve attracted really GOOD poets to read my stuff, so maybe it’s not all bad.  (yeah, you, poets, I’m talking about YOU- you are awesome and I’m glad 1) you write, because it’s awesome and 2) you noticed me and that means I get to follow you and read something worthwhile and 3) you read my stuff because it encourages me to try harder to write something a little higher quality than, well, crap.  And somehow in the process, I’ve managed to get a few really awesome bloggers who watch out for me, you know who you are and I love you all.  Yeah, the mushy stuff is symptomatic, but when I’m up to my eyes or over my head in it, all bets are off.

It’s been a nice run of not feeling like fuck-all, and I hope it lasts a little longer than I think it will.


Slipping, 12/17/2015, Deon Mumple

Is there a rope I can hang on to?
Is there any way to coat it with glue?
I’m slipping back down some darkened hole,
If I could choose there’d be a different goal,
And my weak-willed soul
Would be stronger.

Can you tell me why my arms feel like lead
And my head feels like it’s completely dead?
“Well, not completely yet, I’m ok,”
I lie to myself almost every day,
Whenever I say
I think I can.

I know where this goes, I don’t want this thing,
Is it any better than feeling nothing?
I stew, quiet, past sad, in a  funk of rage,
While people poke at me, in my cage,
And I try to gauge
What I should do.

Where will I end up after I’ve fell?
Because this time I’d rather it not be hell.
Can it be gentler than it was last time,
Or can there be an elevator to climb,
If I somehow find
The “up”button?

If it’s true “misery loves company,”
Why do I wish no one were here with me,
In empathic love, if love can be real,
Desperate to escape in a Devil’s deal,
Feeling like I feel
All here, alone.

Looking for Joy

I was the driver and we went to a Christmas party last night.  After, I watched a dumb movie until I couldn’t suspend my disbelief or maintain my concentration any more.  I switched to Dexter, predictable Dexter, as I do en-joy the show, but I fell asleep before one episode was over.  I woke up on the couch again today, no joy there.  I washed the dishes left in the sink from yesterday, a little joy.  I got a tiny, tiny goodbye kiss from the perfect woman, a little more joy.  I confess I lamented after it was over, because it was “goodbye.”  I had to let her go.  I dressed, took out the trash, packed lunch, poured coffee, and went to work, after the kids caught their buses and she left for her job.  And a woman named Joy was in the break room.
I’m not kidding.

I can find Joy, but I’m too tired, or there’s no time to enjoy the moment, or she’s the wrong one.

Some rich successful people say “do what you love, the money will follow.”  I call bullshit on that.  I have to have money first, then I have time to do what I love, and then we’ll see how that theory pans out.

And when I try to do what I love without a lot of money, that only costs a little extra and she’s worth it, but she’s most often controlling or unresponsive or too busy, or worse bitter and rejecting.  And there’s absolutely no money in that.  I wish there was money to be had loving my wife, but she doesn’t have an ATM in there.  We’ve “discussed” money before.  When I’m depressed because I haven’t won the lottery yet, which is whenever I’m depressed, it’s one of my hot-buttons, and during at least one of those discussions she literally told me “I can’t pull money out of my ass.”

How we EVER got married I will never understand except as a twisted half-joke, half-delight, from God.  Anyone who denies that God has a sense of humour, after considering the rest of creation, should look at this relationship.  But she makes me laugh when we’re not discussing one of my hot-issues, there’s joy there.  And I have to say, although I’m not fortunate enough to have a wife whose ass operates as an ATM when I push her buttons, that ass is the FINEST one ever created.  And the rest is, too.  Still.  After more than 20 years of suffering/joy all blended like a tropical cocktail.  Yeah, there’s joy in a little rum beverage once in a while.

I had a hurricane, once.

I find joy in writing, so there’s this, too.

And I get to go home after a while, I’ll try to enjoy that.  I wish the best part of the day wasn’t when it was almost over.  I’m too tired to enjoy my joy by that time.  Weekends are full of the honey-do list, cajoling and pleading with the kids to help and at least not hinder, and listening to people bitch about how much work they have to do, be it housework (oh shit, that’s me!), shopping (her) and housework (her, but… as if!)  or home work (the kids’ go-to excuse for not doing shit to help with the housework). I find precious little joy when I’m at home.

And the Joy here at work isn’t mine.

I Thought I Had

I Thought I Had, 12/15/2015, Deon Mumple

I had a thought; It escaped me,
I don’t know what I hoped would be,
When once I had a dream.

I had a dream never come true,
I hoped the dream included you,
When once I had a hope.

I had a hope that’s hopeless now,
My labours failed to endow,
I thought that dreams could be…

I had a truth.  Was it a lie?
I searched as life went flashing by
When once I had a thought.