I'm a Greased Wheel and Life is My Lubricant

Well, stick a reed in my mouthpiece and blow me like a tuba. That was a test... I know that a tuba doesn't have a reed. Only woodwinds have reeds. Duh... I'm a tuba with a woodwind mouthpiece. Blow me already...  Here I sit, an individual in total anonymity in the epitome of tourista-land, Disney World. You know what? I'm diggin' it. I could get used to this. Right now, my lily-white ass is perched upon a stool at a small bistro table beside a swimming pool. To my left sits a cup of  dwindling Charro Negro ... tequila and Diet Coke, for the uninitiated ... reggae music peppered with 80's classics regale my ears and psyche. Better still, there are no clouds, no snow, no wind and no worries. This is my sanctuary, this is my heaven.

I rediscovered my heaven yesterday while rediscovering Hell ... Hell, being a Disney theme park during Christmas week ... the climax of my visit to hell being the portion of the Great Movie Ride attraction... the moment of passing through the set of the movie 'Alien' and the alien spitting goo into my face from above as the tram passed below. I had no clue that my ex-wife had a seasonal job at Disney... my inner snark is bursting at the seams.

Word of mouth suggested that there were in excess of 57,000 people in this one park. Twelve spoke english, 2000 were not asian and all but three were assholes who left all civility and manners in their rooms at Wilderness Lodge. Now, don't get me wrong ... I like people. I am a people. I only have an aversion to being a victim to 56,997 other people and their individual quirks and mannerisms. All at the same time ...

I'm not perfect, by any means. But, I'm a helluva lot closer to being acceptable to a civilized society that most who broach the gates of a Disney theme park. Mickey Mouse is a mesmerizing sombitch, lemme tell ya. To claim, "Hee Hee! It's the happiest place on earth!" while enduring 180 minute wait times in line for a two-minute ride and commanding $10 for four small Diet Cokes... yeah, that mouse is fuckin' happy alright. Don't even get me started on those individuals pushing strollers and their assumed right of way mentalities or the ones with a fast-food addiction that has caught up to their slowing metabolisms that require that they now pilot the 'blubber buggies'.... hate me if you will... but the truth is a big, fat bitch.

In any case ... the raping of my wallet and dehumanizing of society aside, I'm in a good place. I'll tell ya why ... I'm away from my 'reality' of home and awash in my 'reality' of self. Sometimes it takes nothing more than a change of scenery, a slap in the face, even an overwhelming sense of disdain for one's own feelings of self to bring you back to who you are and what you need in order to grow.

As I sit upon this stool, I reflect upon my thoughts and mindset that I had only a few days ago in my familiar surroundings at home ... blase... routine... complacent. And now, I listen Duane Eddy and his magic guitar and step back into myself... in one brief moment I discard the negativity that has consumed me and see that, yeah, I'm home. Home, being that I'm in my element.

Believe it or not, I did not speak harshly to anyone, even when I was stepped upon by oversized feet ... even as I was purposely rammed in the calves by baby strollers ... I surprised even myself. I simply smirked and possibly grunted ... shit, I must be getting old. Or, maybe, just maybe, I realized that my happy place is in the middle of a throng of chaos. Maybe, just maybe, my chaos is the quiet and compacency of a quiet life ... The conundrum? How the two shall meet ... I'll find that intersection of chaos and meaning, of that I'm certain. I'll return to Virginia and face the 'reality' I left behind but I'll face it with the a mentality I thought I'd abandoned... or a mentality that I thought had abandoned me.

But, I'm not bringing my enlightened ass back to Disney during Christmas week ever again. There is only so much civility and sanity that I can afford to spare ... That squeaky mouse and his goofy cronies got their message across to me ... the happiest place on earth is where you are and who you are. And, if I could kidnap that big-eared bastard I'd take him to Virginia, put him in a duplex in Sterling, VA and have him pay for every lap on the gerbil wheel.

Ok, so maybe that's a stretch. After all, I'm only a man sitting upon a stool at a pool bar... a man with a skewed mind and a disdain for humanity's loss of humanity ...
Blow me ... I'm a tuba.

Merry Christmas ... Redeem Within 30 Days, No Refunds.

"..... and God said, "Honor  thy father and thy mother, .... until one or the other pisseth you off ... until thy feelings are hurt ... "

"Then," saieth the lord, "inflict pain and suffering upon the one who stands before your ideal life ... for you, as a child, are entitled to a painless, unencumbered life of priveledge, free of worry and mental adversity. Those with struggles are but roadblocks to your happiness ..."

So reads the Book of Spoils ...

".... and," saieth the God of all mankind ... "forget the spirit of forgiveness and acceptance ... cast aside the false teachings of those who preach universal peace and uncondtional love .... thou art better than that. Humans fail ... humans make mistakes... and, when humans make mistakes, their love, commitment and emotions wither and die. Those who err are lost and are doomed to Hell."...

So saieth the Lord .... "Only gifts of manna, mammon and Nordstrom can redeem the soul of the Hell-bound ..."

....... I write from a seated position .. ... A mixture of pain, hurt and anger stirs within me. For weeks... no, months, I have contained myself. Not wanting to further alienate my children who consider me to be an embarrassment, an afterthought, a scab on their knees as they grow .... I have censored myself with hope that they would see me as an individual worthy of consideration. These are not toddlers ... my daughter is 20 years old ... my son is 16. Both are old enough to judge for themselves ... to distinguish right from wrong.

No more. No more. I love my kids. I will always love my kids. But these two are fuckin' with the wrong guy.

Here's a holiday story ... I will admit that I hurt my kids. Emotionally ... I left them. No, I left their mother... no, I left my marriage. After my then-wife had emotionally, physically and mentally left me, under duress, I moved on. I never emotionally abandoned my kids. There were many extenuating circumstances that precipatated the separation of their mother and me. no doubt. As a result of my departure, my finances took an extended vacation ... my priorities aligned themselves with a newfound purpose and my affections gravitated towards another woman who should have been their mother in the first place. Hang a mistletoe over the story and warm your cockles on a yule log and you have a dysfunctional Christmas story.

Fast forward ... really. Fast-fucking forward .... let's get to the point, shall we?

Christmas Day, 2010. The moment I awake, I call. First, my daughter. Then, my son. Then, a text to each... just as I do most every day. .................................................................................................... nada. yet, I hope that with every buzz of my phone I get a simple "Merry Christmas" or "love u2" ....

just like every day.... nothing... despite my hopes ..................................................................................................

Today is December 27th.... still no call. No text. Nothing.

That's ok... actually, it's a bit liberating. I can finally claim that I have no children.. and, as such, I have no fault in raising anyone incapable of forgiveness. If I had children who rejected someone due to imperfections of character, I'd be remiss if I didn't acknowledge my own imperfections in their character.

I'm embarrassed by the children I never had and ashamed of the children that might one day claim me as their own. Let me say that I accept responsibilty for their disdain for me and my newfound individuality.

That said, I didn't raise my children to be judgemental. I am not perfect. As a matter of fact, I'm a fuckup to the 'nth' degree. But, I'm not worthy of such hatred ... such .. such...

... what is the word for being disowned by those you love? Disowned simply for being who you are meant to be, despite the image it casts upon the family name?....

No matter ... my children have washed their hands of me ... the one who possibly best understands who they are. .... No text. No call. I'm sure they prayed at church on Christmas Eve, or on Christmas Day before eating that meal of god-given bounty .... grateful for the gifts they recieved or were about to recieve.

Recieve. Recieved. For my ex-children, 'Give' is not an option.

I'm done ... stick a fork in me. I can't continue to mask the pain of my own children's rejection at the expense of my sanity. It fuckin' hurts ... I may not be perfect but I'm human. The road to acceptance runs both ways... and right now, there is no speed limit.

".... sloweth down,"... saieth the lord... "speed bumps shall cause your camels to stumble and those speed bumps may reside within your homes..." ...

All bets are off ... Jeff shall now speak without hesitation, saieth the lord...

A Lesbian, a Gallbladder and the Christmas Spirit ... It's All Clear Now...

The magic of the holiday season, the Christmas season, so to speak, has been absent from my life for quite some time. I'm not talking about the thrill of gift-giving or receiving ... I'm speaking of the mystery that captured my attention as a child. It was more than the excitement of a fat man eating our Ritz crackers after dropping off a load of gifts ... it was knowing that I was simply worthy of a visit from the fat man ... It was then a feeling that I was worthy of acknowledgement, simply for being me... warts and all. A fat kid with an infant's mind who dreamed of being an astronaut. Santa was going to bring to me through a material gift the underlying gift of acceptance. Santa didn't know me personally, but he knew I wasn't a bully, serial killer or cat juggler. Despite all of my misgivings, Santa determined that I was worthy of acceptance and as such, worthy of a visit ... and an Etch-a-Sketch.

Fast forward quite a few years. Here I am, a man who no longer anticipates a visit by the fat man ... a man who no longer feels worthy of a visit from paunchy St. Nick. But here's the thing, St. Nick is a sneaky ol' bugger ...

Why? Ask me again.. Why? ... Pssst.... lemme whisper this to ya... put on your bi-focals and thinkin' caps ... clear your mind and ponder this revelation ... Santa, ol' St. Nick, he is a master of surprise. You think you're gonna get that new Blu-Ray 3D player and 'Avatar' special edition disc and *BAM*! you're hit square in the face with more than animated aliens.

You have no idea what I'm referring to ... that's ok ... tuck this idea into a nook or cranny in your mind, wrap a gift or two and come back ... I'll wait ....


...... fa la la la la ... hmmmmm... chestnuts ..... kiss my mistletoe ... hmmm, hmmmm... la la la la la ....


Are you back? Good for you ... Let me get personal. I grew up in a loving home and have amazing parents, an inspirational sister and memories of joyous Christmas mornings. Despite the losses I've suffered in the last few years, my kids, money, mind ... I still have these people. And Pam. I also have the gift of unconditional love and acceptance ... how do you wrap that shit in a box with double-sided tape?

Get to the point, you bastard ... geez ...

There is a friend of mine that went in for a simple outpatient procedure recently ... yesterday. A gallbladder removal. No big deal, really. Except that this friend used to hate me and is my soulmate's best friend. Well, maybe 'hated' is a bit extreme ... but, I wasn't accepted. Not only did I have  quite a few issues, I also had, and have, a penis. You see, this friend is a lesbian, like me. And now, she had a gallbladder-ectomy, like me.

To make a long story short, I consider her one of my best friends. And, I have a feeling that she would say that I'm 'Okay' ... we both want the best for a certain someone ...

But, I digress ... the gift of this season was given to me by a wonderful woman, loopy on morphine and Percoset, being wheeled to my waiting car after being discharged from the hospital ... a weak-kneed example of someone no different than myself. And, the images of the Christmas mysteries of my childhood flooded my mind as 'Carol of the Bells' played on the radio. I watched as this strong-willed, determined woman wobbled as she rose from the wheelchair. All of her vulnerabilities related to my own vulnerabilities. And, for a moment, we were one.

That, to me, is the meaning of life. Unfortunately, most only grasp that meaning once a year, and only for a brief moment. Weakness is universal. The need for acceptance is universal.

What did this teach me? A weak-kneed lesbian accepts me and I, a  weak-minded man with creaky elbows appreciates that acceptance. We are all the same, just different.

Merry Christmakwanzukkah.

Another Version of the Creation Story ...

FfffppppPPPPfffFFFtTTTTtttt ... squeak ....

.... and God farted.

And, from that fart was born the Milky Way ... a swirling mass of stars and orbs circling a flaming mass ... certainly you can relate ... peer into the clockwise swirl that disappears into a black hole ... a swirling watery universe that swallows the creation of the day no matter how satisfying that creation was when ingested.

pffdfttttdd.... squirt ... pfft ...

There you are... on a clockwise-spiraling mass destined for the black hole. Clockwise, unless you are in Australia.

Have you put it together yet? Do I need to alienate myself further by drawing the picture?

No? Good.

Goodnight, thanks for reading .....



Why are you still here?... Damn, glutton for punishment, eh? Ok, well. don't hold this against me ... these are my thoughts, no one made you read 'em ...


 The Universe, God, to many, Farted ... and spewed from the sphincter of the almighty were dingleberries ... Holy dingleberries ... Dingleberries that would meld with belly button lint and create a magical planet that would spawn a race of people capable of scratching, picking and discarding everything that felt, smelled and sounded different than what their ass and belly found different.

Pffft ... (silent but deadly) ... and God placed upon his creation a coin. A single token, meant for Adam ... *Biblical annotation - "...and on the third day after creating Eve from the rib of Adam, God created the coin, a means for Adam to enjoy Eve's god-given attributes as she straddled the Tree of life to the tune of  'Thy Baby Hath Posterior'...... and Eve placed the coin upon her belt and gave change, sixpence, to Adam for his loving admiration....."

... and the coin was insufficient, a slug, and Eve admonished Adam as there was a two apple limit in the Garden ....

Pfffttttff ... "a 'do-over'", God said.  "How can I propogate perfection and my own greatness with these two dumbasses? Don't eat the apple... that's all I asked..." Jeeezus ... I need  a cosmic 'Delete' button ...
Oh, well, let's see where this goes.... After all, I gave them an appendix... oops... I think I got the brain part all figured out ..."

..... Fast forward a few millenia ... God has lightened up a bit. Adam lost a rib and sense of self ...

Trial and error ... that's how the God of Adam rolls ... "Apples, what was I thinkin'?," said the Ultimate power of Everything. 'An Apple? Weak. I didn't give humanity a chance ... Oh well, no matter ... my bad. I'm allowed to fuck up... I'm the Ultimate 'Say So,'

...  But Adam  was old ... with sons  who chose to live their own lives ... Spoiled children who witnessed the weaknesses and failures of their father ... and those children were the first to extend the middle finger to the father.

'Damn you, Eve!," has been exclaimed inummerable times since that day in the Garden ... A promised eternity of pleasure and ecstasy derailed by a moment of hunger ...

...Pffftttttsss..PPPPffFFFttt ... Apples are pure fiber.

The moral? God never intended for his creation to fart but he allowed it. Satan, as a serpent, incited a desire for  fruit (apples), which ensured mankind would endure through proper nutrition.

So what that a little fiber moves through the digestive system in a harsh way? That's what we get for eating apples  and nibbling  at banana  leaves ...

Pfffttt ... arrrffttt... Amen.

Stickin' it To Ya

Hello ... I'm a stick.. a branch... a twig. I fell off of a bush, or maybe it was a tree.

I hate toes. Toes are stealing my thunder.

You don't know what I'm talking about, do ya? Shit....

Ok, here's the deal ... As a stick, I have a legacy of creating history. I have been plucked from bushes and trees. I have been singled out among twigs and bones for the purpose of drawing lines in the sand. I'm a fuckin' stick.

Here's my beef with you people ... all you do with me and my stick brethren now is snap and burn. We're kindling to you people. If you wanna draw a line in the sand, you use your toe... there's no seriousness.. there's no commitment to a line or a plan drawn in the sand with a toe. C'mon, a toe?

There was a time when an entire future of a civilization was determined by a stick that was carefully chosen by it's heritage, growth, bend-ability and feel. A line in the sand was drawn to indicate growth, advancement of civilization, strength ...

Now? We sticks are overlooked ... how can anyone draw a line without a stick? I'm a metaphor now ... I'm an ideal. I'm an objective point view that can be used to draw an imaginary line.

As a stick, I'm a bit pissed off. I might be a stick, but I'm tangible ... anyone can wrap their hands around me and make a visible line to either be crossed or avoided ... Hell, a stick is real. You can draw a line with me and sign that line with me ...

A toe? A toe is always gonna be attached to your foot but any ol' toe can claim to draw that line ...

I'm open for initial carving ... feels good to an old stick like me... knowing that I'm part of something that lasts. Ya know, weather erases the lines that we sticks draw but we sticks always draw straight and true. Sticks and twigs ... we know what you're thinking ...

Put your shoes on ... toes are stupid.

Don't Read - This Is For Pam - Really, You Won't Get It

….. and “…..” there was a noiseless Big Bang. Noiseless, because in space there is a vacuum and as such there is no sound. But, for sake of argument, there was a Big Bang… a beginning of all that is known.


But what do we know? Before the Big Bang there was an immense energy, a galactic soul that was growing, thriving, unknown and yet confined. Within that growing mass of energy, that soul, were countless billions of souls that were unique, yet connected… Souls borne of a single, simple purpose.. to venture into the universe and experience an existence unencumbered..

And then, pffft… at least in the vacuum … but for effect, there was a million-megaton explosion that rocked the cosmos. And the countless souls scattered … the connected souls parted and ventured into the great unknown at lightyear speeds with no known destination, like a Mexican crossing the Rio Grande.

Fast forward to the present day … to a soul limited by a calendar it is a time billions of years later. Maybe more, maybe less, but unimaginable nonetheless. It’s a long freakin’ time ….

A billion years is but a tic of the second hand on the Atomic Clock. Billions of souls connected by nothing more than shared energy and a desire to separate from the throng are still connected and each a part of the countless billions … Work with me here , I can elaborate later.

But imagine a soul that was torn in half by that noiseless act of creation…. And imagine that that soul meandered through eons of lives not being able to experience wholeness. Imagine the vastness of space standing between the human comprehension of the eons between the Big Noiseless Bang and Right Now and imagine that that span of time is the hole in self… what you are missing in yourself.

That is me. That WAS me … until August 28th, 2007. That is the day that I reconciled with the Big Vacuum Bang… again. Eons, millions, billions, gazillions of years later my minute speck of energy was drawn to a glaring beacon. That beacon was the part of my soul that had been lost at that moment of cosmic explosion. The vast emptiness of space I’d held and tried to plug with vices, experiences, more vices, a few more vices, money, a couple more vices, you get the idea… that emptiness was filled in a moment that consisted of a glance, a smile and acceptance.

Imagine, if you will, storming the beaches of Normandy on D-Day … utter chaos. As you jump from the perceived safety of your boat you encounter a barrage of shells, one of which lands at your feet and separates your legs from your torso… yet you live. Then, imagine that you are carried to safety, able to survive, yet now contemplate a future being unable to live fully without legs.

Now, wake up. An individual is able to live a fulfilling life without limbs. The legless veteran is fortunate to be alive. The soul parted from self is destined to die. A limbless body is just a body … yeah?

August, 2007 is when the Big Bang surgeons saved me from death due to cosmic shelling. To be able to recognize the connection that my incomplete soul has with its missing ¾ is not lost on me. I also recognize that the ¼ soul that I hold is no less necessary for a complete existence that the ¾ soul that she holds for me. We all have a percentage of another’s existence that we hold within us. Unfortunately, that percentage might not be held by the ones that we want or are with. That’s a smack in the face, eh?

Mushy, yeah … but I’m penning this for the one who fills the holes within my soul … the holes that were created for a reason ... the reason being that wholeness is obtained through lack and lack creates an appreciation for wholeness. Yeah, I lack much… I probably always will, at least on this planet, this time around … and I have lost everything, everything that I considered important and worthy of pursuit.

Nah, not really … I’m whole now. Not perfect, but whole. That ray of light that I clung to before the Noiseless Explosion has refracted, reflected and bounced around the cosmos just as my ray of light has done for millennia … Now, her lighthouse beacon has reunited with my penlight and together we can light the cosmos ….

Mushy, yeah. Heartfelt, most definitely. You see, a complete sense of self requires more than self because ‘self’ isn’t alone. The best part of me hates how I let the trash can get overstuffed while at the same time laughs at my lame jokes and tells me I’m handsome first thing in the morning.

The part of me that scattered during the Noiseless Bang knows that I’m as much a part of her as she is a part of me. The best part of me corrects me and feeds my inner adult when my outer child is a dumbass and in return, my outer child tells her clinched nerve-addled sphincter to lighten up …

My example is acutely personal. Yet, we all have within us a piece of another … all of us.

I don’t expect anyone to understand what I’m saying … that’s ok. I’m writing this for my better ¾. An early gift this Christmas. I give to her as a gift the full ¼ of my soul that makes her whole just as she has given to me the ¾ that I lacked. It's as if a galactic forensics team found two pellets of cosmic buckshot.

I’ve always love you, Pam. Always have, always will. Now, let’s examine that whole ‘Big Bang’ thing for a while … I think there was leather and latex in there somewhere … hehe … Ciao Bella.

White Lights and Timers

It's that time of year again when we throw caution to the wind. Christmas. Hannukkah. Kwanzaa. Druid Winter Solstice. So many traditions, so many decorations. It's the one time of year that beckons the inner ego within each of us to 'buy, buy, buy'... to impress upon those we love and those we tolerate that we're capable of out-doing, out-spending and out-loving everyone we know.

Nowhere is this more subtly evident that in the decorations adorning our homes. Call me old-school, old or tacky but memories of multi-colored, egg-shaped bulbs strung together by a lead-covered strand of wire scream 'Christmas!' to me. These were the lights that Snoopy adorned his doghouse with in the eternal holiday classic. These are the lights that the original druids used to light Stonehenge ... bright, lively, festive. Festive.... there's the key word I'm looking for.

Much like the earliest Druid children, in my childhood I would gaze upon the red, green, orange and blue glow of homes during the season of the winter solstice and marvel at the blend of colors. That blend of colors beckoned to me to appreciate something greater than myself and my 'need' for the new fuzzy-headed GI Joe figure. My parents would load me and my goofy sister in the car anytime after Thanksgiving and slowly the glow of the solstice would grow... all in shades of greens and reds and blues ... often twinkling ... little by little, the ride from my house to the local Eckerd Drug store would become more and more illuminated by the colors of the rainbow ... even the electric window candles were red, blue and green ... and the ocassional white.White... white isn't even a color, it's an absence of color.

By the way, shut up. Black isn't the absence of color, if that's what you're thinking. Black is the result of the mixture of ALL colors. Think upon that for a moment.

And then... something happened. Suddenly, Charlie Brown died and took his lights with him. The rainbow was quenched with the glow of tiny white lights. Nets of white lights draped trees and shrubs. It's as if there was a politically-incorrect decision was secretly made that eliminated color from home holiday decorations.

It has been suggested that there was a broken passage in the Dead Sea Scrolls that mentions that 'only lights of the brightest white are allowable when adorning one's abode..." Supposedly, there are clauses within mortgage agreements that stipulate that purchase of a home is contingent upon 'buyer's acceptance of HOA rules that 'Holiday' lights be acceptable (white) and in linear conformity to societal standards."

Basically, it's no fun to load the kids into the car and venture out to marvel at the tackiness or festive lights between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Hell, you can't even load a party of drunks, a CD of Weird Al Christmas songs and Carrot Top into a car and feel festive while driving by house after house adorned with white lights and sterile spirit.

Hmmm ... 'sterile spirit' ... the decor of a home acts as a mask for the personality of the ones who decorate. "Will those who drive by consider us 'tacky' or 'cheap' if we don't look classy and neat?"

The dumbing-down and conformity of humanity can be seen this time of year... each time you see perfectly decorated homes and lawns strewn with LED white lights, shrub nets, wreaths on the grills of BMW's and minivans and those 'Look!, I'm in the spirit! Look at Me!' inflateable snowman snowglobes, you see the spirit of ego and not the spirit of the season ...

*SLAP*

I like white lights. Pam and I have white lights on our tree. We also have a 15" (that's INCH) Charlie Brown tree with one ornament. That 15" tree represents who we are. The tree with the white lights has an entire strand of burned out lights. ... that also represents who we are. The best part for us is that none of this is on a timer ... we take down the tree with the white lights but the spirit of the Charlie Brown tree stays with us year-round. A rainbow of red, green, blue, orange and yes, a few white lights ... like Stonehenge.

The Fred Phelps/Jesus Wikileaks Transcripts

Elizabeth Edwards died this week. She was a woman who surely had faults, as we all do. Yet, she endured betrayal, ridicule, predjudice and scorn simply because she was married to a public figure, John Edwards. I will not elaborate on John Edwards and his indiscretions. This isn't about him, this is about Elizabeth. She not only endured these things, she bested these things despite herself and the animal that ravaged her from within ... An imperfect woman.. no, an imperfect human ... no, an imperfect extension of each of us ... To borrow a phrase from the rider in the front seat of the short bus, Sarah Palin, 'She's You'... and me.

But, sadly, she's not Fred Phelps or any one of his misguided minions. The below noted official memo from the Westboro Baptist Church is  no less imflammatory than hate speech spewed by the Ku Klux Klan, Nazis, Mel Gibson or Kanye West ... Take a gander and then partake in my perceived conversation between Jesus and Fred Phelps in regard to this event ... *note: the below memo is not my doing but is real and, sadly, serious.

Okie doke. The following is an unofficial transcript obtained by WikiLeaks that details a conversation between Fred Phelps and his leader, Jesus, son of Tammy and Travis. The Westboro Jesus who was born in a mangy trailer, covered in swaddling sheets, complete with hood and a copy of 'Mein Kampf' and damns those who swill Jim Beam in favor of Jack Daniels and will save everyone who believes that he is the Savior of Dale Earnhardt's soul.

... and we begin ...

Fred: "God? Jesus? You there? I need to speak at ya ... this whore wife of an adulterer died today. Thank you. Can you give me a sign that you snuffed her? I mean, I know that you hate those who stand by sinners, whoremongers, liars and fans of Jeff Gordon. Woot woot."

.. and then, silence.

Fred: "Hey, Jeez ... it's me, Fred. I'm thinkin' that after dinner at the Sizzler, my flock might do a video that shows Liz Edwards as a sinner in Hell ... maybe to the tune by Bow Wow Wow ... you know, "I Want Candy" except we'll spin it into, "I Want Cancer" ... I know you like parody."

..silence.

Freddy: "Jesus, Jesus ... I always do what you tell me to do. You say 'hate', I hate. You say, 'antagonize', I antagonize. You say, "blow an altar boy', I say I'm not Catholic but I'll finger a schoolgirl ... I'm always here for ya, J-man. But, what are we gonna do about this evil, evil woman that died? I mean, Hell-fire, you sent her death and suffering and damnation, afterall. So, how can I, we, my church, further extol your message of love and acceptance by denouncing her self-perceived strength of spirit?"

... "ahem":... silence...

And then, as if a breeze was blown from the sphincter of God, a voice emerged from behind chords of a banjo ... and the voice said unto Fred the Divine ...

Voice: "Fred, Can ya hear me? It's me, Bob. I like the name 'Bob' because you can say it backwards or forwards and it still says 'Bob'.

Fred: "Jesus? God? Hallelujah! You have shown yourself and affirmed that your church, THE church, here in Kentucky, is right in protesting the death of a life of one who died in trying to live as she proclaimed false hope knowing that she was going to die which in effect is a lie and as such condemns her to damnation and hellfire."

Voice: It's 'Bob'.

Fred: "Oh, Bob. My utmost apologies. I should thrust myself upon a sword or stone myself. But, If I were to do that then who would lead the flock to the promised land of  polygamy, judgementalism and paradise?... the paradise in which women without makeup or hair care products are desireable,.. the paradise that has St. Peter at the gates of Heaven, tearing in trackside tickets complete with an eternal pit pass and handing each of us entering a bucket of chicken wings and a cooler of holy beverages? J-Man, you and I are equal ... Let me bow my head for a moment as you nod to St. Earnhardt ..."

Voice: "Fred ... Fred, Fred, Fred ... first of all, just so ya know ... Dale is downstairs. Yeah, he rubbed too many cars the wrong way. Secondly, Liz ... Miss Edwards ... well, she's written quite an appeal on her own behalf as a result of your damning condemnation. I gotta tell ya Freddy, you might need to hire an attorney ... I hear Lindsay Lohan's and Mel Gibson's counsel might be available ... I might be the judge, jury and executioner but I'm willing to give you your day in court ..."

Fred: "Wait a minute ... Is this you Jesus? I know that sometimes there are people that try to impersonate you... Hold on, wait a second, I have a call from FOX News ... can you hold?"

Voice: "Suuure ... hehe ... (little does Freddy know that I made the call and I own FOX News) ...

....... moments later ....

Fred: "Uhhhh ... sorry 'bout that bro ... Beck wanted to know the details of the protest and bought four tickets. By the way, all monies received for protesting the death and life of those who died while exhibiting unholy faith and strength goes towards the new Family Life center and annual Chicken Pie dinner for the unsaved and unworthy. It's a good thing, trust me. All I personally get from it is a blurb on network news and possibly a blowjob from a parishoner which I know you'll forgive because I'm doing the work of...well, you."

Voice: "I most certainly have a nice spot in mind for your life in eternity, Freddy. Your actions really do accentuate my teachings in a way you'd never fathom. "Fathom" ... there's a word you might want to explore.

"Liz!" "Liz!" ... Hold on a sec, Freddy ....

Voice: "Hey, Liz ... would you reach over St. John and pass me that red Sharpie? yeah... that one ... and if you don't mind, I need that sheet of poster board ... I have an idea for a sign that is gonna make headlines at an upcoming protest ....I'm thinkin' you should be there to speak for me ..."

Voice: "Hey, Freddy? Here's where I want you to go next ... Oops... My bad. You're gonna be there already. Oops again, I just spoiled your surprise ... you're the guest of honor, so to speak. By the way, did you know that Westboro, Kentucky is now the galactic center of the universe and a spiraling black hole rests underneath the altar of your sanctuary? *wink wink* ... Just trying to clue you in ... "

Fred: "I KNEW that I was your chosen one! Can I have your chair at the right hand of God? I mean, Hell...oops, Heck ... You might have raised the dead but I condemned 'em ... so, move over...."

..... And so it is .. so let it be written, so let it be done ... please.



Matter Is More Than Solid ... Blah Blah Blah

"Blah blah blah dee blah dee blah doo dee do umm blah de blah ... yadda yadda yadda blah, ugh, blah" ...

So goes the conversations that most people have with others and with themselves... every day, myself included. "Woe is me ..., " we cry ... "I'm broke ..", "I'm unemployed...", "I'm single..." ... "I'm fat,"... I'm married...", McDonalds gave me cold fries at the drive-thru ..." ... "I have herpes...".. whatever. Blah, blah, blah... yadda, yadda, yadda.

Have you ever been slapped in the face with a forty-pound trout that had already been pinned to a cedar plank? I'm not talking about the fun, sexual foreplay trout-slapping, but the 'snap-out-of-it-you-whining-pissy-bastard' slapping. If not, then you should visit your local supermarket and ask the butcher for a 'Visage Fish' dinner. Or, better yet, make a phone call to someone who can speak fluent "Blah dee blah" yet considers the language as defunct as Aramaic ...

"What the shiznit are you talking about?", you might ask ... (cleaning up the language for my mom)

Fair enough ... being that my train of thought is more a 'Little Engine That Could' than a Thomas the Train mentality, I'll elaborate. I owe it to humanity to either educate or alienate the masses as my destiny has been sealed although it was sealed with watered-down Elmer's glue and not contact cement. ...

Tonight I spoke to a friend. This friend has stepped upon the shore of the River Styx, extended her middle finger and raspberried Cerberus, Hades and any long-toothed fish in that damn river, turned her back, mumbled 'Fuck You, Death," and is now scoffing at nature, life, death and .those who underestimate the human spirit.

Now, I'll be the first to admit that I've always heard about the power of the human spirit. Yet, I've never really understood or appreciated what the human spirit is all about. To me, the human spirit is portrayed in a heartwarming story during the holidays ... The Hallmark Holiday Special presentation of "My Daddy Died at Christmas, but Didn't Really Die, Was Addicted  to Everything Bad, Had a Disgusting Life But Always Wanted to Know His Family". You know, real life.

Real life to me is living down my past failures, wanting to make amends with children who can't, or won't understand my personal weaknesses and attempting to be of value, monetarily and emotionally, to someone who accepts me for my mind and spirit and not my numerical value even though that someone could care less about monetary value. Hey, it's my mind, don't try to understand unless you want to be immersed in a decades-long educational journey.

But tonight, a fish on a board slapped me.

Imagine, if you will, being full of promise and dreams. Suddenly, a single unwanted, hatred-filled act of another directed towards you skews those naive thoughts of a seamless future. Then, imagine that a few years later, a failed relationship ... and then ... an attack on your health. Imagine Cancer invades ... again, and again.

Not all is lost ... you meet someone who sees you at your most vulnerable... yet, you're loved and appreciated despite your weakness. How difficult this must be on the one who sees the life in the eyes of one who laughs through the pain and tears.

Imagine that you know this person who never once complains about the sickness and pain of therapy. Imagine for a moment that this person has defied the odds and shouldn't be alive yet, is not only alive, but is living a life more fulfilling than your own..

It sort of takes the sting out of that worry of whether or not your Christmas gift will be appreciated more than another's gift, eh?

My face smells like fish and not in a good way. I've survived dumbass suicide attempts. I've avoided prison rape. I'm still marvelling at broken bones in my fingers. But, I've never faced death. Yeah, ok, my dumbassed-ness attempts to say 'Sayonara' might count as facing death but I've never been smacked with the possibility of death through no fault of my own. I was stupid. I had a deathwish and pushed limits and for some unknown reason those limits pushed back and screamed at me. saying, "Hey, FuckTard! You're not worthy to die yet!". Thank you, cosmos ... thank you because you have kept me kickin' long enough to recognize that my spirit is weak and needs educatin' ...

And so I come to my friend ... I'm at a loss. How can someone who has endured so much pain .... so much sickness... so much  pain, again ... find the words to encourage someone such  as myself? I'm someone who seems to be lacking. I've suffered and lost. Yet, I'm alive. No matter, I feel lack and loss. Yet, this friend who has cheated death and struggles with similar daily struggles as my own grasps life and love and squeezes it by the balls.

I'm not gay but I'd love to squeeze life by the balls, assuming Life is a male.

Let me put this into a personal perspective. I've had money. At one time, not too long ago but in a far, far away place, I would buy and buy and buy .. I would always take advantage of sales on batteries, thong underwear and novelty t-shirts. The staples of a bi-polar mind. Then, one day, my local Hot Topic informed me  that they had sold out of the newest Hasselhoff t-shirt.
Where was my money to go? I already owned the 'More Cowbell' series. I was never into Transformers ... Nordtroms was getting a bit pricey with their shit ... C'mon... I was manic and needed clothes that I'd later sell on eBay for a loss.

Turns out that my worries were without merit ... a manic mind, no matter the limit, will not match the credit limit of the chosen card of the manic mind.

Where are you going with this, Jeff? Long story short ... I'm fucked in the head. I've loved, I've lost. I love passionately and I love uncondtionally. I'm loved uncondtionally. I lack. I want. I need. But I have everything.

My friend has shown me that having everything is nothing but having nothing is everything. A smile and a hug are more powerful than a bottle of aspirin and better on your liver than two Aleve. A laugh takes the place of a glass of wine and an hour of writing about one's pain is more effective than six months of medication.

I won't give up, even when giving up seems easy, because of one person I know that sees surrender as defeat. Loss of things and others is part of life but loss of self is unnatural.

You might know someone who never complains. There is a friend or family member who downplays pain and life's  injustices. Don't try to understand why they do so. Recognize your own fears that plague you. You know, the ones that really pale next to those who offer encouragement despite their own personal travails. I'm not there yet. I can't understand how someone can smile, offer encouragement and laugh at my lame jokes when my biggest problems hold no relevance to "Can I hold on and survive until Christmas?"

I'm starting with my fear of spiders and moving to my fear of acceptance. Spiders don't give two shits about me. I'm good with that. Ya know what? You might not give two shits about me either... I'm okay with that too. Blah dee blah dee blah. What I say means nothing to most but to me, it's yadda yadda yadda.

I'll spread my fingers over my eyes and wink at my friend in recognition of her strength and survival. My own fears of survival as one who is largely unaccepted and misunderstood remain but are lessened a bit due to one who sees life as I see it but approaches it without fear. I want that life, without the pain, but i wonder if that is possible. Blah dee blah dee blah blah blah ...

Fairy Tale for the Perceptual

There are times when sentiment takes precedence over logic, when logic takes precedence over heart and when sensibility takes precedence over instinct.

This is a time when none of that shit is coming to mind. Sentiment is weakness, logic is unnatural and sensibility is one half of the human equation and the one half that is usually jaded by the perceived sensibility of society.

That said, take a walk on the thin line of unperceived perception.

A man once walked in Hush Puppies shoes. *Squish Pfft, Squish Pfft*, he ambled along unaware of the musings of his insoles. Ankles, white-clad ankles draped in three-ply cotton thigh Hanes socks that Michael Jordan proclaimed as being the 'Sock of Champions.'

And so this man walked, stride after stride, confident in his knowledge that comfortable shoes and celebrity-endorsed socks would ensure success in anything he was to encounter. Jaywalking? no-brainer. Speed-shopping? A given. Hercules, Charles Atlas and Jack LaLanne be damned ... a mind empowered by comfortable footwear is a powerful tool capable of conquering nations and bringing peace to a world plagued with assholes suffering from angst due to wearing ill-fitting loafers and Johnston & Murphy laced shoes.

As the story goes, the man clad in Hush Puppies stepped upon a curb and reached to press the button to cross an intersection at the same moment as a man in up-and-coming Johnston & Murphy loafers. Yet, the man in loafers was wearing blue cotton socks with a black suit and black shoes. "Fashion faux pas," thought the man in Hush Puppies ... "no black socks?"

The light changed and both were allowed to cross the street ... one man offered the lead to the other due to perceived respect for another and the man that proceeded was summarily struck by a speeding taxi, killing him instantly.

Who died and who suffered from his decision?

Perception is a bitch, eh?