I’ve had it.

Since some recent shit has been flung onto my blog do to my use of the 1st amendment, I am here to for censoring myself and others from the discussion of politics on my wordpress site.

I am ready.

When I finish my big ass book of African history… I get a new tattoo! Ha!

once again

Hot sand between my toes turns to wet cold mud.  The sun burning at my back receeds behind a looming blanket of stone gray clouds.  The wind kicks up bitter and sharp.  The night surrounds me. Darkness has fallen before dinner, before the water boils even.  Schedules pile up around me. I find myself lashed to a speeding train, watching the green grass and ripe fruit get smaller and smaller.  I wake before the sun, I work before the sun, and I linger long after she has left.  I see dresses turn to jeans, tank tops to sweaters.  I see porches empty and longing.  I feel the cold creep from inside of me, falling to the ground like a vomitus fog, like snakes sliding into every crack and hole and I feel a familiar set of hands grasping my shoulders. I hold my breath and begin to count, and scream.

Rain falls,

Good, bad, intintional, apathetic, people do things for so many reasons.  Usually no matter how noble or heinous the deed you can find the reason.  But why would someone make a shitty movie?  Why? There’s no money in it.  There’s no glory in it.  What a waste.

Don’t ever watch the international.

GOD I HATE WORK!!!!!

I mean that’s all really. I want to sleep in. I want to take my kids to school. I want to pick them up. I want to massage people. I don’t want to get up at six and bust my ass for nine large an hour. FML.

Broke into the old apartment, buh nuh.

My key still worked.  My pulse went up slightly.  I knew they had started construction, but I was not aware of how far they would take it.  I walked down the hall to the 4th apartment. The little welcome sign emily had made more than two years ago was still stuck under the peep hole.  I pushed my key to the lock and the door eased open with no effort.  I knew not to expect my last memory.  I knew it wouldn’t be clean, furnished, decorated, or resemble itself in any way.  Even still it was shocking to see the bar ripped up and all the cabinets gone.  Even more shocking was the lack of floor or ceiling in the bathroom. It was just a brick lined shaft from the basement to the roof.    Melancholy sort of floated up from my stomach to my head.  This wasn’t the first time I’d had this feeling.  I broke into my grandmother’s house the day of her funeral.  It was all gutted and cold.  It had leaves and rain water in the floor.  It was a horribly traumatizing.  The most warm and comforting place in my history was now cold and sharp and broken and destined to be pushed into a hole in the ground.  I curled into a ball and cried almost as hard as a human could.

This wasn’t traumatizing. It was familiar, surreal, sort of like two movies trying to play at once.  I was stairing at the hole in the floor where the tub used to be and I could hear my kids protesting the inevitable scrub.  I could feel the water with my fingers.  I wasn’t very sad.  That apartment has a lot more painful memories than nice ones.  A lot of disillusionment took place in that apartment.  I expirienced the fragilityof community, marriage, friendship, employment, life in general, all while I was living there.  I don’t miss living there.  I don’t miss that time in my life.  Be that as it may, the feeling swimming around in my head bore a strange resemblance to the one I felt two years ago in the raped shell of my childhood home.  I’ve been going on in my head over and over with it.  It’s like I can feel the world around me dying, turning to rubish.  But it doesn’t end there.  I can also feel the inevitability of something after rubish.  I saw the field where my grandmother’s house used to be.  It flourishes. Land that hasn’t been farmed in a hundred years, it really produces well.  That apartment in shambles will be restored. I live in a place I love now.  It isn’t and entirely positive or negative feeling.  I feel strongly connected to inevitability, to an unstopable force that destroys and creates in and endless cycle that doesn’t slow or stop or speed up or vary in any was to any degree.  Whenever I try to express it I get so fogged up. I just end up staring into space and thinking about oblivion.  well thats it.

My new home defense plan.

this is how you spell Kompromise

It won’t go off if my kid finds it, I can’t accidentally blow my wee off with it,, but it will work a lot better than my skills of diplomacy in diffusing a situation.

Cocktails?

A dear friend asked for my mint julep recipe today and I feel abliged to share it with everyone.

4oz of good bourbon
ie Jack, Bulleit, Woodford Reserve, Makers, Turkey 101, or Knob Creek.

1-1.5oz simple syrup

1 handful of mint leaves

The jucie of 1 large lime.

You muddle all the ingredients until your arm hurts then strain into a glass filled with ice.

(2)7 year itch.

Sometimes everything in existence feels so cyclical.  As if every conversation, situation, occupation, and all the other ations are recycled throughout my life on a two year cycle.  I follow God, I get hurt, I hate him, he pursues me, I fall in love with him again, repeat ad nauseum.  Every cycle I get the vagrant’s itch. Like its time.  Time to hunt down a new house, time to find a new favorite band, favorite beer, favorite spot.  God sometimes it feels like a dance and sometimes it feels like pointless liturgy.  I’m just standing up and reading the bold print, reciting the apostle’s creed, punching the code into the computer.  My leaves come in the spring, fruit in the summer, color in the fall, death in winter.  Is this Zen?! Am I about to experience enlightenment?!? No. I’m about to experience it all over again.  No matter how aware of it I become I don’t seem to have any power over it. It’s as if Neo found out about the matrix but couldn’t escape it or fight it. Someone in a coma who has perfect hearing. GOD!!!!!!

An old man wandering the halls alone.

Much like the ocean I feel like my heart rises and falls with a certain tide. I am rocked by shocking, life altering events but I seem to be just as effected by the day to day as I am the now yearly tsunamis. An amazing afternoon with close friends by the river seems to be as vital as the air I breath. Yet life changing trauma (with the ecxeption of beloved friends cancer diagnosis) seem to feel natural, possibly even necessary. I don’t know, I think I might be over stating. I can however with much confidence say that my day to day interactions are what sustain me. I’m not naturaly a “big picture” kind of guy. I just made a huge pitcher of strawberry lemonade with the fruit from my father in law’s garden. It’s not that good, but it makes me feel so at peace. As if making stuff from scratch gives life meaning and pourpose. Maybe its that just having the time to do so means that I have a measure of peace that I hadn’t before. No it’s definatly that it’s summer and I love fresh strawberrys. Yes Natalie it always comes back to the weather. I suppose I don’t mind being predictable. Some people hate suprises.