I'm Back....Sorta.

Life is changing. Gotten older...and understanding that good health isn't guaranteed. Whatever the case, I'm trying to break the habit of enjoying other people's art and get back to creating my own. I consider this a valiant effort to begin again. I've fucked around and written a few tracks but haven't mustered up the courage to drop lyrics. I'm not ready to open that Pandora's box and come face to face with the failures, the hopes, and dashed dreams of a life I was certain would have taken a different path. I really don't want to ruin the ending of the movie but it's all an illusion. Life, here today-all illusion. I think about all the nebulous plans I let course through my brain-always focusing on the destination and ignoring the journey. All bullshit...even the destination.

I love to write But I don't like to read what I write. Actually that's a lie-I love to read what I write. What I don't like is the filter. Filter you ask? That part of me that information passes through and causes my emotions to start firing in sync with the synapses in my brain. You relive every moment with varying levels of intensity.

Right about now I'd like to say something self-loathing and dramatic like, "Fuck my life" or something equally as ridiculous but I'll spare everyone the unnecessary over-dramatization of my deluded existence. If I focus, I'm mean really hard, I can see the silver lining. I fucked some good pussy and, after all, isn't that one of the main reasons we're here? To fuck. I think this is the first time in my writing 'career' that I've said something so vile as 'I fucked some good pussy'. At this juncture, I don't really give a shit anymore. At this juncture, I don't give a fuck anymore. At this juncture, I don't give a damn anymore. Get the picture? I really don't care anymore. So I'll say what ever the fuck comes to mind. I'll sum it up for you: I'm middle-aged, fucking broke and in a relationship I can't manage to make any sense of. And honestly, the one thing that really bothers me is being broke. I burned through my escape fund trying to increase my escape fund and now I'm stuck. Yeah, whatever.

Fuck my life? Nah...Not yet. I'm still in the midst of defining it. Not quite ready to call it a colossal failure yet. I'm still analyzing it-picking it apart and trying to place things neatly into perspective-you know, like a movie. But if you were allowed to read the cliff-notes of my entire existence the picture wouldn't be so pretty. They say the devil's in the details-in this case, my salvation is to be found when you read between the lines but no one seems to care enough to pay attention. They want the quick and dirty-and then on to the next thing, all the while muttering to themselves, "At least my life isn't that fucked up." Hey buddy, yes it is. You're just still being deluded by your own illusion. Tomorrow you're me-living with one last feeble hope for redemption.

Did I have fun? To quote the former Alaskan governor, "You betcha!" But it wasn't fun I was after-fun was diametrically opposed to what I was attempting to accomplish. I played the part. Tried to be the responsible one and hold it all together while my significant others never really gave a fuck about me or what I was attempting to accomplish. I was the dude that kept the lights on. I tried to do the 2.5 kids, white picket fence, etc. But everyone saw through the illusion but me. I wondered why they thought I was after something else. It was a con, wasn't it? I couldn't possibly believe in the illusion could I? Yeah, I did. I wanted to be someone my loved ones would be proud of. But I don't think you can plan other people's impression of you. I think it would have been better for me not to really give a shit about what anyone thought and went for whatever it was I wanted in life. And if in the end they were proud, it would be the cherry on top-not the entire dessert.

So now here I am, left holding a memory bank filled with busted dreams and life's lessons learned. Lessons no one seems to care to benefit from. Everyone's too preoccupied with their own illusions to believe anything I have to say. So why do I bother? Because time is precious and to waste it chasing illusions seems like a sin to me; like the worst imaginable crime.

In the end it won't be so difficult to admit I allowed myself to buy into the illusion. But right now the very thought of it all stings like salt water in an open wound and it's last call for alcohol and life has presented me with the bar tab-time to pay up. And I'm asking myself, 'Where did the evening go?' Was it worth it? Someone else will have to decide because at this juncture, I don't really give a shit anymore. At this juncture, I don't give a fuck anymore. At this juncture, I don't give a damn anymore. It is what it is-it was what it was. And to worry about any of it is simply a waste of time. Are you geting the picture?

Chocolate Covered Strawberries

I'm all over this!

Reflectively Pensive During the Fall

It's fall-a season that carries a lot of meaning for me. When I was a kid, fall was when we returned to school, which was never a happy time for me. Quite frankly, as I child I only liked the summer-you could toss the rest of the year in the trash. Oh wait, and Christmas. As an adult, I had to teach myself to enjoy the entire year and all the pleasantries the four seasons offer.

I remember when I learned to fully embrace fall. I'd just got out of a very turbulent relationship and my newly found freedom brought new and exciting experiences. A new love interest-a new job-exposure to many different cultural activities, I was flying high. The change in temperature was a warm welcome. I found pleasure in layering my clothing, stepping out into the cool night air, and allowing myself to be dazzled by all my new surroundings.

Well once again it's fall and it's a pensive time for me. A lot of new things occurring in my life right now. Some, if I allow them, can make me very depressed but I've been consciously navigating my way through. If I find myself getting down, I don't panic, I just go with the feeling and I allow it to have its time. I think that's the only way we move on-instead of burying our emotions, let them run their course. I also know how to "medicate" those feelings with music.

It seems every time Maxwell comes out with a new CD, I've just ended a relationship. Somehow he always helps me navigate through. So suffice it to say I've been listening to a lot of Maxwell lately. In fact, his very first release, Maxwell's Urban Hang Suite was released when I was going through a major break up. I picked it up and 'Til the Cops Come Knockin' and Reunion helped me put things into perspective. Instead of spending the entire time wallowing in sadness, I began having a few 'Til the Cops Come Knockin' episodes of my own. From what I hear his latest, BLACKsummers'night, has two more releases scheduled: blackSUMMERS'night and blacksummers'NIGHT, I think I'll stay single until he's done. Oct. 16 he'll be at the Hollywood Bowl and I'll be there to check god out.

Well, enjoy the fall everyone. Embrace the changes nature brings. Here in California we're lucky enough not to be fully assaulted by inclimate weather so we should allow it to act as a prop or backdrop in the motion picture of our lives. I have quite a fondness for the fall. The cool air reminds me of loving and being loved; of a hand in hand walk with someone special; of concerts and plays and warm coats. I implore you all to find something special about this time of the year and make it your own.

TPOKW?

*Side Note-I took this photo yesterday on a jetty in Seal Beach at sunset. California has some very beautiful sunsets.

Glenn Beck and The Fema Camps

Immediately after the election of President Barack Obama, Fox 'News' host Glenn Beck began ranting and raving about Fema death camps. Surely Obama couldn't have erected these death camps in the short time he was in office, therefore the death camps must have existed prior to Obama's election to office and Beck must have known about them. The only real objection Beck has is not their existence thereof, but that a democrat (and an African-American one at that) is now in control of the government who would be responsible for filling said camps.

The Lipstick Lesbian and the Dirty Dance.

Last night I was supposed to go out on a date-but I canceled and opted to go see my friend's reggae band play...alone. Why, you ask? Well the woman I was supposed to go out on a date with was supposed to confirm by a certain time but failed to do so. At the last minute she called as though everything was fine. I told her it was kite flying season, gave her the best location to go fly one, and headed out to hear the reggae band.

I arrive at the venue and take a seat next to what I perceive to be 2 guys and a 2 girls. I don't think much of it, just a couple of couple's out to hear some good reggae music. As the evening progresses, the two guys go out on the balcony to smoke, and one is hanging all over the other's ass. I give them the side-eye, but hey, to each his reach right?

Later that evening, one of the 'guys' comes up to my table and introduces 'himself', his name is Rena. Don't know too many guys named Rena. This is about the time I realize Rena isn't a 'guy'. We chat about the band, she tells me they've been at the venue drinking since 6pm (it was 11:30pm) so she was pretty wasted. I tell her the band plays at the Sandpiper on Thursdays, she should check them out. She asks me to write the name down on a napkin and I say, "Sure." Rena comes back with a pen and a napkin and I scribble the name of the club, and some directions along with a map and hand her the napkin. Wait, did the club just see a 'dude' get my phone number? That's EXACTLY what I would have thought had I witnessed such an event-a dude picking up on another dude. I let it go.

Later, Rena, who's now become my favorite stalker fan, comes up and says, "My girlfriend wants to dance with you. Go dance with her." I sit, stunned. The word 'girlfriend' is reverberating around inside my head. After a few beers, I'm not the sharpest knife in the kitchen drawer so I'm sitting there processing this information....slowly: Now let's see, she looks like dude and dude's have girlfriends...processing... BUT she's not a dude and she has a girlfriend....processing...OH!!....LESBIANS!! Ok then, why does the lipstick lesbian wanna dance with me? This all transpired over the course of about 5 seconds. Rena can no longer wait, she grabs me by the arm and drags me over to her girlfriend, who smiles a drunken I could sure use some dick right now smile and we're off to the dance floor.

The lipstick lesbian (LL) immediately begins the dirty dance. I'm most certainly not feeling this at all. I keep looking over at Rena who pretends to be in deep conversation with whom I'm hoping is a real guy because this evening is turning out to be too bizarre for this old man. I try to create some distance, but LL insists upon sowing her heterosexual oats tonight and I'm the chosen penis. I continue to create distance because #1 she's drunk and #2 I don't want to go mano a mano with Rena over this nonsense. Not that I couldn't take her-one punch and she's on her back counting light fixtures on the ceiling-but who wants things to come to that?

Eventually Rena comes out and begins dancing with the 2 of us...WEIRD!!! I turn my back to them and dancing alone is a blonde woman who'd told me earlier she liked my hair-so I begin dancing with her. This goes on for about a song or two when all of a sudden LL jumps in between the two of us and begins the dirty dance again. Now, I'm really uncomfortable. I'm being made a public spectacle of by a lipstick lesbian who is making it obvious she wants to do the black snake moan. I'm in a quandary, what am I to do? Finally, the band plays a slow reggae song and I make the excuse that I have to go to the bathroom and politely excuse myself. When I come out of the restroom, they're gone and I breathe a sigh of relief. Had they not left, I might have been propositioned and I have to tell you, vomiting wouldn't have been off the list of possibilities. Not that I found them disgusting, but the mere thought that I might have been propositioned to fill some void in a lesbian relationship bothers me.

In many ways I felt sorry for Rena. I know she asked me to dance with her girlfriend to make her happy and I'm sure there's no limit to what she might have allowed to transpire in order to please her. I didn't feel a kinship or camaraderie of any kind with her, I just felt, she being the stud of the two, had to indulge a lot from her girlfriend to keep her. And all the dirty dancing in public with a real man...that seemed like a power play on behalf of LL. It's as though she was saying, "See, at any given moment I can replace you with an original."

Sad.

TPOKW?

And Chris Brown Got How Many Years of Probation?

This is just ridiculous.

How I Survived the Weaponizing of My Children (and What Died in the Process)

I love my kids-all of them. But I don't love them as much as I should; the way a father is supposed to love his children. I can't. I learned that years ago. Who's that scratching their head? I can hear the fingernails raking over the scalp. "What's that you say? You don't love your kids?" No, that's not what I said. What I said is I don't love them as much as I should. But make no mistake, it was a conscious effort on my part-a decision made out of necessity.

Love is a very, very, powerful emotion. It drives people to do some very unacceptable things. It can also motivate people to do very positive things as well-but that's not the focus of this blog entry. In the 80's, my son and I were separated for almost 6 years. His mother took him and disappeared. I've written about it in previous blogs and many of you might have read about it, so you know the story. During the first year of his absence I drowned my pain in alcohol. I don't remember very much during that first year, but I do remember a pain so intense, I wanted to, and probably would have done harm to his mother. Her saving grace was I didn't have a clue where she was. I was close to the brink of insanity and there's no telling what I might have done had I gotten a hold of her. After the first year, I found things to distract me but there was still a burning rage deep inside me. Years later, I decided that I had to put a lid on the love I have for my children. Their mothers could always weaponize that love and use it against me-and boy did they.

I had to make a choice, a very difficult choice. Either I allow the love I have for my children to be used against me in such a way that I could do harmful damage to someone and lose my freedom, or I control the depths of that love. This might be the first time some of you are hearing anything similar to this, but I'm certain there are more men out there who've experienced this same transformation. Imagine being faced with that dilemma-no one said life was easy.

Women who weaponize children and use them against their exes are the worst terrorist of them all. Worse than the 9-11 terrorists? Yes. Allow me to explain: often this type of terrorism goes unreported and in some cases is even sanctioned by local government. The damage is far reaching. It creates a riff between the paternal parent and the children. Eventually he has to let go. He has to put some emotional distance between himself and his children. Perhaps there are alternatives, but I don't know what they are. In my case, I had no way of knowing my son's mother would disappear with him so I was completely unprepared.
Certainly this behavior isn't against the law-it flies below the radar. In fact when the mother of my 2 daughters did the exact same thing (even after knowing my son's mom had pulled this stunt on me), the police department refused to get involved.

We live in a society where men aren't supposed to show their emotions, so many do as I did and suffer in silence or self-medicate themselves with alcohol and other mind/emotion altering substances. Some lash out, but the majority just try to deal with the pain alone. I know that many of the decisions I made after my son was removed from my life were decisions to try and eliminate the pain. It's like being on fire and grabbing anything within reach to try and extinguish it. I got with the wrong woman, made two more children out of wedlock, and just sunk into an even deeper hole. I became the perpetrator to my own victim. Self-destruction wasn't my intent but it was definitely my destination.

The real question now that I've said all of that is just how much do I love my children? Okay, I'll admit the first paragraph was seasoned with a little sensationalism-I do love my children with all of my heart. But there is a room that exists within my emotions that has a door that I open, enter, and close behind me. I become emotionally unavailable to all who attempt to reach me. Behind this door, I feel absolutely nothing (that's not true, I feel safe). I could watch someone die and feel no sympathy for that person-I literally shut down all of my emotions and become numb. I developed this place out of necessity-I had to find a way not to care, otherwise I would behave in an irrational manner that would have surely led to my incarceration.

I don't think fathers should be forced into creating such rooms. They have a profound affect on the children. My daughters all think I'm an emotionless man. I normally stay in the middle. Not getting too angry, not showing much happiness-almost robot-like. Sure, I tell them I love them all the time, but I think they think it's just something dad says because everyone else does.

I've lived in this country practically all my life, and I've had to deal with a myriad of enemies. I've had to deal with employers who were against me; a judicial system that categorizes me by color first; had to struggle for survival every day as an enlisted person in the United States Air Force-and that is no exaggeration. The racism I witnessed and experienced in the Air Force was unbelievably brutal in that the military justice system requires less burden of proof than civilian courts. It's a lot easier to charge and convict a member of the military under the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ) than it is your average citizen. It was emotionally easier and in some instances, like a chess game, for me to deal with the military racists. They repeatedly attacked, and I successfully defended-every single time. But having to deal with people who are supposed to have a modicum of compassion for you attacking you in places they know you're most vulnerable is far worse. It should be considered a crime.

These women knew that I loved my children unlike I ever loved anything else on the earth-and they weaponized that love and used it against me. And for what? Because I exercised my right to freedom and decided I couldn't be with them anymore? One I left because she was an alcoholic with a tendency to be extremely violent and reckless when drunk. The other I left because she believed a man was someone you tormented, attacked, schemed against. In her own words she once told me, "Men don't feel pain like women-it doesn't hurt you all as much." It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that eventually you're going to have to put some distance between that person and you.

My children and I all have, what I consider, a working relationship. We express love for one another, enjoy spending time together, and experience a genuine warmth towards one another. I smile deep inside and feel so fortunate that I survived those early years and to have come out on the other end still possessing the ability to feel for them-but I know that I keep one hand on that doorknob and at the first sign of trouble, I'm ducking behind that door. I wish it didn't have to be that way, and perhaps one day I'll feel comfortable enough to board up that room, never to enter again and experience the freedom associated with never having to worry about them being used against me again. Wow, this is probably the first time I've thought about it consciously, and what an emotional mess I must be. Many women I've dated say I sometimes become unreachable-and I know that I've used that door with the women in my life as well. And it makes perfect sense to me, but I'm sure they have no idea why all of a sudden a wall is erected and they are on the opposite side of it. I don't know if words are enough to explain it all to them.

Anyway, that's my story and it's sticking to me. If I could find a way to shake it, I'd be telling you an entirely different one. But as it stands, that's the only one I've got to tell.

TPOKW?

Addendum
In writing this entry, I just realized in the process of shutting down emotionally, I killed my own passion-passion for love, for art, for life. There had to be an innocent bystander. My passion became a casualty of the war. I guess I've learned the hard way that we are shaped by our environment and we should choose our environments wisely.

Hemp-It's Time.

In 1990, Hugh Downs of ABC's 20/20, did this report on hemp. Take a listen, this information may shock you.