Making Believe

With all the grief I get from my folks on my relationship status or rather lack of it. I had to sit down and evaluate why things are the way they are. Decidedly, I don't seem to have a problem picking up women. They just aren't who or what I need. They typically do the things that set off my crazy alarms. Which I have had enough of in my life. These days I see a woman that I'm interested in and just live out what life could be like in the blink of an eye. It's cleaner that way. No hassle. I don't have to know if they're with someone, I can step around my need to be the knight in shining armor riding in to save them from some perceived monster (which nine times out of 10 bites me in the ass as it's a problem they invented.) They get to be smart, funny, and everything else I want. And if they're women I know, I can imagine it all, and don't have to worry about rejection or worse we each disappointing each other some how.

My mom thinks I'm a whore. But honestly, compared to most of my friends, I've calmed down on that front quite a bit. I found bed hopping left me massively unfulfilled,was often painful, and was just.... not good. I discovered that you can't kill pain that way.

Beyond that, is it really worth the devastation of putting myself on the line for someone? Again? It always ends in some sort of catastrophe or tragedy. Besides, why open my self back up so someone can love a perceived or idealized version of me, only to destroy my vulnerable bits when they grow bored or realize I'm more than than their preconceived version of me.

So now I can just love my missed chances, or my chances that were never there. It's cleaner that way. My sons don't have to freak out about "having a step mom" as I'm the antithesis of how their mother lives. So, it's a price to pay, but I'd do anything for my boys.

I worry that the soldier in me and the things I've done have marred me and help keep me single. How could anyone I was with understand? How could I expect them to?

And that's where I live. I suppose it sounds strange. But, if I can love you in my head and not necessarily in the right now real world... Why wouldn't I? It's a sure thing and a lot less messy than the real thing. Assuming it was even possible.

Off to eat. Then hopefully sleep.

Messes of Men

The raindrops are spattering against the windows as I sit at my table and stare out at the rising sun. The joe is warm in my hand as I think about how being up this early will force me back into bed tonight before the sun has kissed the sky goodnight. The last month has been a trying one. Amidst all the turmoil, decisions are rearing their heads that need to be weighed upon. And then a myriad of things that need to be accomplished or at least taken care of before the next round of hurdles stumble onto my path.

The days fall down, one after the other and my mind wanders and turns in on itself as it often does. Wandering darkened corridors of my mind, heedless of the warnings I've posted in those imagined hallways. The absence of children's laughter drives me into memory, if only to not forget. It drives into imagined shoe boxes full of photos, conversations, and electronic scraps of paper. The magic of modern times I suppose. Inexplicably? Inevitably, I find myself running my fingers and eyes through old stuff. Funny how looking for one thing always seems to lead to finding something else. "I'll love you until I die." "I love you so much, I just need you here today." "You hurt me, I'm sorry I'm so bad for you." "I just wish I didn't have to give up one of you for the other." It's a strange thing, it's like digging up a grave to feel something again as you look at the casket. Maybe because the headstone is so bland, or perhaps that grave was never marked at all. Hell, some days I wonder if anything was ever laid to rest there.

But the sun is up now, my cup grown cold. The daily chores beckon to me, a mindless routine just to keep myself from sitting and staring into space. It's like a party. Time to take of the old robe and put on my big boy pants to tackle the day.

"I wrote a little song for you
with a melody I'd borrowed put to words that didn't rhyme
to repeat what you already knew
as the stones thrown at your window tapped a syncopated time
you kept a distance out of fear you'd break
but what good's a single wind chime, hanging quiet all alone?
the music our collisions would make is a sound that turns the road-that-leads-us-back-home
into Home."

Too Shy To Scream.

Too Shy To Scream.
Transcribing from the backs of receipts is painful. But here it goes.

Scribbling notes on receipts today as paper is scarce at work and everything at home has been dedicated and used for children's drawings or homework. Mostly the former. But I'm unsurprisingly okay with that. There's no easy way to determine if these words find any ones eyes but mine, but that's okay. It's been so long since I've written anything that wasn't a spur of the moment random thought, that I think it'll be good for me to just get some of this out in a semi coherent fashion. These days it seems harder to collect my thoughts if it's not related to some task at hand. Under those conditions, I have laser beam focus. Trying to collect the various snippets of thoughts that bounce around my head seems to be a herculean task anymore. I guess I'm out of practice. But, here we go. I suppose it's like riding a bike or some such. And then, I lost focus. I've been staring at the receipt for 5 minutes. Random joys, hurts, and thoughts ricocheting around my head like some sort of high speed thought collision. If my psyche is an atlas of roses and scars, they are all starting to overlap. Today, I realized that I don't remember how to make small talk. (Not that I ever really was good at it to begin with.)


And that's as far as I got that day. Then I came home and crashed for about 20 minutes before the family surprised me with my Dad in tow. Then the obligatory dinner, beer/whiskey get together. Standing out in the drive way just wishing things were a bit different. It's gotta be something about this time of year. Right as the triple digit heat finally breaks and things start to cool off and live a little. I don't know, something about those conditions at my folks house is just nearly perfect. Then the conversations of course turned a bit sour. But, not in a family feud kind of way, just various things that are rarely talked about that are a bit painful. Ran around a bit earlier with Dad which was mostly fun other than the semi regular, "You can face withering enemy fire but you're afraid of talking to girls yadda yadda yadda." It's sometimes hard to explain to him that I *realize* that getting sex is not hard if that's what your after. But I can't really completely explain to him that I want someone to fuck my mind. Not in a warped manipulative way, but in a way where their intelligence, personality, I don't know their *them* gets my mind off. Even I know he and I are similar in that respect, I suspect I require more mental stimulation than he does. Just having sex with someone I have no real interest in just makes me feel like a whore. Most of the time I can't even get off in those conditions, so what's the point anyways?

"Feel like a ship on dry land or an island in the sand."

My Mom is more concerned that I've become such a loner it's becoming bad for me. But What can I really do about that? I explained that between work, school, and the Army, I don't really have a lot of free time. She's worried That I'm going to be an old maid. (Old mister? What the hell is the term for an old single guy?)


My sons continue to make me smile and breathe. I wish we could change our collective situation as they want me to, but I have to wait a little while longer. They apparently don't really care for the ex's husband and apparently don't really care for her boyfriend either. Knowing they aren't really happy there (to say the least) tears my heart up, but I have to take my time and make sure everything is ready for that big of a change. They told me they don't really care, they just want to be here now, but I'm trying to get them to understand the value of patience. (Oh the irony.)


Just another day here among the walking dead. I'm sure there are various other things to say but I know the value these days of not revealing everything. Some things you have to keep under your ribcage, lest they become damaged. And besides that, you never know who's watching you spill your guts onto the page.

Superman's Dead.

Superman's Dead.

It's been a while since I've been up at midnight, smoking cigarettes, listening to music, and letting my head bleed ink onto paper. (As it were.)
Today after packing my life (or local world perhaps. However you choose to see it.) into boxes, I had some time to think. About where things are headed. About where I'm headed. I used to think that the future held mostly this for me.


But as time has gone on and time has worked its magic on me. For better or worse. I've changed. I wonder sometimes whether it really has been better or worse. I'm still undecided. I think sometimes that this is more than likely what the future me will be closer to.


My thoughts quit running towards who would be in my future outside of my babies, family, and friends. I wonder now if there might be horses. I've had feelings ripped across my back. I've held myself while they held someone else. I've stood alone; waiting. Wondering. Wishing. I've played that game. And now that I've flipped the table and gone home, the game just isn't that attractive anymore. Every time I thought, "I'm giving you myself." I never saw that in actuality I was losing myself. Throwing myself away. And for what exactly? What did I ever have to show for any of that? Spent rubbers? Ruined sheets? Rosy skin? I'm still not sure. Nothing really tangible.


These days my bones creak when I get out of bed. But strangers love to point out how I don't look my age. "That's great dude, now can you please shut the fuck up and put my stuff in boxes?" You'd think with the booze, smoke, and abuse I've put my body through, I'd look like I was 70. But, I only feel that old. My joints feel twice that in the rain. Well, and with the horny. Sooner or later, I'll crush my instinct. No longer a HOTANIMALMACHINE. I'll just be a MACHINE. Someday. At least, that's what I tell myself. But you and I both know, that the we lie to ourselves better than anyone else can.

"I remember falling.
I remember marching.
Like a one man army."

This year, amidst preparing to receive my life back into my own hands, I also discovered that broken dreams taste like broken teeth. It was a bit freeing to give up on a few things. I have a niece now. She's like the daughter I always wanted, but finally gave up on. It's just not really feasible at my age to have more kids. At least that's what I've been told. And it sounds pretty damn reasonable to me.

So, right cross, followed by a few jabs, and that one's KO'd. "Don't cut it Mick. It doesn't need to see." It's dying and being born again all in one moment to let go of things like that. Perhaps that's where I went. I haven't bleed into the ether for a while. Maybe that's where the blood went. Where my pulse went. Who knows? for now though, bedtime. Hopefully my sleep will be like my days. Dreamless.

"you need to understand there's nothing strange about this
you need to know your friends.
I'll be waving my hand watching you drown.
watching you scream, quiet or loud."