III – Wisdom and Innocence

Wisdom and Innocence, 11/23/2018, Deon Mumple

I’m here living in a world where all the innocence is lost
We all said we didn’t want it, but we didn’t know the cost
I gave it up too cheap; I can’t afford to buy it back
Now the interest is so high no one bothers keeping track
But I wish I could have known it, without having ever known

Wisdom is for sale,  pray it doesn’t drive you insane
All that wisdom ever costs is higher premiums in pain
Mum tried to instill grace and faith, and some patience to wait
We gain wisdom looking backward, can’t go back ’cause it’s too late
But I wish I could have had it, before my bad habits had grown

I have no more time for patience.  Quick, my time is running out
The answers to life’s questions can’t all be brokenness and doubt
I want what every other broken person wants to find:
Some love, a little comfort, and a stack of peace of mind,
A few more answers to my prayers, some rest while I’m exhaust-
ed, while living in a world where all my innocence is lost.

If I’m Evil…

We’re not supposed to compare ourselves to other people in order to make ourselves look or feel better about ourselves, in a prideful, judgemental kind of way.  It’s come to my attention that I’m probably evil.  Evil is evil, isn’t it?  Or does it “[depend] on what the definition of ‘is’ is,” Bill? (I’m sure I misquoted that, to serve my nefarious ends. So, here’s the actual quote)

I know there are people who do evil things in less subtle ways.  I know there are people who do evil on a broader scope.  I know there are people who flagrantly break laws, and people who break laws more secretly.  I know there are people who have hidden their evil less carefully than I have so far.  But I confess.  I am more than “probably evil.”

I’m evil.

I looked at this list:  “12 Signs That You Are Dealing With an Evil Person,” compiled by Angela at MindvsBrain.com, and it’s like a mirror.  Sure, you can look all you want at her other list “13 Rare Traits of People With True Integrity” and THINK you see me.  But DO YOU?  REALLY?

Side Note: I went browsing for articles NOT written and submitted by Angela and I think MindVsBrain is her blog because I don’t see any other contributors, but it’s interesting.  I occasionally get to see my daughter involved with speech and debate, and the last meeting I attended was group presentations and discussion, with questions posed by local lawyers, regarding the constitution and certain current events.  I agreed with about 40 percent or less of what was opined, and disagreed with the other 60 or more percent based on personal experience, moral posturing, the logic of reductio ad absurdum, or political leanings based on historical precedent and my present circumstance and needs.  But disagreement aside, the presentation was well done.  And I view Angela’s blog, and several others, like that.

If I were a good blogger, and if I had more time, I might be able to explore subject matter on a broader scope and write quality, informative articles.  If I were a good blogger, I might disguise a derivative article, like this one, behind the guise of original inspiration.  However, for now and given my present circumstances and available time, I’ll recuse myself from the group of individuals I’d call “good bloggers.”  I’m not suggesting I’m an evil blogger.  I’m an evil PERSON.

So I looked at the list and did in fact dissect it for big ideas.  Item 1 says you’re evil if you lie to yourself.  Items 2 through 5 and 11 say you’re evil if you lie to other people. 6 through 8 say you’re evil if you pass the blame for things off onto other people when you’re culpable, you leave messes for others to clean up, you take credit for things others have done, and you push other people’s buttons.  OK, so maybe I’m not a master manipulator, but I’m working on it.  Give it time.  Items 9, 10, and 12 say you’re evil if you are only available to others  when it suits your agenda, in other words, you use people.  If you think item 12 is a special kind of evil, I’d say 11 may be worse.  I’m WAY cooler online than I am in real life.

I was criticized online recently because I had posted a video rather than saying something pithy and original.  In response to my critic, I offer this article, and the above, just to either say, 1) I’m sorry; you’re the BEST writer on the whole internet, and thank you for your constructively critical comments regarding …me… I confess, I’m probably not going to improve much, so if you want a better subject for grooming, or quality material, go to another blog, or, alternatively, to say, 2)”fuck you, you arrogant, self-centered, narcissistic, half-witted ass hole.”

But even in real life, I perceive a reality that COULD be, which is MUCH better than the one we have, and I think the laws of physics, and the way humans behave, SHOULD be my way (12, anyone?).  Imagine a world where people weren’t so fucking selfish.  Imagine a world where people acted in the interest of others rather than always having a self-serving side agenda.  If people like that were actually in our government?   Imagine a world in which, when you dropped your favorite coffee cup, pretty dish, or precious thing, it wouldn’t break, or it wouldn’t be lost forever.  That’s the world I want, and it’s very much in denial of reality.  There’s also a spiritual reality wherein I genuinely believe we all struggle, and I believe many people deny, or approach with the wrong perspectives.  It’s a realm in which we shouldn’t dabble or tinker with an eye toward acquiring power, and a realm in which when the check comes for payment, those you’ve allowed to have power over you will make you regret going there to dine.

Lying to other people?  I do that ALL the time.  “How are you doing, Deon?”  “I’m fine.”  I even lie to the doctor.  Well, inasmuch as I tell the doctor I feel OK, when sometimes I feel smothered by all the shit life deals out, and tell him I think the medications are “working fine, can we keep them like this?”  Is there a “thumbs up” meme that completely denies reality somewhere?  Because if so, then that.  To a degree, they ARE working fine and to a degree, my fear that tweaking them will fuck my brain up more motivates me to want them to NOT be changed.  “Are you going to do the dishes and take out the trash tonight, Deon?”  “Sure, honey.”  And then it all sits untouched until the next morning, or the next, or the next weekend, because I’m even more exhausted and overwhelmed than Mrs. M, but I’m supposed to be strong and capable.  Or experience tightly-controlled mania.  “We’re going to be changing your schedule again, Deon.  And can you tighten up on work so you can do more for the same amount of money?  “‘Cause, that’d be great.”  “Sure, no problem, but hopefully when the next schedule change comes around you can put it back.”  Fuck.  I hate the new schedule almost more than last time she made me take the ass end of the workday.  But it’s better than unemployment, which would represent an even worse kind of change.  And I’m not angry about everything being so messed up and uncontrollable, “no, not much,” as the song goes.

Maybe you’ve read this and the other two articles and think I’m not so bad.  But what about what I did, or didn’t do, that I didn’t tell you because it would make me look REALLY bad (3)?  And what about my desire to control things so they don’t change and mess me and my life up more than it’s already messed (12)?

I’ve said all of this, it’s all (at least half (4,5) ) true, and I don’t regret confessing it for a minute (6).  If you don’t believe me, or don’t agree with me, it must be your fault (7).  And if you’ve read Angela’s articles and then read mine, expecting something of value from Deon, I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time (10).

As usual, I apologize to the readers who are gluttons for punishment and continue to read my blog hoping for better writing.  But if you’re a glutton for pun-ishment, you’re going to LOVE this news:  Finally, finally, they’re filming a movie called “Clocks in Hell.”  It’s about damned time!

I’m Sorry for Eclipsing Truth and Love

I don’t think it’s the depression talking yet.  It could be, or it could be I had an epiphany today.  The pastor didn’t even suggest this, so if it was epiphanous, I’ll take it even though I didn’t really like it.  I thought about myself, my blog, my character, and people in my life and social (and web) circles, and about God.  I thought about who I want to be, compared to how God wants me to be, and who I currently am.  There’s a wide gap between those last two.

For that, in a way I owe everyone an apology, if they’ve read my blog, or my life, for signs of something different I should be showing.  In a way, maybe not.  In the “not” way, I’m who I am, being shaped by the wrestling match between my hopes and dreams and the life I actually have, and the continual frustration of trying to find a path to get from here to reaching those dreams.  I feel helpless and when I do try to do things toward success, so far it hasn’t worked.

But in the way I owe the apology, it’s for this:  I’m a Christ-follower, but I don’t follow very well.  Sometimes (OK, a LOT of the time) the selfishness and anger and frustration, etc., are too much and I don’t communicate very clearly.  I’m supposed to be a reflection of God.  I’m supposed to show His character- His love, His truth, His holiness (that’s a weird word, it’s attributed to God and it means His “different-ness.”)

The moon is supposed to reflect the sunlight and shine it on the earth at night.  But occasionally, the moon gets between the earth and the sun, and instead of reflecting the sun’s light, it blocks it and casts a shadow.  It’s all very science-y and math-y, but ratios of mass and distance work out so that during those events, the light is blocked, and in some places at some times, it’s completely blocked.  Where I live, there will be an eclipse today, and the moon is going to block out something like 90% of the sun’s light.

My epiphany yesterday was, maybe I’m blocking out God’s glory, His truth, His love, and the validity of His promises, because I’m not reflecting them.  I’m in the way.  So yesterday, in the middle of a sermon about something completely different

(no, the pastor did NOT teach anything from Monty Python’s Flying Circus), I wept and prayed.

You all THINK I’m a guy full of words- angry, bitter words about how people have been disappointing and how I’m trying to be supportive in spite of their lack of reciprocity.  Occasionally, I have a lot of words about how I care about people and try to support and encourage others, guide my kids and family, and train my slow-to learn, sometimes frightened, all the time stubborn, and occasionally openly angry dog (who is still a lot like his master in many ways).  I still have those hopes and dreams, despite the crushing nature of my emotional swings, and the events in my life.  I rant on about a lot of things and I use a lot of words.  But my prayer, unbelievably, all fit in two words.  I prayed for God’s forgiveness for being that very poor reflection of Jesus.  And I prayed for God to make me into a better one.

All the moon needs to do to stop blocking the sun is get out of the way.   For a Christ-follower to be a better reflection of Jesus, it takes a little more.  To reflect His character, we have to study it, a bit like a son idolizes his dad, or if his dad is like me, maybe his grandpa or one of his uncles makes a better role model.  Or, like an idiot studies a celebrity and tries to be just like that.  It takes a long time to do it right.  Those really good comedians you might watch who do the impressions spend about 5000 hours, to start, to learn and mimic the vocal, facial, and bodily mannerisms of the person they’re modeling themselves after.  But in a cosmic kind of way, I realized I’m not important, so it doesn’t matter if the reflection of God’s character comes from me, although I would like to be the person in your life who shows you that God is good, in spite of how hard life is.  So my prayer was simplified because I realized that maybe I matter, maybe I don’t, but it’s not up to me.  It’s up to God to use who He wants to use, to shine on whomever he chooses to shine.  If I’m back behind a better Christ-follower, eclipsed like the moon when the earth blocks the sun’s light, it’s fine.  I don’t want anyone to watch me as the great example of Jesus’ love, because I suck at it sometimes (OK, most of the time).

I want people to be attracted to Jesus, like they were when He was doing his life and ministry on earth.  I want people to see better examples, as clearly as possible.  I don’t want to block them, or God Himself, from shining on others. I don’t want to be the reason someone decides, “if this guy is a Christ-follower and his life still sucks, I want no part in following his God.”

I want people to consider following Jesus, enough to look in a Bible and check into it.  I want people to read about Jesus, and the Christian way, straight from their Bible, enough to actually give Jesus a shot, rather than just ignoring the possibility that Christ could offer more than what they hope for right now.  I want people to know that God IS good, and he DOES make a positive difference in a lot of ways.  The trials and natural consequences of life and scars and hardships don’t go away, but He gives a better strength to endure, a better patience, a far-better and eternal hope, and a desire to reach out and show others that He cares.  That’s why I keep trying; that’s how I’m so (so-called) “high functioning.”   I want everyone in my life to see Him, not my poor example of trying and failing I don’t want to eclipse Him.  So I prayed this:

Move me.

To Give, or Not to Give (a Fuck)

There are days when I care, days when I’d like to think I don’t care, and days, like today, when I wish I could stop caring.  I don’t want to give a fuck about anyone or anything, but instead,

I care too much about stupid politicians and politics.  I care too much that idiots are the faces of the politics of the World, of the United States, and of the individual states of the United States.  If idiots weren’t in charge, I firmly believe that basic, needed things would be affordable to anyone who works a full time job, or anyone who is retired and has paid into Social Security, or anyone retired or disabled from our military service, or anyone legitimately disabled and unable to work.  We, and our children, need basic things:  food, clothing, shelter.  We need medical, dental, and optical care, and medicine.  If selfish idiots weren’t in charge, taxes would pay for services the government is needed for, and infrastructure maintenance, and we wouldn’t need special extra gas taxes, cigarette taxes, liquor taxes, and toll roads.  A flat tax paid for consumption or use would be fine, but that should eliminate income tax.  Instead, we pay twice for what we should pay once, and someone or some ones in the middle of it are raking in the bucks.

I mentioned yesterday that I’m paying about five times what I borrowed for the house, instead of just paying it back with a reasonable interest rate.  And thank God I know about loan types, or we might have gone with an adjustable rate mortgage (A.R.M.- that’s what it costs when the rates are “adjusted.”), or worse, a loan with a balloon payment at the end.  It’s bad enough the part of the monthly payment that goes toward reducing the principle is less than 20% of the total payment demanded.  My trouble (first world fucking problems!) is that an assessor went through our crap neighborhood last year and decided my house is worth more than I’m paying (translation, tax assessors and other middle-men can get more money out of me), so they raised the taxes on my house to match the value they say it’s now worth.  Except I signed an agreement to pay a specified amount for 30 years and now the government and the bank and the tax assessors are in collusion with one another, dicking around with it and saying now I have to pay more than I agreed to pay when we signed the papers, FUCKERS!

If I get a raise, the damned government figures out a way to suck that away before I get to touch it.  Raise taxes, reduce benefits, arbitrarily design a “fuck-you, taxpayer” fee I didn’t know I had to pay.  Meanwhile certain people who know how to work the system eat better food than I can afford from my job’s wages, and if I make literally a single $1 too much over a six month period, they are going to pull what benefits I DO benefit from out from under me and make me pay full market price for them (insurance), even though that $1 more doesn’t do shit to relieve the burdens that make me grovel and beg for that assistance, because now my house is allegedly worth more.  It’s only worth more if I try to sell it, but since I’m still paying for it, it seems to me that it’s worth the same as what it was worth when I started paying for it.  The insurance company and the bank and the government want me homeless and helpless and bankrupt, or (actually, “and,”) they don’t want to help.  Why the fuck is that?

Buy a tire and you pay for tires, then mounting and balancing, then valve stems, then tire disposal, then alignment, and then, if you’re wise, for a protection plan because roads have potholes and nails and screws and abandoned disintegrated tire “gators,” and other shit left by litterers and road construction crews and whoever else, not to mention the local fauna.  Valve stems, really?  Like, if you bought a tire it wouldn’t come with fucking valve stems from how they’re manufactured.  Disposal, really?  Like if I don’t want to take the old tire home with me and throw it in my own trash, I have to pay an extra fee for the tire shop to have a guy throw it in the dumpster out back.  I get the other fees, someone has to do mounting, balancing and alignment so the tires will work, and so they’ll last.  But there should be a better way to structure that or to bill for that.

A home loan payment shouldn’t be five-plus times the amount of the principle of the loan.  That tells me several ass holes are lining their pockets with way too damn much (go ahead, insert meme) of my money and probably a few million other wishful would-be homeowners’ money.  Buying feels right though, to finally own something rather than being a renter forever and never having any kind of personal security, or building equity.  If you rent, I’m fine with it and I don’t think any less of you.  I know good reasons to rent, not the least of which is if you don’t own it you shouldn’t have to shell out cash to fix it under conditions of normal use.  Like renting a car, if you just drive it a few days you should only have to put gas in it, not pay to change the oil and pay to rotate and balance new tires for it.

I want a King Solomon for President.  Someone who is wise enough to design systems that actually work, that help people, and who is politically savvy enough to not put us on the brink of World War III every time he opens his mouth, and to not try to just hand over the keys of the country to other countries every time she opens her mouth.  I want a King Solomon for state governor, who will help people beyond basic needs.  We need employment from employers who will pay a fair and decent living wage, and reward loyalty by paying higher-than-entry-fucking-level wages to people who stay with a company.  The governor should hire reputable companies to build and maintain the infrastructure of his state, and oversee the other important concerns of his or her constituency.  The governor, or his trusted appointees, should be able to step in when a constituent is being treated unfairly.

I want a King Solomon for an employer, who trains and promotes and pays higher wages to those from within, rather than hiring from the outside and paying them the same as what I earn after 10 years and calling that an entry level wage.  When I found out that basically unless I made a lot of noise about it they were happy to keep me under  everyone’s thumbs, if I were prone to uncontrollable rage, instead of festering, I’d have driven down to corporate with guns, killed a few select people and gotten myself either killed, or earned 3 square meals and a bed, workout facilities, a legal library to study and earn a law degree, and total dependence on the government and my cellmates.

I care too much about my family.  If I were a selfish ass hole of a man, I could have earned a divorce years ago, instead of 25 years of marriage.  I could tell the courts I’m helpless, find a “sugar momma” to bed, and live off of her excesses and indulgences and leave my ex wife and kids to sink or swim on their own and not pay any child support.  Instead I’m home helping with housework and home repair and improvements if I can afford them and school homework and gas money and car maintenance if I know how to do it myself (MUCH cheaper) and working my ass off and praying for college scholarships because I don’t want to work until I’m 150 years old to pay off the debt and usury, adding the extra penalties and fees for not dying soon enough.  Because the working poor are supposed to work two and three and more jobs just to survive, and die of heart attacks when they turn 42.  I’ve outlived that shit, thankfully, at least so far.  But caring is stressful.

I care too much about my neighborhood and local things.  Instead of hearing about the latest murder victims, kidnapping victims, rape victims, robbery victims, I want the news to lead with the story they try to close with on a slow day.  And I want more news stories like that every day.  I want my neighborhood and my city to be shown what can happen when visionary people who aren’t completely heartless ass holes decide to keep trying.  But instead I get the other shit, for 28 minutes every morning if I only watch for 30, and then 2 minutes of a veteran who gets to be in a parade and go for a short ride in a nice fancy car because he’s 90-something and someone wanted to do something nice for him before he died.

I want people to be celebrated and be on the news for doing the nice things.  Why the fuck do we have 28 out of 30 minutes on the weather, the traffic, the mayhem, and only 2 for the people doing something nice?  I can understand 13 on weather and traffic.  But do the other 15 have to be wasted on how horrible some people are?  Flip that shit and do the opposite.  If it’s in the interest of public safety, fine, tell us to lock up our daughters and wives, or tell us the infrastructure is crumbling and we need a new bridge built over the overpass so there will be diverted traffic, fine, report that.  But otherwise,

Why can’t we hear about Girl Scout Gold Award winners, Boy Scout Eagle Scout Award Winners, and their service projects?  Why don’t we hear about foundations making grants and setting up programs to help retirees make it on their fixed social security and medicare, or churches feeding the hungry and sheltering the homeless, and sending out a small army of people to help seniors and disabled citizens with their house- and yard- work and gutters, washed dishes and laundry, vacuuming, companionship, trips to the local community center or to a nice restaurant for a meal?

Why can’t we hear about the people who got the full-ride scholarship to a local college (, and can those recipient be my daughter and son when they graduate)? Why can’t we hear about how Mrs Mumple has managed to not murder or kick Mr. M to the curb, through 25 years and two children?  Why can’t we hear about the mystery generous guy (or lady, I’m not going to give it back because of a gender issue) who just out of the blue decided to hand Deon Mumple a check for a few million dollars with enough extra to pay the tax on that?  That hasn’t happened yet, I’m just putting it out there for that person, whomever they are, so they know there’s room over here for their anonymous donation.
I’m quite certain there’s at least 13 minutes of those kinds of stories that could be told, every day, instead of all the guns and evil.  Maybe if we celebrated the good, instead, there would be more of that, and less of the shit we glorify on TV EVERY fucking day.  Kids looking for role models won’t find them on TV or in the news or media.  All they’ll find are idiots, idiot politicians, cheap-ass business tycoons, and criminals, including murderers and robbers and rapists and vandals and other thugs, not that those genres are never cross-populated.  And the worst thing about putting those role-models on the television and media is, that THE AIMLESS KIDS ARE FOLLOWING THEIR LEAD.

The way it’s run right now I wish I could just not give a fuck.  But alas, I do in fact care, and try to do small things to make it better.  I volunteer a little time out of my life whenever I can, or whenever I can figure out how to schedule it even though I don’t think I can, because I can make a tiny difference by showing up to sweat for someone who needs help.  Because I care, I wish other people gave a fuck too, instead of the standard issue what’s-in-it-for-me and how-can-I-profit-and-screw-the-other-person’s-welfare that I see in the world, in American politics, and in modern corporate America.  I either need enough money so I don’t have to care and then I need to learn the lessons from the above assholes, OR, I need a LOT more people to start giving a fuck about someone other than themselves.

I understand.  We’re all under the same shitty management.  The old managerial ass holes were all taught the same thing, doesn’t matter which hoity-toity school their dads bought their business or law degrees from.  Which means, nobody reading this has shit, unless a bored billionaire is looking for people to condescend to.  I’m willing, in exchange for a few million dollars, to be treated with condescension.  Go ahead.  But if you’re not a bored billionaire looking for a charity case you might only have a few bucks extra here and there.  That’s most of the readers out there that I know about.  I know you need your not-coffee, but how about buying one less cup of not-coffee from Starbucks, and giving that money to a cause I care way too much about.  Click here:


Please.  Really.  She and her daughter ARE a worthy cause.  I may care too much, but until her tiny goal is far surpassed, I feel that not enough support is being shown to these two deserving young ladies.  What the hell, if you ARE a bored billionaire, how about giving a few million to Ms. N., instead of me.  I’ll be fine, probably.  Or, we’re both willing to accept donations if you’ve got it like that.  But we both need enough for it to be an actual blessing, not just enough to cut their benefits off, or cut my kids’ health insurance benefits off at the knees and make me work 3 jobs to pay the extra costs.  If you’re gonna give and you can give big, give big, and may God bless you back for being a blessing from your abundance.  If you’re gonna give and you can only afford little, give and may my God bless you back for being a blessing out of your own need.


Obsessed, 07/19/2017, Deon Mumple

When I wake up, you’re on my mind,
Add the chaos of routine every day,
When routine’s never quite routine, I find,
It’s to routine, I wish I could get away.

I sip my coffee, check, and think of you,
Try to smile, check, and to start to pray.
There isn’t ever enough time to do
Everything, and change is here to stay.

The hornets’ nest spins at the queen’s command,
Minions rise to detest her fair bidding,
I throw guesses in a bag, to face work’s demands,
With blurred eyes.  Don’t imagine I’m kidding.

She might kiss, brutally, before she’s mini-vanned
Well-hid exhaustion behind beautiful flurry
Then I regret everything failed I’d planned, and
Check again, then rush off, in my own too-slow hurry.

Radio drones simulate everything’s great; all stupidity,
As we drive to work, dodging two-plus ton bullets,
Too much laughter at things that aren’t funny,
Then a song, the only escape we might get.

On the outside pretending I give a shit for work goals,
I think of you, when not spitting silent bile at my screens,
Hope you’re all right, remembering your life’s tolls,
Wait for a break, hope you’ve written anything.

I might write, stealing time from a self-made hole,
Leave the reader wondering what it means
Don’t be alarmed, the writer would barely know
Tomorrow, from yesterday’s routines

Don’t worry, I’ve got a routine to hang from
Don’t alarm yourself for my emotional state
If change shreds all, who knows what will come?
Would it be worse than what I now hate?

Before I try to sleep, I check one more time,
To see if you’ve checked in, in some tiny way,
An email,  rant, a narrative, a tear, a smile, a line
Just to know, bad as it may be, you’re relatively ok.

I want at least that piece of peace of mind,
That peace of my world, as intact as you can be
Despite life’s grind, the rewind, and regrind
And I am sorry if I ever make you worry.

Compared to the alternatives I know are possible-
I’d rather not read about you from any other source
Though my normal seems comparatively dull
Routines, checking, checking, rechecking of course

If routine disappeared from the queen’s kingdom
I’d just worry more, for her, her minions, and you.
If you’ve not written, you’re who I’m waiting to hear from,
Call me obsessed; I’m just your biggest fan, being true.

The Love Poem I Can’t Seem to Write (Songs for My Tribe)

The Love Poem I Can’t Seem to Write (Songs for My Tribe)
06/29/2017, Deon Mumple

It’s still not good enough, I’ve written the same poem four times now.
I keep trying to say it just right, keep trying, but I don’t really know how.
How do you say this thing, this feeling? What are the right words?
I don’t want to say the same sounds I know you’ve already heard.

It didn’t turn out those times before, when your hope needed fulfilled
And those last two times, when you swore, no more, after the dream was killed
I don’t want to be that way,  I want to be different, and never see you hurt
But I know the times I’ve failed before, don’t trust me,  trust me, you’ll get burned

I’ve written this poem five times now, just trying to say it right
I want to make the promises and keep them, so we always win the fight
I want to be superhuman, and be heroic, but at the same time, be real,
But I don’t feel real; I’m up and down without flying, can’t even control how I feel.

I’ve written this poem six times now, and it’s never going to be perfect
The same as I know about you and me, but I’m not, and you’re not, and we’re not.
I’m afraid, you’re afraid, it’s not going to work, but I hope you’ll give it a shot.
Like this poem, I’m trying to write it right, and keep on writing it wrong,
Me versus verses that don’t have choruses, and a form that’s far from correct
Sometimes even the best composers build a bridge to write a decent love song.

I’ve written this poem seven times, this is the last time, then I’m through.
It may never be exactly right, about like trying on the wrong sized shoe,
But if a hope is just deferred but somehow I know it was meant to come true,
Maybe mixed up words will make the longing fulfilled, so I can win and keep you.

Sad Song Day

I heard this morning, although NOT on the TV News, for fuck’s sake, that the absolute best male vocalist I have ever had the pleasure of hearing sing has “died suddenly.” “Soundgarden frontman Chris Cornell has died after a sold-out Detroit concert on Wednesday, May 17, at age 52.”  With the news media being so much about awful shit happening in the world, why did I not know about this until 11AM.  To soften the blow, I suppose.

He had a history.  I’ve read that when he was a teenager, he suffered from some depression and wrote this song about it:

His voice has been silenced now, and he was only 51. But damn it, he was awesome. The cause of death has yet to be released.  The police are investigating his death as a possible suicide.

Image result for sign letters F uck.

When I was 14 I was “deeply troubled.”  I never got counseling for it, but I did talk to one of my school teachers about it a little.  What I was, was depressed, deeper than I’d ever felt ever before.  I wanted to die.  I wrote my suicide note.

There was self loathing, from personal, physical defects, there was bullying, there was teen angst, there was worry and hopelessness about the future, there was a lot of self-doubt, there were people I thought were my friends who had hurt me, there was the same shit I suppose everyone lives with.  I decided not to act at the time.  I think I burned the suicide note, but I should have kept it.  I don’t remember what it said.

Some people are ass holes.  Shit, a LOT of people are ass holes.  Some life circumstances are shit.  And when the universe fucker decides to fuck with someone, they’re fucked.  Because whatever shit can come at you, comes in from all directions and I don’t care if you’re a nearly sinless holy-rolling, Christ-Following SAINT, you will NOT endure with the patience of Job.  I never asked for the tests, and when they came, I failed.  And when they come, I still fail.  I mean, we can read what we’re supposed to do, and we can brag like Peter did, but when it happens, it sucks.  Work, that merely sucked before, just like everyone else’s jobs, is raised to nearly impossible levels of expectation.  Friends and/or family abandon you, or die.  Strangers, acquaintances, friends, and family do shitty, selfish things at your expense.  Your shit starts to fall apart faster than you can fix or replace it.  Time becomes an impossible archvillain conspiring against you.  Your own body rebels from the stress, and you’re in real pain, and doctors claim that shit is all in your head.  And your back is misaligned and hurts when you don’t move and hurts more when you do, and makes your body hurt all over and not want to move and you still force yourself because whatever it is still has to be done, and no one else is going to do it, and the bills still have to be paid, so you go to work with your walking pneumonia and deal with it.  And what’s worse, frequently, family shows they’re selfish ass holes, taking you and everything you do for granted and only expecting and demanding more.  Oh wait.  Is that just me?  Somehow I doubt it.  Because storms come into everyone’s lives.

Depression sucks.  FUCK YOU DEPRESSION!! I’m not feeling anything else but depressed, but I think depression desperately likes to be felt, because nobody really WANTS to feel it.  So it gloms onto some poor schmuck and feels like animate, living darkness and emptiness, hopelessness, soul-deep self-hatred and waste and rejection, sucking at the soul.  But what’s worse, is suicide.

Suicide sucks.  FUCK YOU SUICIDE!

I think that’s why I decided not to kill myself.  I thought about it, and sticking around to stick it to the universe fucker whenever I get my chances at revenge seems like more fun than surrendering to death.  Even small acts of vengeance are better than letting that black-hearted shithead win.

Damn it, Chris.

He had a wife and a family.  And now they don’t have him.  That’d be another reason I haven’t killed myself.  For as much as I feel taken for granted, I know that it’s rewarding in the long run to be strong, steady, present, loving, and helpful.  I may scar my family emotionally, but they’ll be shallower cuts than just up and leaving suddenly and without adequate explanation.  Not that I’m not scarring them, not that I’m all that strong or whatever.  I suck, but I’m all the dad they’ve got.  I’m not leaving on purpose.

I don’t want to know the cause of death, but I’m sure as soon as those ghouls in the news room get the report, we’ll have to hear all that shit a million times in one morning.  And it probably was suicide, but I think that’s a lousy way to deal with a midlife crisis.  After the news dries up and moves to something more wet, then we’ll have the fucking bio-pic glamourizing both the rock star lifestyle and the death, to “help the audience understand his choice.”  Well, fuck that.  On the plus or minus side, depending on how hard I grieve, I get to hear his music on the radio for a while, just like they did to Prince, and Michael Jackson and Elvis.

Even if it was an “accident,” or something not brought on by Mr. Cornell, it still sucks.  It just sucks worse if it was suicide.  Death by drugs and/or alcohol is the same as suicide to me, so there you have my perspective for what it’s worth.

We common people don’t get treated like that on the news.

Honestly, I feel a kind of aware-of-the-air-molecules soul pain from the loss of Chris Cornell.  He wasn’t family; I didn’t know him personally.  I’m not your typical fanboy and I don’t plan to follow.  But this sucks.

Your voice was strong and beautiful and hopeful for humanity, and angry at the universe fucker, and now we have to carry on without your voice sounding the battle cry.  You told us what to tell that old lying bastard who wanted us to hurt ourselves and hurt others including our own families, and kill ourselves, and now you’re gone.

At least I still hear the echo:

So here’s the message to the universe fucker:



Say it again, this time, LOUDER!!

I miss you already, Chris.

Alone in Crowds of People

Did I choose this, or did it happen, chance, or a deliberate accident?
I’m with people all the time, who act like they care, but they don’t.
When it comes down to it, the crowd doesn’t care for the crowd,
Only the one cares for the one, the megaphoned silence says out loud.

I’m alone at work with my stress, my work, and there’s always a little more work,
If the counters counted my value, my boss wouldn’t have to be a jerk,
I’m alone when at home, surrounded by drivers who thrive
On my silent drives: duty and responsibility, their manipulative connive

I’m alone at my church, good enough to work and serve, but not good,
Until I worship, alone, a God Who has turned away, and well He should,
Alone, surrounded by my crowds of strangers, I know, and want to know
Alone, while they dare to claim their care, I think it’s a hell of a show

I’m alone, surrounded by significants who ignore my insignificance,
Alone, wondering if everyone else feels they’re alone, in a trance,
Or if they’re really not there, why they seem so real, while they’re ignoring me
Did this start because I wanted to be left alone, or through emotional injury?

All I know is I don’t like what I know about being alone any more,
I’ve been pushed away,  until I learned to push away, and my heart’s left alone and sore
It’s been a long blur of lonely, I’m a stranger to myself, alone long enough to question-
I begin to wonder if I pushed first or they, and if, maybe, it’s time to try to trust again.

Are you lonely only because I left you alone? If I left you, I’m truly sorry.
But I’m terrified from being hurt before, if you look close enough to see.
I’m sad and tired from loneliness, but lonely’s a safe place to stay
So I’ll leave you alone forever again, if you hurt me and push me away.

Thirty Seconds

Thirty minutes becomes thirty seconds in just a few blinks of the eye,
Thirty seconds, a shadow beckons; we can’t hide from time, but we lie,
Makeup, plastic surgery, thirty thrice wrinkles, all covered, and we still die

Thirtyseconds, a fraction of fractions, a miniscule piece of a pie,
Thirtyseconds, blurred musical motion, I can hear it, but not count that high,
A bite, a taste, a tiny tease. I want much more of both, please!  Can I try?

Thirty seconds and only one winner; after first place all others are not,
Thirtyseconds, three and one eighth percents.  Math in a poem?  Why not?
How much of a fifth is a thirtysecond? I’d give that problem …a shot.

Saying “Yes” and Saying “When.”

I can’t remember exact dates (sorry, every significant other EVER) except my birthday, Christmas, my wife’s birthday most of the time, Valentine’s day, and our anniversary (awww!).  I remember some dates, some of the time. But don’t ask me for a cousin’s birthday, or an in-law’s birthday, or worse, one of their kids’ birthdays.  How rambly of me.  All that to build the foundation for this:

There was a recent time, maybe just a few years ago but I can’t remember, when it was a popular fad for success speakers to tell their cultish followers to “say yes” to whatever life offered, whether it was a success or a disaster or an invitation to go somewhere, or a chance to experience something new or “accidentally” die while parachuting or diving with sharks in Australia.  If you’re going to say “yes” to something, each of you should send me $20 …and that would result in me receiving about $…. zero dollars, because I LOVE my readers but I know both of them are broke.  You know who you are, do NOT send me $20.  If you have extra, spend it on something nice for you because I love you and you should love you too, you beautiful darlin’ you.

And indeed we should say yes to whatever the universe brings, because everyone knows the universe is a benevolent place that wants to give good things to everyone.  Right?  Oprah says it, along with several success preachers and motivational speakers.  Which means that the universe is friends with success preachers, motivational speakers, and Oprah, and basically, possible early life trauma notwithstanding, these people either ask for, or tell, “the universe” what they want, and they get it, or they twist the universe’s nipple and MAKE it give them what they want,  and then they teach people that they should be able to do the same.

Horse shit.

Have you READ Newton’s laws?

Have you seen anyone ever die, or worse, commit suicide? The universe is NOT my friend, the universe sucks ass, and a lucky few get what they want. What’s worse, the universe doesn’t owe me shit, so I can’t just go expecting that it’ll pay me if I’m good enough.

If there is such a thing as karma, it doesn’t seem to matter how good some people are, or try to be.  We only see the outside of a person, so we can’t judge.  And if we’re honest with ourselves, we know who we really are on the inside.  Which is why I know the universe doesn’t owe me shit.  I wish it did.  And for my second wish, I wish it’d start paying up.

I DO believe in spiritual forces.  I believe in God.  Laugh all you want; I don’t care.  If there wasn’t a God with a plan to ultimately save me, I’d be fucked worse than I am, and I’d just end it, which I don’t think is a good choice.  If you follow the link, I was thinking of verse 19.  But because I believe, I’m staying through the movie until the end of the credits.  Who knows?  Maybe there’s a blooper reel and maybe it’s actually funny.  I doubt it though.  Well, maybe it’ll be funny at the end after the story starts making more sense.

The “Say Yes” movement has been around for at least long enough for a few books and motivational speakers to start sucking money from people who are trend-followers, and there are many, or people who are desperate, and there are a few, or people who forward those emails around that say if you forward it you’ll receive good and if you don’t your groin will be infested with scorpions.

I’d be a success preacher but I think you’re supposed to actually believe what you’re preaching, not just in it for the money.  Or the power.  Or the sex.  Oh wait, that only happens to rock stars and politicians.  Or does it?  Fuck me, maybe I should be a rock star, or a success preacher.  Maybe not, I mean, Freddy Mercury died of rock stardom, along with a host of others.  Anyway, anyone who tells you to affirm yourself is fine, but anyone who tells you all you have to do to have [fill-in-the-blank] is either just take it, or ask the universe to deliver it to your door is peddling swamp water as the fountain of youth, snake oil as demon repellent, crystals and magnets and fucking rocks on strings as charms to attract good things, and nuggets of bull shit they say are actually made of gold.  “But wait, there’s more!  You also get this prayer cloth imbued with my personal forehead and/or neck sweat, that I personally prayed over so you’d get a blessing from sending me your money.”

If you had a healthy ovum, a genetic splicing machine, and a laboratory, you could quite possibly clone your own televangelist with one of those prayer cloths. (See also “The Big Bang Theory, The Gift Hypothesis.“)  Or, Bitch Televangelist. (See also “Family Guy, Quagmire’s Baby.“)  See, I used to like tv and stuff, but depression sucks all that up.  I used to like some other things too, at least a few times, but if certain other people don’t like the same stuff, it’s not going to happen again any time soon and THAT is further depressing.

We Christ followers are supposed to be a special lot, and we’re supposed to celebrate when shit happens.  (See James 1, or I Thessalonians 5:18, or Philippians 4:4.  Woo hoo, more shit!  Halle-fucking-lujah.

This weekend, I had the good fortune to be alone except for the dog.  While I revelled in the solitude most of the time, I felt a lack of motivation except to do the things that absolutely needed to be done, and I did them when I damned well felt like it.  I should have asked the universe for controlled mania (oxymoronic of me, no?) so I could get MORE shit done.  I did small things, when big things could have been done.  Or should have been done.  I did not do sufficient self-care.  And I really should have.  But I’ve been depressed and don’t have motivation for that.  I SHOULD do it for myself, but I only want to do it for Mrs. M., and she doesn’t care and isn’t interested right now.  Mrs M. can go from “I’m so busy!” to “Zzzzzzz!!” in three fucking seconds.  Yep, I’ve got me a fast woman.  Hooray!)

I did do a small list of things that you might think is a lot, but when you look at life through Mrs M’s eyes, or her trained minions, not so much.  Rather than taking over the world like I COULD have, I only walked the dog on the long hike three times, fed the dog and his best friend, washed all the dishes and put them away, washed, dried, folded and put away a few loads of laundry, emptied the lint trap so the house wouldn’t burn down, took out the trash and recycling, mowed the grass, spread weed & feed on it for the dandelions and damnedythistles to die, fucking weeds, DIE, emptied the vacuum cleaner in preparation for really cleaning it, took the dog to his obedience class so he could learn not to be an ass hole (are there human obedience classes?  No, DON’T tell me, and STOP LAUGHING!  I’M not the one who needs to sign up.  Or am I?  Shut UP!!) …and so on.  I also picked up my son after his scout camping trip and helped him wash and put away his tent, and wash his laundry, after which I dried and folded it and made him put it away.

I don’t know, it seemed like a lot to me.  I also did some other tidying up and putting away of miscellaneous things around the house, in the yard, and in the garage.  I may have wiped off a few counters and tables, I think I did but don’t make me swear to it because someone would bitch they found a wet place on the counter over here, or a place that’s still sticky from something they fucking spilled before they left.  It wasn’t immaculate, or anywhere close.  I didn’t do any writing, I had a beer and then the next day a small amount of whiskey, but not enough to get intoxicated, and I also wasted a few hours on Netflix Criminal Minds.  (Horatio: ) “Looks like this one… tried to put too much weekend ::sunglasses on:: …into his weekend!  YYEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

But there comes a point, (I’m GETTING to the point already, shut UP!) and I’ve reached it, where one has said “yes” to the universe one too many times, and needs to say “when.” Not this “when,”

but the opposite “when,” for when saying “when” means “stop!”  Funniest “Say When” cartoon ever:  https://nightowlet.wordpress.com/2014/03/13/its-been-one-of-those-days/

When… Mrs M and my daughter and son were all finally home we all gathered around the rotisserie style chicken I went to the store to find.  Everyone started talking about their weekends, but quickly devolved back into nit picking shit and somehow it was my fault whatever it was wasn’t done right, from the dishes I washed in the fucking dishwasher that weren’t clean enough, to the state of the laundry that wasn’t brought near the washing machine so I’d have a clue it needed washing, to why this or that was done the way it was done or why this or that wasn’t done.  Thank GOD I had more wine.  I poured a glass Sunday night.  “The dishes I washed aren’t clean?  The house isn’t clean enough?  You can’t find your gym uniform?  You’re frustrated because I’m less communicative than you want?  You need me to [fill in the blank task] tonight, tomorrow, before 5AM?  ::I pour more wine, like a whispered, liquid “fuck you.”::  Do go on and tell me about your weekend adventures.  And tell me more about how little you appreciate what I do.

In the spirit of more and more shit adding itself to my life, whether I want it or not, whether I celebrate it or not, whether I want to say “yes” or say “when,” one of my dear family members backed up the downstairs toilet and one of my dear family members thinks unsightly things should be put away so they can never be found by anyone, heaven forbid house guests, GOD forbid friends, and heaven help family members, so they put away the fucking plunger so well I couldn’t find it to fix the toilet.  Hooray!  This same person likes to put the vacuum cleaner (full of dirt and hair I vacuumed up) out in the garage so it’s as far away from practical use as possible.  Then mum called and wanted me to find something she had given us, worried that it was lost or thrown out.  Something nice, to be sure, but I didn’t have the first clue where to look since when I put things where I want them, they get moved.  See also, the vacuum cleaner and the plunger.  If you see them, can you please tell me where the fuck they are?  And, is there more wine?

It has been one of those days.  One of those weekends.  One of those weeks.  One of those months.  I’m fucking sick of it and tired of everyone and everything, and people wonder why I want to be a damned hermit.  For fucks’ sake (from one person, quite literally), I want to be celebrated and enjoyed and praised and encouraged by people when I do something nice for them, not criticized, pushed away, yelled at, discouraged, and watch as more demands are placed on my ebbing energy.

Maybe it’s just my depression talking, but I am more and more convinced the universe has nipples.  Why else would almost everyone I know SUCK?!  I wish people would figure out how to latch on correctly, instead of latching on to MY LIFE.  And if a certain significant other HAS to suck, can I tell her where and how to latch on?

Speaking of things that suck, now I need to go find the plunger and the vacuum cleaner so I can deal with shit and show more dirt where to go.  Before someone tells me how and when “it needs to be done,” (the “right” way, now, by me) rather than just fucking doing it themself.  Seriously, I am motivated more by seeing something that needs to be done and NOT being told to, and how to, do it.  Being told how to do it, or being told to do it, is the opposite of motivational.  It sucks my energy and unction down until my soul is empty and I want to disappear.

I’ve seen a few things that need to be done, and I’m going to try to accomplish one or two before someone tries to tell me to do something else, or tell me how I should do, or should have already done, what I’m doing, or how I suck because I didn’t do whatever it was in the order they “needed” it done in.

Good luck with your side of the Universe Vacuum; I’ve heard it sucks all around, unless you twist its’ nipple and it likes it well enough to give you what you need or want.  I guess someday we’ll all be in the bag.  If the critiques and helpful suck-gestions start again tonight, I think I’ll look for more wine. I may be half-in-the-bag after that, but maybe I won’t really care.

Here’s hoping we can all accomplish good things, for ourselves and for others, before the universe sucks everything away.  And here’s hoping, if the universe does have nipples, that we can all latch on and reverse the trend.  After all, don’t we all live in the Milky Way galaxy?