A Care Tag In A Coat of Many Colors

Following is a little-known aside to the biblical story of Joseph and his coat of many colors. All names have been changed in order to avert lawsuits by the Hanes Corporation.

".... Alas," proclaimed Jacob, "I had no inkling that thy directive to create a coat of many colors would be such an arduous task ..."

"Thy directives were clear," saieth the Lord. "No mixing of colors, no flaws of any type. I made myself clear."

"But, Lord. ... there were no deviations in color. The reds were vibrant. The yellows were stunning. The blues were worthy of immersion. The combination of colors were arranged to complement each upon the other in order to proclaim your glory, no matter who might wear the garment. I spun the garment based upon your each and every directive. Are you not pleased with the result?"

.... Pause....

"Lord?"

... Pause ...

"Jacob, thous dost not understand thy God and His adhereance to standards of excellence."

And God reached down and with a forefinger and thumb grasped the multi-colored coat that Jacob had fashioned.

And God said unto Jacob ...

"Gaze upon this... the devil is in the details."

Squinting and amazed, Jacob gazed incredulously upon the tag affixed to the back collar of the garment.

How could this happen? The writing was nearly illedgible. The instructions for caring for such a valuable garment were exposed, upside-down.

"How dost thou explain this?," asketh the God of perfection? "Thy garment, worn by one chosen by Me, God, the Fashioner of Huamnkind, has a flaw. Yay, though I directed there be a small tag affixed to the coat which provides instructions for it's proper care .... Yay, though I require adherance to universal production standards ... "

"But Lord," inquired Jacob, "How have I failed you? This is my finest creation, meant to be worn by only the most worthy of my offspring. How have I failed you?"

And the Lord replied ... "Look upon Joesph as he wears the coat. The tag with wash and care directions is visible from behind as he walks among the heathen. And, although his brethren recognize his ignorance and wish him harm for his wearing a garment which is less than holy, Potiphar and Pharoah dismiss his ignorance as subtle humanity."

"Wait, wait ..." exclaimed Jacob, "My tag was upturned? How might I correct this oversight in order to produce garments worthy of your acceptance?"

God hesitated ...

"I shall call a meeting ... I shall consult my constituents in order to provide an answer. Because, an upturned tag with care instructions on a coat of many colors is a major flaw which will cost the kingdom millions."

And Jacob called for Joseph ..............................

Interpret this any way you will ... Think. Really, think ... find your tag.

Mirror

You don't like me. That's ok. I don't like me either.

Do you like yourself? That's ok.I don't like you either.

Know what that makes you? It makes you just like me.

It's a wake up call for both of us, eh?

Who's the dumbass now?

One Man's Stink Bug

Stewie was confused. This new abode was a far cry from the promised land he'd been heard about. 'This is America', he thought, 'not the land of 'chi' and slanted views of those who preceded me in the far east' ...

Stewie grasped tightly to the breadcrumb lodged against the wall of the large picture window. Trying to find a place to call his own, he settled upon the name of the cramped quarters that was labeled "NOSYD" on the window. Balls of wadded fiber padded his setting. A chill slowed his mind and limbs yet enough warmth was provided by the padding within his new cylindrical home to ensure safe passage through the bitter winter months.

This new perspective inspired Stewie to reflect upon his existence. One pregnant relative in Shanghai booked passage to Guang Dong yet ended up in Baltimore Harbor, Maryland. Mother Nature doesn't wait for a pregnant lady. Three days later, two thousand babies are born. Six months later, an extended family of several million are scattered along the mid-Atlantic.

Stewie wondered where his hundreds of siblings were living as he gazed through the clouded window of his new home. How he found this home was a mystery in itself.

"Let me think about this"... Stewie thought. "One second, I'm doing a mating dance for women who look just like me and the next minute I'm getting sucked.... sucked right into a swirling vortex that was both exciting, frightening and strangely erotic."

Then, from an approaching voice ...

..... "Damn, these fuckers are annoying. They just won't die and when they do, they stink like Hell. DYSON needs to develop a filter to eliminate Stink Bug odor....ugly bastards too ..."

"What?" Stewie thought... "What is a Stink Bug? I don't smell anything..."

*Flush*

Circle of life ... Hakuna Matata.

Inspired by a Friend For My Children

2:41 AM. Wednesday, January 19th, 2011 ...

Here I am, once again sitting perpendicular to a computer. As I stare upon the screen, I contemplate words of wisdom that have been thrust upon me by those who not only appreciate my blogging rants and raves but also view my writings as helpful and hurtful to those who might read them.

I get it, I really do. I have voiced my opinions based upon pain that I hold close. I rant. I rave. I vent.

As a result, I have alienated those who I wanted to draw close.

I'm nowhere near being a man being worthy of admiration. When I open my mouth, I often say the wrong thing. When I create a new page on the computer, my fingers put forth feelings as they speed from my mind without regard to those who may be at the recieving end of those finger-peckings... It's the manic-depressive way...

Many times, my words are filled with verbage that hurt those who have hurt me. I have every right to express my feelings yet I can't place all of my hurt upon those who hurt me. I write to grow but I can't grow when I stifle the growth of those who have seemingly stifled my own growth.

There's a thought. I can't grow by heaping hurt upon those who have hurt me. I. Can't. Grow.

I have heaped damnation upon my children, my ex-wife and my ex-inlaws in order to accept myself. Yeah, they all discarded me as a result of my self-discovery ... rightly so. Hyprocisy is a fickle bitch ...

I will now do something that those who once loved me will never do...

Many of my writings have been defamatory due to my personal hurt. I write from the heart and I write in the moment. What I don't understand is the impact of the written word when read by those who are subjects ...

I will not apologize for my feelings. I do apologize to my children, Anna and Avery, for the way that I expressed my pain of rejection. Imagine being disowned by those you love the most for simply being who you are ...

Feelings are dangerous. Feelings are visceral and external. Feelings do not define a person. My feelings led me to write blogs such as 'Gimme Back My Rib, Dammit' .. but my feelings were pointed towards a moment in time.

You are not unlike me. You have hurt someone with words or actions. Somewhere, someone will never accept you as worthy of inclusion his or her life ever again. Is it something you said? Something you wrote? Something you did?

A simple belief might be the catalyst in separating you from your life.

Bottom line ... To my children, Anna and Avery, I apologize. You are both innocent. You are victims of a dissolusion of a marriage that I initiated. I'm not apologizing for my reasons for leaving your mother but I am apologizing for the way I did it.

I am also apologizing for publicly voicing my pain in your hatred of me. I don't hate you. I don't blame you for how you feel about me and my actions. I just ask that you give me a chance to be 'me' before you discard me.

I write as a form a therapy but some therapy should be kept in a locked cabinet. I'm not sorry for expressing myself. Yet, my outward expression of inner feelings towards the rejection of my own children is hard to resist when  writing.

Ok, so this sounds disjointed and awkward .. it is. I only want my kids to see me as human. I'm not perfect and I have certainly written things that exemplify my hurt .. but I love you nonetheless ...

What can I say?

Growth requires a separation of foundation and the unknown. Your foundation requires a  shaking of the unknown that I provide ...

Deep shit, eh? Think about it...

My Padded Room.

Nothing is more frightening than the feeling that life and its circumstances have you backed against a wall. Luckily for me, my back is pressed against a padded wall which absorbs a great deal of pressure.

The walls are worn and marked with outlines of my struggles. They cushion each blow even as the round buttons that connect the stitching press into my body, reminding me that the wall is there. The buttons make an impression upon my psyche, often my soul, to remind me of the beating.

The padding reminds me that I'm confined in an insane asylum. The cushioned walls confirm my sanity while the pressures that pound me against the walls confirm the insanity of life.

I'd rather be bounced around in a padded room of reality, a room that absorbs the blows of supposed normalcy, than be backed against a wall of sure and solid concrete that is unforgiving and definitive.

Lock the door and leave me to my own devices and I'm free. I can flop and bounce and fall and punish myself without fail. I can scream and flail and ramble and mumble while bnging my head against a wall that accepts each blow with impunity. I'll grow as a creature of insanity because of these padded walls of life.

My world and the future of my world is padded. I have no bleeding from my headbanging and insanity. The walls of my life are padded with white buttons and sturdy stitching.

What do your walls feel like when you are beaten?

.....................