Hunger

Highway lines escape me. Hot chrome mufflers burn. Faces blur, jump out of no where. Crowds coming from the field, laughing. They are us, but we lost them. Sailing down the slops of slow death. Tasting the dagger of delight. Flesh feeds off flesh, tirelessly hunting. Hair hidden revealed brings madness. It never sleeps. Devours. Hunger.

A Natural High

I’d almost walked to the end of our road today when the snow starting falling. I had to back track about a mile to get home. I was bundled up good, wearing insulated long johns, two shirts, a jacket, coat, and a toboggan, so the snow didn’t bother me. The wind wasn’t blowing and the soft flakes drifted slowly like feathers floating to the ground. I felt as if I were in a dream and was glad it didn’t start snowing before I left the house, else I might’ve missed this trip.

Used to, when I smoked pot, I always lit up when the snow started falling. Nowadays, whenever I watch the snowfall, I feel like I’m getting high. Obviously, I trained my mind to let the endorphins flow down into my body as the flakes fall to the ground. I feel sorry for those stringent, anti-drug obsessed people who never knew what it was like to get stoned and watch the snow. I’m sure they’d chide me for my past, but that’s only because they don’t know what they’re missing. If they had indulged as much as I did, then they too might enjoy a free contact buzz when the snowfalls. But more than likely, they’re worried about how fast they can get back home, or how much it’s going to snow, or if they need to stock up at the grocery store for the coming inclement weather. Me, on the other hand, I’m just enjoying walking home in the snow: nothing much better than a natural high.

Freedom

I think about the years in my family business ... no entanglements, no connections ... someone called us to do a job, we did it, got paid, then moved on ... and I remember how much I loved it.

Resign yourself to love

This blog has been nothing but a lie. I state in my profile that the changes in my life have enriched me and I hope yours do, also. That's really a crock of crap. To be truthful about it, I've allowed the changes in my life make me bitter and mean. A friend recently told me that I'm, "mad and full of rage." How dare him? I thought. But it's true.

I'm mad that I didn't plan better for the future, which is here and now. I should've been saving money like a miser since I was 14. By that age, I was already drumming most every weekend , worked in my family's ornamental iron shop, pumped gas at Red Ace Service Station at nights after school and full time during the summer. I had very little leisure time as a teenager. And I'm mad that I did not whole heartedly pursue my dream, which was to be a drummer. At age 18, I got my first wife pregnant and went to work in my family's business instead of going to college and studying music. At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I'm not so sure. A lot of young couples have had children and they still go to college. But I didn't.

The doors to the music world were flung wide open to me in mid-twenties. My rock band was signed to a management company in Nashville. We were touring occasionally, opening up for Black Oak Arkansas, Wet Willie and Brownsville Station. It all sounds glamorous, and it was, but it also sounds prosperous, but it wasn't. Most of the band's funds were being reinvested in the band's marketing and recording, so that meant no immediate money. And all the time invested practicing, recording and performing took time away from working in my family business,so I took an disgruntle attitude toward my fellow band mates, none of whom were married or had children. But in truth, the band was a business, too. We had investors and backers. At the time, I was too blind to see it; I needed money; so, I shot my mouth off and got kicked out of the band. But what good did that do me? None.

My first wife and I immediately started going to church. I walked away from a career in music and surrendered completely to the fundamentalist teachings of the Southern Baptist Church.

I could go on with the mistakes. But they all boil down to not having the good sense to invest in the future. I always grabbed whatever was right before, held on, and generally survived fairly well. And because I survived, I expected a certain amount of respect. I lulled myself into thinking that I had "high standards," and that I had "moral expectations." I expected the Christian to act like a Christian; I expected the Redneck to be as open minded as a tree-hugging hippie; I expected those who held a different worldview to consider mine. But what I expected from others was what was lacking in me! My "high standards" were a delusion and a lie. And that in and of itself was and is the problem. One cannot be respected by others if they have no respect for themselves. One cannot love others if they have no love for themselves.

This blog is still a lie, but I'm trying to find the truth, and the truth is Love.

My mantra for today is, "resign yourself to love." Love always loves. Love loves what disagrees with Love. Love loves mistakes.

Flip a coin

What's the difference between government owning big business and big business owning government? Capitalism and Communism might be two sides of the same coin.

Happy Trails

I’m almost afraid to say it, but I’m happier now than ever. I’m afraid to say it because I fear by doing so I will activate Murphy’s Law. I’ve always noticed that if I think about something bad, it increases the chances that it’ll happen. I suppose that’s why we all admonish others for thinking negative thoughts. Subconsciously, we want to keep the good vibes flowing, and why not? Deep down, we’re all self-protecting creatures; we all want to ease carefree through the day undisturbed by worry and fear. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s not completely selfish; if it’s good for you then it’s good for all those around you. So from that point of view, striving to not jinx my good spirits is a way of doing good deeds for those around me. Hopefully, my positive thoughts will outweigh the bad, and Murphy will be safely contained in his jail cell when I boldly proclaim, I’m happy.

Despite being legally blind, half deaf with a bad back and bad knees, being in debt and not knowing if I’m ever going to be able to make a living as a writer again; despite all that, I’m happy.

I’m happy that I celebrated our fourteenth wedding anniversary yesterday with my dear wife, Leslie, who has upon many occasions told me I was more trouble then I’m worth. I am happy with our home and the paths that wind through the woods around it, even though both my wife and I fear we may lose it.

Needless to say, I have not always been this happy. I have at many times in my life been suicidal. Thankfully, I did not act on that inclination.

But I can’t say that I’m clueless as to why I‘m in a state of bliss. I’m sure a psychoanalyst would say I’m suffering from grandiosity or some sort of delusional disorder, and I might well be. Be that as it may, my current peace of mind came about after I made the unorthodox decision to disassociate myself from those with whom I often disagreed. To be more specific, I took a cutting axe to my friend’s list on facebook. All those “so-called” friends who wanted to constantly attack my politics are now gone. But wait a minute. I don’t want to sound like I’m some virtuous creature free of sin and guile, with only good thoughts toward my opposers. It’s just not true. I’m as guilty as they are for making smart-aleck jabs at them on their facebook page when I've disagreed with a political story or statement they posted. Absurd isn’t it? Yes it is. It’s absurd that I would let bad vibes into my life or even initiate them because of a silly political ideology. But then again, prior to W.W.II., some might have said it was absurd to argue about Nazism. Whether these new Right Wing/Left Wing politics that confront our daily lives in America are on that scale, history shall measure, but either way, I admit that at first glance, it might appear radical of me to cut ties with so many people I once called friends. But it’s not really. That’s just the way people are. As the old saying goes, birds of a feather stick together. Even the Old Testament prophet, Amos, asked, “Can two walk together, except they be agreed?” The obvious answer is, “no.” That’s why there are different denominations within Christianity; that’s why there are different religions. People who are going to be arguing cannot coexist peacefully. So is facebook a religion then? It is certainly a community. All religions have a congregation of some sort, and a congregation can be described as nothing other than a community. And most all world religions share another thing in common, they all teach that happiness is found by loving your fellowman. Whether or not facebook is a religion, I don't know, but it does expect everyone to abide by its social norms. People on facebook refer to their friends as their facebook family. So I suppose in order to be a happy facebooker, you'd have to love your facebook friends.

But I broke the cardinal rule, didn't I? I didn't love my fellow facebookers. I dropped ‘em like hot potatoes and have been a peaceful, happy person ever since. I have reached a conundrum, an impasse. Could it be that my current state of happiness has come about because I stopped loving my fellowman? Can I have happiness if I love some and omit others? Maybe I just lost my religion. I hope Murphy is not religious; l hope he has dropped me from his friend's list and that he leaves me alone. I'm happy and I want to stay that way.

Happy trails, Murphy, may we go our separate ways.

And now I leave you with....the Plumlee Woods

War Is Hell

Becoming disabled means dealing with change. Change is a part of life. Everyone knows that. Many comfort themselves with that reliable old saying when the storms of life unexpectedly blow a tree across their path. But most people never deal with immediate change, such as when my eye doctor told me I could no longer drive. That one little sentence uttered several years ago affects me every day. I have to navigate around that roadblock constantly.

Even something as simple as getting a new set of hearing aids can be a logistical nightmare. Yesterday, I had an appointment to pick up these new contraptions. My wife leaves the house a little before seven o’clock for work, but my appointment was for later in the day. I didn’t want to sit in her office for hours before she could take me; plus, she doesn’t like for me to leave the house with her when she’s going to work because she says I slow her down. She calls me King Piddle because I’m always going back into the house to get something, or check on something, after we’ve locked the door. Of course she doesn’t confess that King Piddle’s trips back into the house are often a good thing. Many times, I have turned the coffee pot off, or worse yet, the iron on the ironing board. Consistently and predictably, I always turn off lamps. My wife was born with a genetic defect that doesn’t allow her to cut a light switch off or turn a lamp off. She is just simply unable to do it. Once she’s on the path to the door, nothing else exists but getting out of that door. It’s as if she’s caught in a tractor beam on Star Trek. Scotty has pulled the lever and she’s being transported to the car. It never occurs to her that leaving these utilities on will cost us more money, but I do because I’m now on a fixed income. I’m not pulling in the extra dollars anymore. I fear the Starship Enterprise is going to run out of fuel. Plus, I fear the cats could theoretically knock a lamp over and start a fire. So King Piddle’s trips back into the house often avert tragedy. But no ever brags on a stop sign at an intersection, they do; however, lament woefully if it did not have a stop sign and someone speeds through it, causing a horrible crash. King Piddle is the Stop Sign that saves the day.

So yesterday’s trip to the hearing aid store had to be coordinated with my son’s departure time from the house. He leaves for work an hour and a half later, so I rode with him. He dropped me off at my wife’s office a full two hours before my appointment. My wife took me. She and I listened while me man told us several things, which we both forgot most of, about the new, hi-tech hearing aids that cost more than thirty-five hundred smackers. But in order for my wife to take me to the appointment, she had to make sure someone could cover her schedule at work. Fortunately, the cute little girl from India who works part-time for her was able to be there yesterday. Whew! Good Lord.

One simple trip is a logistical nightmare somewhat akin to planning the Normandy invasion.

After the battle, we finally got my hearing aids. The man who sold them to me warned that they might have to be adjusted. Sure enough, the longer I wore them last night, the more I realized I can’t hear any better out of these thirty-five hundred dollar contraptions then I could out of my old ones; therefore, I’m going to have to schedule more appointments for them to be adjusted. My wife has a business trip tomorrow, the next day her sister is having surgery, so I don’t have a clue how we are going to coordinate the next battle plan; there will be guerrilla attacks, booby traps, moral breakdown among the troops, etc.

War is hell.