Fuck Yourself to Death, universe fucker!

The expression “mad as hell” doesn’t fit.

I’m full into depressed mode, with a large side of rage.  I’m in a house with flies buzz bombing me, and we’ve killed more than 20 of the little fuckers.  That’s the smallest part of the physical bullshit.  It’s the little things that add on, and eventually, after the baseline has been exceeded, it doesn’t take much after that to break my spirit.

Well, it’s broken.

I lost a fight against the universe fucker again, this one was big for me.  Had to happen, eventually, I know.  Death visits and randomly hacks at life whenever it feels like it.  It’s just I didn’t expect that.  Mrs M’s mom… It happened so fast, so unexpectedly.  I can’t imagine how she feels, if I’m broken.  She fought hard to live, and I prayed harder than I’ve ever prayed in my whole life.

There are verses about healing, promises about deliverance from death, yadda, yadda.  Yeah, well, whoever and whatever the fuck those are supposed to be good for, they weren’t for her.  I don’t think I’m supposed to be angry and bitter, although Kubler-Ross says anger is part of normal grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance, yeah well, fuck that, I went straight to anger, and depression, and acceptance, and I’m still in all three, and never did denial or bargaining.  I never was “normal” about anything.  I literally did it to myself again- I prayed, I kept on praying, I fully expected Him to heal her, and instead she was gone two days after the doctors said they had her stable and I left the hospital.  I don’t think she wants the Lazarus thing, so when I was told, I quit asking.

So prayer can work, it just didn’t work the way I wanted this time.  I remember the last time my prayer was answered how I wanted it, and it was nice for a while and then kind of shifted a bit and became not quite what I thought I wanted but still mostly good I guess with some bullshit mixed in, and yet acceptable, and then I realized it wasn’t going to change in my favor and be what I wanted.  The same with prayer and life and faith.  I still believe, sauced with the actual facts of prayer not answered how I want, life not happening how I want or expect, and seasoned by faith sometimes not being worth anything.

Life is temporary.  I don’t want to hear any platitudes or reassuring Bible verses, they don’t reassure me.  Death happens, and it always sucks.  Shit happens, fucks up whatever it can fuck with, and I’m not expecting to be exempt.  I truly believed she would be healed and restored, and the answer was no.  I’ve accepted the facts, but I’m still madder than hell.  I wanted my faith to somehow make a difference, and it didn’t change shit.  So maybe my faith is smaller than that damned grain of mustard seed, well, I could have used a bigger portion but fuck me if that’s all I’ve been given.  First Corinthians 12 says God’s Spirit decides who gets what kind of faith, so mine gets to be the tiny kind that doesn’t see the miracles when I ask.  I should just stop asking, but I know I’ll be led down that fucking road again and ask again, and we’ll see what happens when it happens again.  The Bible talks about faith growing (Second Thessalonians 1:3), so maybe even my shitty little faith will grow eventually, and be worth something to someone I care about.  If I had any more doubt mixed in with my faith, I could even doubt my own eternal fate, but since I was about 8, I haven’t doubted eternity.  I may end up there with a hell-fire singed robe, smelling of sulfur and brimstone and smoke, but so far, I believe I’ll get there.

It’ll be fine.  Depression is a dish best not served at all, just my opinion, but as the Master Chef has decided to serve that shit up again, I think the rage adds a lovely complimentary flavor to the bitterness.

(Not) Finding Motivation in Depression

I have a lot I want to do, and more that I have to do than I want to do, but I’m not feeling motivated to do anything.  Took the day off and have a half-day of volunteer work for Boy Scouts ahead, but I need to do house things.  And the garage door just announced it was fucking up, as the inside lock bar is somehow not in the same place it’s been in since the house was built, which makes perfect logical sense.  Yay.  Another de-motivator.

It’s been interesting not accomplishing anything all morning. Well, I did wake up to shove the kids out to the bus, fed the dog and took him for a walk, and took trash and recycling to the curb to avoid burial under it.  But it’s not enough, and today, I’m not sure I’m enough.

I didn’t have to work at work, and really want to feel accomplishment at home, but I’ve got nothing.  With the garage door, less than nothing.  Depression, thy name is shit.

Whiskey Glass

Whiskey Glass, 09/10/2017, Deon Mumple
In Memory of My Ulla

In her memory, in memory of love,
I raise my whiskey glass because I can’t sip
From the vessel I’d prefer to drink out of,
Soft, willing, fragile, between curvaceous hips

I tell her she will never be forgotten
I will never, ever forget loving her
I love her, and her memory, now, as then,
I loved her instantly, as second-nature-

Novel flirtation, a navel libation,
Savored and sipped, loving lips nearly burned by
The heat of whiskey, sweet words, my elation,
Make it a double, leave the bottle, oh why,

Did you leave without one kiss, kiss me goodbye?
Everyone recognizes true love, I knew.
I raise my glass, I remember, and I cry.
Make it a double, and know I still love you.

500 Posts

OK, so sometime in the past several years, I have made 500 posts to this WordPress Blog, and they gave me a nice award and notice for it:

500 Posts

So this means one or more of the following 10 things:

10.  I’ve put my faithful readers through 500 torturous experiences, after which for some reason said readers felt obligated to either a) say something encouraging because God knows I needed it, or b) mercifully not tell me my writing made said reader want to never venture onto the internet again for fear of seeing something worse;
Image result for The Scream by Edvard Munch Original
9.  I’ve wasted a boatload of time writing when I could have been a) reading or watching or  something better, or letting my readers invest their time doing that, or b) accomplishing something of lasting impact and timeless value;

8.  I’ve been “followed” by 330 fellow bloggers, and attracted an average of 3 comments per post, which means one out of every 110 of you had something nice to say and the rest of you refrained from open ridicule, thank you all SO much;
7.  I’ve been writing slightly more than one article every two days since February 9, 2015 (sorry).  942 days, 500 articles/poems/bits of silliness/wastes of time/things to ignore/emails sent to readers to delete;
6.  My inaugural post, full of as much hope as any first thing I have ever done, has been viewed 8 times, six or seven of which were by Deon Mumple.  I started, I reached out, and the quest was begun;

5. Once or twice I might have actually been funny.  At least made myself laugh.  The mild mania makes me think I’m funnier than I really am, so thanks for going along with it and letting me have a moment;

4.  Occasionally I’ve been really angry and I’ve been able to vent, at least talk about my feelings, why I feel them.  I’ve also been really depressed sometimes, and even though I feel the hopelessness circling my throat, one or two encouraging souls have come alongside, just to be with me, which brings me to:

3. Despite my (mostly) true assertion that I hate everyone equally, just as I belong completely to Mrs. M in my tangible realms outside the bunker, once or twice I might have fallen deeply for another soul out there.  Or three or four or five or so.  I love you. I sometimes lurk, lying in wait, hoping to hear from you- a post, a comment, a response, an email…  And I worry and pray for you when I think of you.  Despite some people’s belief that a person can only fall in love with one, I believe when love is given, received and returned, it grows, and I’m cultivating a forest, my beautiful-souled friends, praying we all keep growing;

2.  More than once, I’ve returned to walk in my forest and enjoy, and found that one has uprooted.  All I have left are treasured memories of what we had, and tears.  Tomorrow is World Suicide Prevention Day.  I don’t want to be the one counted on to intervene; my internet activity is fickle, but if you need me I pray I’ll be here, or you’ll wait.  All of our trees are beautiful.  We hold each other, we hold each other up, and I need you.  One tree supports several, and if one is gone, the rest start to lean.  Please stay.  I know it sucks.  I know sometimes we feel like we’re crazy, or others try to tack that label on us, or worse labels (ass holes!), but I also know there’s a universe fucker out there hell bent on making us believe those lies, robbing us of the little joys we might treasure, stealing our sense of self-worth, killing our hope, and trying to destroy us.  Don’t let the universe fucker talk that shit, through work, neighbors, church, family, strangers, or even the little voice in the back of your head.  He wants us to give up and end everything, but all that leaves behind is a you-shaped hole that no one can ever refill, and a you-shaped painful wound that won’t heal.  Please stay even though it might not get better, at least it’s better because you’re here to go through it with, and, there are moments of joy in the suffering and that’s what I hold out hope for in this life.  You are a moment of joy for me. and I thank you.

1.  Sometimes I’ve tried to share my faith in Jesus, and I appreciate the way other Christ-followers have either refrained from blasting me with judgements about how terrible I am- trust me, I already know I don’t follow very well.  And I also appreciate how people who don’t follow Christ have refrained from calling out my hypocrisy or telling me I’m an idiot for having faith.  I think my faith, and hope, have been the strongest reason I’m not part of your #2.

0.  There will very likely be no improvements over the next 500 posts.  Not apologizing, just telling the truth.

Flat Earth Perspective

Holy crap, it’s post # 500, better make it count!  OK, it’s counted, we now return you to your regularly scheduled ordinary quality you’ve grown to expect, and the familiar disappointment.

Flat Earth Perspective- I started writing this the day before the eclipse… so… August 20?
Deon Mumple, 8/20/2017, completed 9/7/2017 for POST # 500!!!

Way back when, when the earth was flat, and the sky lights were hung from a dome,
Did they have it all wrong, or was Pangaea the place everyone called home?
If the continents were without a rift,
Until the start of continental drift,
Wouldn’t everyone look “up” in the same rough direction?



I bet they knew what was “flat” was the ground,
I bet they knew the Earth was really almost round
But tall tales (you’ll fall off!) told to little kids,
As legends, grew into “science,” for gullible, stupid
People: brains, and continents, lost all former connections.

Is finding, or rediscovering, truth harder?
Search for Piri Reis, ask Galileo, or Kepler.
And if the question is wrongly answered by power,
Ask Tyndale, Hus, Joan of Arc, or an Inquisitor
Because “right” only matters if it’s a popular correction.

When the sun is eaten by the moon, or vice versa
We primitives believe- the gods at war, a curse, a
Distraction from frustration, work, political maneuvering,
Come on everyone, we can set the sun free if we all SING!
Because everyone loves a taste of fear and superstition.

But the “magicians” predicted each “divine” event,
If they were so wise, I’d have asked, why not prevent
The next war or famine, or cure diseases?
C’mon, oh, wise-asses!  Don’t be such teases!
…I’d have been the next “sacrifice to insure cosmic remission.”


Back in ancient history I lived in North Carolina.  There were random hurricanes while we were there, including the infamous Bonnie-Blows-Clinton hurricane of the late 90s.

In the dateline, it says “Clinton, North Carolina.”  I’ve never been in Clinton.  Which is its’ own kind of humoresque assertion.

We drove through Dade County, Florida some time after Hurricane Andrew (’92), and it was still surreal.  That one had sustained winds of 174MPH.

Irma is laughing alongside the grim fucking reaper at the puny Andrew, and Katrina.  Irma was 175MPH yesterday, and today, has sustained winds of 185MPH.  The strongest ever measured was 190MPH.  I am not looking forward to Trump’s response, as I wasn’t for Bush’s during Andrew, nor “W”‘s legendary Katrina, which was almost as bad as Andrew.  These fucking things are monstrous, terrifyingly strong, and there’s not a damned thing any president or governor or anyone can do about it.

Stubborn trees ripped out of the ground or snapped like twigs.  Telephone poles broken in half like toothpicks.  Homes completely flattened to the ground.  I have seen it, just from Hurricane Fran, and she was a delicate flower, a mere category 3, at landfall her wind was a gentle breeze at 115 MPH.

I just pray that the people in Irma’s path have gone somewhere else.   It wasn’t “W”‘s fault, it wasn’t Bush’s fault, and it isn’t Trump’s fault.  The fan is blowing, and any shit that gets in the way of the fan is going to fly, and try to knock down or move and pulverize any non-living thing and kill any living thing in the shit-storm’s path.  And that’s not counting the water that rises like a molasses tidal wave and drowns anything that survives the wind.  I’m struck by the enormity of the storm- the width of hurricane-force winds is wider than Florida.  So kt could go straight over Florida and land again where Katrina filled up the bowl-shaped, below-sea-level city of New Orleans, near where Harvey was devastating just last week.  The water’s got nowhere to go and it’s already in a big pile in Texas.

Head for the hills.  And when you get to the hills, climb up a high one, partway.  And duck.  And pray.  If you can’t get to the hills, but you “Noah-guy” with a big boat, might want to get in that thing and head away, quickly.

I don’t think people have a sufficient long term memory.  They’ve forgotten Andrew, they think it might be similar to Katrina, but add 10 MPH to the car that just slammed into you doing 90 MPH and measure the difference in damage.  Now figure out the damage when the car is going just over twice that fast.  And the shit that gets hit and picked up by the fan?  That’s not exactly a bullet, but if it hits you it’s going to hurt.

Trump oversimplified but got it right.  “It could be something that will be not good.  Believe me, not good.”  He’s simple minded, speaking to a nation of simpletons, and to those who think they’re wise but are foolish.  How the hell is he so rich?  If making money is easy why can’t I figure that shit out?

I’m scared the most for the people who aren’t able to move- elderly, sick, poor.  I’m scared for people who have to stay to take care of them.  I’m scared the least for the people who refuse to move because they aren’t afraid and think the thing won’t be that bad.  On second thought, I’m scared the least for would-be looters.  Maybe we’ll lose a few of them to the storm, ::sarcasm spoiler alert::  Wouldn’t THAT just be tragic?

Lord, have mercy, anyway.


3:42 and nothing I usually do to counter the insomnia is working- I’m awake.

I know I’m tired and I know the workday will be more of a bitch than usual.

I cleaned the ceiling fan and light next to the kitchen.  I tried to just wipe off the blades and the outside globe around the light bulb with windex- still gross.  I tried a harsher spray cleaner.  Nothing.  So  I unscrewed all of the fan blades and took the globe off and washed everything with bleach and some kind of harsh soap, the only thing that would cut the grease.

I have a clean ceiling fan and I can’t sleep.  Long weekend with good and not-good all mixed in the stew-pot.  Tastes just like regular weekend, with a side of up-all-night

I’m staring at the clean ceiling fan for the celebratory effect.  One thing done right.  So much other shit that needs to be done.  I’m drained and exhausted and still awake and I have too much shit to do that I will have zero motivation four in the morning.

Pressing on.  Or maybe sleeping 2 hours.

So Long Gone

So Long Gone
09/01/2017, Deon Mumple

So long gone, I miss myself;
I miss you even more.
Walk, alone through lonely hell,
Flames don’t make me sore

So long gone, my anguish prays
Healing here, for our souls.
Love for you is all that stays
Hotter than white coals.

Heaven’s half heaven without you with me there
Though you’re not God, only you answer this prayer

So long gone, not forsaken,
Throne down, Earth’s harsh home,
Love given to be taken,
Given life to Rome.

So long gone, but here with you,
Pray sight for the blind,
Praying hope for hopeless too…
Is hope found, or does Hope find?

Love’s only half love when it is unrequited
Without True Love, my wrongs can’t be righted

So long gone, fighting the dark,
Grieving, my soul reaches to grief,
Though lost, I found One spark;
I pray Love brings relief.

So long gone, remember me,
Shedding rain-tears’ bitterness?
So long blind, sometimes I see
Love makes a difference.

(God, I ache for love, pain here, and for heaven’s home.
But Heaven’s half heaven without all I love. Let me not be alone.)

So long gone, I miss you so,
Though we’re so close, right here,
My heart, my love, my soul,
Silent, say you love me, dear.