Rags to Riches . . . or Ruins?

I am back after a long hiatus. I had (re)cycled through my musings and grown bored with myself. As a public service, I discontinued blogging. Instead I followed the advice of a friend suggesting a departure from my routine. That resulted in pursuit of a degree which I am only 15 credit hours shy of completing. So some progress has been made. I have done quite well in my course work but nothing in my economic status has changed other than accruing more debt from student loans. I may continue with yet another degree on the heels of completing this one. That is a pending decision.
So, a quick status update is on order:
• I gained weight/lost a good amount/gained most back . . am now losing, again.
• Not yet returned to a full-time job.
• Not able to secure a part-time job.
• Almost out of the woods on my credit smudges that preclude consideration for hire.
• I gained several new friends that are dispersed around the globe but are closer than my immediate community and previous acquaintances.
• I retained all of my true friends and am glad that poor judgment only applied to other areas of my life.
• I continue to be supported and kept fed and sheltered by these friends.
• I have some contact with my children but have still not been in the same space with them for over six years.
• I am closer to my own parents and wish I was taking care of them rather than them me.
• I had a friends with benefits relationship that was her idea - not mine. I will say that it put a lingering smile on my face and brought temporary clarity akin to the fitting of a new eye glass prescription. It did not last and opened an area I had successfully suppressed. Bothersome.
• I remain gravely single and this is not from emotional scarring, mistrust of women, or other such non-sense. It is purely from a lack of means - both financial and transportation-related. I am simply not free to come and go as I need to much less as I would please. This, and this only, prevents me screwing myself up further by returning to dating and mingling.
I suppose I consider my circumstances to be a cocoon from which I will eventually feel inspired to struggle free and not realize how I have changed from when I entered it. Age is advancing, though, and time is another thing that I do not have in surplus. However, most days my circumstances are more like living in a box, sealed on all sides. With no light from outside, I can only be certain of "up," and "down" but nothing that confirms whether I am moving left, right, forward, or backward. All persons and conditions outside of my confined space are hidden from me. Sounds are muted, dangers and rewards are unknown. I have to trust in the muffled encouragement and directions of those outside the box and also determine which voices are reliable from those merely amused, blindly optimistic, or malicious. I have yet to tumble any further down but neither have I advanced. So many have insisted I have been just a little while away from "things" turning around" for the past five years but I also am near persuaded things are changing. There is just no measure to determine whether the changes will bring riches or ruin.

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Am I Squinting For or Wincing From the Light?

Years ago I moved far away from my family, friends, and the familiar environment that had incubated my social development, career, and contentment. At the time of that departure I ventured out on a path described by circumstances and the intent of pleasing someone other than myself. I had a new wife and an opportunity to sacrifice my comfort and convenience for the love of seeking to fulfill her ambitions, hopes, and desires. There was no coercion or pressure from her at all. I acted independently, swiftly, and without regret. I also acted carelessly, too dependently, and without realistic consideration. The latter three became the hallmarks of my marriage and all other conduct as the man defined by those actions. I still have no regrets for the decision I made. I have no regrets for the leaving of all I knew behind. I especially have no regrets for having been married to the person with whom I then lived in a world completely removed from my preferences and own dreams and ambitions because I loved her – will always love her – and had counted the cost of discontinuing investment in myself to be a price worth paying to have her in my life.

My failure to invest myself and in myself has left me in a deficit from which I may very sincerely never manage to recover. I am so keenly interested in time, now. I am not interested in the time I have remaining as a positive influence but as the unwelcome reminder of a debt still owed and in collections. Time is not a healer but a compounding of that negative interest and the yield is exponentially wearying. I do not look forward, but, only backward in order to recall happier times. The exercise is not bitter or sweet. It is the checking of figures in a ledger and simply acknowledging that the accounting is accurate. There is nothing on reserve or left to be deposited that will enhance the balance. There is no funding underway for any hopeful or ambitious endeavors. I am made ever sadder by every moment I live. It raises the bar just that much higher beyond my grasp. I am alone to face a future that is certain in its urgency, sparse accommodations, and empty solitude. I am without currency and it is pay-as-you-go.

I am expressing this as a sort of pressure relieving valve and as a cautionary tale. Perhaps someone may feel resonant vibrations. If so, you are urged to tune to another frequency and lower or heighten the pitch of your life to something richer and resplendent with harmonious complements of something fundamentally fulfilling. I have always enjoyed the Blues but never was inclined to pay any sort of metaphoric dues to sing them from my soul. That said, I am on some sort of installment plan, apparently. The words sound familiar but the tune is something I am finding that I groan more than hum. I do not wish you to follow the trail of wasted years I am recollecting. When that journey away from all I knew and had never expected to be removed from came to be it was launched with a going away party. I never anticipated that all of me was to go away. I only expected there to be distance and difficulty but never permanent loss. I have come to experience more loss than any gain in my life here to fore. The first indication of that loss was at the party, in fact. My dearest and closest friends parted with good wishes and warm handshakes and hugs. I have all of them in my life, still. I did not lose them. Had I lost them I would not be here to write this. But the curious thing I took away was what caused tears when it was left behind. That which I cried over and those that cried over me in those goodbye moments were made of incomplete and unresolved stuff. The remorse was in the regret of opportunities not taken, friendships not deepened, and lives not interwoven. I am trying to remember that sting so that I do not live in this coma where all that remains to me are the tears of loss and no hope of gain.

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Space & Time - Who Has the Energy to Know If It Matters?

Yes. I’m being oh so clever. My philosopher’s heart has turned to stone but an object in motion remains in motion until acted upon by an external force. That forced change of momentum has definitely not allowed me to remain at rest and my equally opposing reaction must be seen as the consequence of disturbing my inertia.

The terminology is so woven into our culture without any real understanding of the expressions - matter, energy, inertia, gravity, relativism, quanta. The men responsible for making these concepts common to our ears but not to our understanding were such polar opposites in temperament, personality, approach to their studies, abilities and philosophies.

I am not going to claim parity with Sir Isaac Newton or Albert Einstein but I’m not going to deny fundamental similarities, either. The real differences between their lives and accomplishments and the order of things to date in my life is simple choices and actions. It is not that I don’t have the faculties and cerebral acumen to engage intelligently in a dialog of their work – it is that I have not been engaged and they were. Newton elected to pursue the motions of heavenly bodies and to ignore the motions of earthly ones. He elected early in his studies to distract himself from the pursuit of women by engaging his mind in the study of nature. He understood his own nature well enough to know that if he dwelt on abstaining from the pleasures of female company that would be all he would think on. He knew he would fixate on that which he was denying himself. That is failure one on my part. I not only dismissed anything as being more or equally important to the company of women but then I became equally fixated after their departure. I have frittered away decades on the fleeting pleasure of a woman’s company. I could have invested myself in something with perhaps less promise but more substance of thrill, discovery and satisfaction in the exploration. The universe is measurable, predictable, and reliable and demonstrates behaviors that hold constant. None of that can be applied to women. I have squandered energy on creatures where the investment never matters. Just as Newton was frustrated in his pursuits of alchemy I have been frustrated in turning the love of women from lead to gold. I’m left with only the weight and toxicity of the attempt.

Einstein was a great visual scientist but not a mathematician of the caliber of Newton. I am similarly wired. I understand advanced mathematical concepts with far greater ease than I do the rules of exponents. My right hemisphere dominance allows me to see trigonometric relationships in three dimensional space. I see sinusoidal motion as a helix, for example. It’s simply a matter of phase to represent it as either a two dimensional wave or as a circle. But, I struggled through my math studies because I had no application for the knowledge. Now, I am going in reverse. I have the application and am going back to study the math relevant to describe phenomena. It is in dispute whether or not Einstein’s first wife, Mileva Maric, was his scribe for translating his conceptual thoughts into mathematical language. When they divorced, he latched onto a doctoral student in Mathematics at Princeton where he was installed. What is important to take away is that recognizing personal weaknesses is the means to act to overcome them, and; the women may leave but the work remains.

Everything measured about matter is applicable only in the context of an environment defined by space and time. The infinitesimally small is used to describe the incredibly large. The forces acting on the fundamentals apply to the complex. Newton and Einstein were scientists but they were also philosophers. Their pursuit of the relevance of mankind in the universe recognized a design and purpose to it all established by a supreme designer. The laws of motion and the measure of energy are also related to the conduct of human beings. Newton and Einstein devoted their time and allocated space to pursue understanding of the behavior of the natural worlds. I find myself compelled to follow. I have not been as wise as Newton to make the choice voluntarily which revealed the nature of light. I am not the visionary that was Einstein to quantify the light. However, it is possible that I may have as little as 40 seconds or another 40 years on this planet. There is still time for me to experience the light.

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I Love You , Dad

Today is my father's birthday. Fathers often get taken for granted. Well, I don't know so much if that is what it amounts to or expressing to a father how you feel is not usually as easy and comfortable as the same conversation and admissions with a mother. There are all sorts of built-in barriers to a lot of that sort of emoting to Dear Old Dad. My father spent his entire career with the telephone company (when there was only one, in the United States) and told me with a smirk on his face that Christmas Day and Mother's Day vied for the highest single day of telephone call volume each year. Then he let the other shoe fall and told me that Father's Day held the record each year for highest number of collect calls in a single day. "Hi Dad, Happy Father's Day and thanks for picking up the tab!"

I've never done that but my father has certainly had to pay for being my father in many costly and painful ways over the years. He has never held that against me. I have probably dangled my own feet over the fire much more than he. I am so proud of my father. He's by no means perfect but I wouldn't change anything about him. Warts and all - I love to point out to people that, "That's MY Dad." As I shared in my post on my Mom's birthday, I have parents whom I am proud to share and lend out to my friends. Not everyone (and it seems way too few people have) has as healthy a relationship with their parents as I have with mine. There's plenty of room in my parent's hearts and home for anyone that needs them.

I learned at a very young age that my parents and particularly my father garnered respect that was never sought or demanded. I even had to contend with some of the kids I knew that wanted to nudge me out of the way and be my Dad's "favorite." That is really and truly funny because my dad is a man of few words, even less tolerance for nonsense, and does not like social gatherings. He basically lives in the downstairs family room of his home and I don't think he'd come out unless a fire flushed him from his "Man Cave," as my mother refers to it. The sounds of flipping television channels and the rustling of snack wrappers are the only audible signs of life. There is nothing more comical than when my mother invades his sanctuary to snag chips or soft drinks and bring them upstairs to give to members of the family or guests. She is a towering figure of 5'-2" tall and about 112 pounds. My father is 6'-4" and in the 200's. It's like watching a Chihuahua yap at a Great Dane - hands on her hips in defiance and neck bent all the way back on her shoulders to make eye contact with him. She, like all of my friends, think nothing of invading his personal space or gravitating toward him wherever he is. He just attracts people. They want to be with him. They want to impress him, and, they want his approval. That's just not something he has ever been comfortable doing. But, he does it anyway. My Dad may be uncomfortable in social settings but he fears only two things: God (as in reverence and respect) and failing to act responsibly. In other words, my father has nothing to fear. He is the most honor-bound, duty-bound, responsible person I have ever known.

My mother sometimes feels slighted that he can not express his love and devotion but I remind her that he demonstrates those, without fail, every moment of their lives. He never experienced that in his own family. He is the equivalent of emotionally color blind. He just doesn't get the nuances and subtle variations of emotional interaction. I remind my mother, as well, "That's what he's got you for." His own upbringing never made any space for expressions of love and caring. I experienced it as a grandchild and can only imagine how much colder it was as a son. But, he knows how to show love by his actions not by his words. He may lean too heavily toward practical gifts like washing machines and vacuum cleaners but my mother has never had to fuel her own car, deal with any maintenance, ask for a dollar, doubt his fidelity, or worry when or if he were coming home. Just the other day I told her that his calling her every day at lunch, from his office, made me want to do the same thing when I grew up and had a wife. "That showed how much he loved you and was really important to me, as a boy," I told her. Her response caught me totally off guard. "Yeah, I used to think that, too, when he first began calling - then I realized he was only making small talk until I told him what had come in the mail that day!" I am still laughing uncontrollably because *THAT* makes sense! My sister is three years younger than I and has that gift all daughters possess in relation to their fathers - they can melt a man to a sappy puddle of goo. He had a little more trouble being the strict disciplinarian with her. He had no such reservations with me - and no recourse, to be honest. But one evening while getting ready for bed my sister started crying that "Daddy doesn't love us . . . He never tells us . . . He never hugs us . . ." and my Mom, interrupted with the most important words that I, as his son, needed to hear. "Your father never does anything for himself. He only thinks of us, first. When we have a meal, your father waits until we have all taken everything we want and have had our pick and then he takes what is left. Your father won't even go buy himself underwear if he isn't sure you and your brother and I have need of anything, first. Other fathers go to bars and drink their paychecks and don't care about their families. Your father loves you and he might not say it out loud all of the time but we are his whole life. Take a good look at your father and see what a man looks like." Preach it, Mom!

My Dad had been a Marine and missed being selected Honor Guard at the White House because he was 1/2 " too short. He was an expert marksman and possessed all of the necessary skills and attitude to dispatch any deserving target. The alterations to his psyche by the Corp were so ingrained that when I was in my late teens and came home very late from a night out he had stayed up to meet me. He looked very uncomfortable which was not normal. It seems that he had watched a movie called, "The Great Santini," which is the relationship between a Marine sergeant and his son. My father apologized to me. He said he saw things in that movie that were too close to home and that he was afraid he had harmed me. I am the one that needs to apologize to him. I have never become as much a man as my father. He never pressured me to make me think that way. I just so want to not be a disappointment and a worry to that man. My father has a brilliant and reasonable mind. He is gifted artistically and mathematically. He was a successful engineer. My father was actually offered a full scholarship to the U.S. Naval Academy but my unexpected conception sort of spoiled that. Neither of my parents ever blamed me and my father claims that I saved his life because the graduating class he would have been in all died in Vietnam. So, as a child when I was trying to learn to write, my father sat down with me and I watched him teach himself to write with his left hand (because I am left-handed) so that he could instruct me. At that early age that told me everything I needed to know about my father. He never tried to change me only make every opportunity for me to be the best me that I could be.

So let me tell you the other things you need to know about my Dad. My mother's brother was a Green Beret and is about eight years younger than my father. They have been buddies forever. My uncle would come home from a training mission and my civilian father and he would test each other. My uncle would come in and say, "Hey old man let me show you what I learned." And my father would say, "Bring it on, Junior." The next thing would be a bunch of out of breath laughter and my father would have my uncle pinned to the ceiling. They were like kids. Then leap forward about a dozen years to a near fatal accident for that same uncle. My father could not deal with that at all and hates hospitals as I came to discover. Only because it was my uncle could he muster the resolve to go to that hospital room. I have never seen my father so shaken but at the birth of all of his grandchildren he was just as much a mess. He has nine. None of them is fooled by the big, pretending to be fierce, man. They've got his number and he's everybody's giant teddy bear.

He doesn't speak much and he tries to stay sequestered in his "Man Cave" but he's always listening and ready to spring into action. I learned that the hard way at about 14 years old. My mother was telling me to do something and I mouthed off. Before the words were out of my mouth, he was up those stairs and I was having a lesson on respect and the proper attitude toward authority and women "administered" by the big guy. That same man also took me aside when I was an awkward adolescent and a distant female relative had just spent ten minutes going on and on about how my curly hair and eyelashes would make me such a pretty girl. He punctuated that conversation with the word, "Son." That was the first and only time in my memory that he ever called me that directly. As I mentioned, earlier, he had no personal experience from his upbringing to know of love being expressed or many of the other things that he taught and willed himself to do and be for his own family. Just as an indication of his side of the family we only referred to his parents formally as "Grandmother and Grandfather;" no pet names like my mom's family. By pure accident I picked up another phone while he was speaking to his parents after we had moved to another state. My father was 35 years old at that time. In wrapping up the conversation with his parents I heard him struggle and finally blurt out the words, "I Love You." There was silence on the other end of the line! Never did I ever hear his parents tell them they loved him.

Well I Love You, Dad. I want everyone to hear it.

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Give My Creation Life

I have never been one to shy away from pain nor have I ever been a masochist. Physical pain is easiest to handle in my purview. Bodily threats and risk of injury are taken in stride. There’s a certain acceptable risk factor and beyond that it comes down to whether one has demonstrated through skill and sometimes blind luck the management of the threat and avoided serious consequences; or, through inept and foolish effort, endures wounds or trauma as a consequence to their folly.

Emotional pain lingers far longer and can not have any real remedy directly applied. This causes most to avoid matters of the heart over what matters to the head. Emotional issues are more like a toxin spread throughout the organs of the body. The smallest prick of the soul and the complications can become unmanageable in a moment of time. The symptoms mimic so many possible causes and obfuscate any honest diagnosis. A physical scar is often able to be accepted or forgotten but the emotional scar may never actually heal. One forgets the intensity of physical pain and reflexively avoids experiencing any unnecessarily but emotional pain can be remembered in full and actually hobbles the sufferer ever after. The rational mind wants to find patterns, hazards, and dangerous behaviors to identify and avoid in order not to make the same mistake, twice. Unfortunately, the heart tries to provide the mind with the same sort of list of the intangible issues of living and the results are the avoidance of a singular event as if it were indicative of a predictable cause and effect. Subsequently, the desire to avoid hurt generates a list of occurrences that overwhelm the ever shrinking expectation of desirable experiences. People shrink back and become afraid to touch or be touched. Memory no longer serves but enslaves.

There was a time when I was undaunted by challenge or threat. The possible risks held no sway over the urgency of my passions to obtain whatever I purposed. Any opposition was faced down with defiance and blood in my eye. I took what I wanted, who I wanted, when I wanted. A shift of perspective corrected some of that inordinate self focus and I was not afraid to explore feelings or experience the rough handling that exposing them would guarantee. It was deemed an acceptable level of risk. Those experiences did not adversely affect me because I had put myself in the line of fire deliberately and anticipated the consequences with a fair approximation of the causality and cumulative disruption to my comfort.

I was smug and I was arrogant and I was defining the rules of the game so there was really little chance of me suffering all that greatly. I put that entirely aside and left myself completely open and vulnerable . . . and I was torn to pieces. I wasn’t betrayed by an enemy. I wasn’t deceived by a friend. I wasn’t left to rot by a stranger. I was wounded to the same extent that I had wounded her. For neither was it out of conscious effort or vengeance or self- protection but out of simply living and getting burned by singular events that had nothing to associate them but that they were grouped together because the pain was the same. That pain overwhelmed our senses and left us numb and shattered. Rational escape from the wounds was warped by the struggle to get free of the pain. Once pulled apart there were no remaining threads left whole to affect a proper mend but the pain remained intact.

She moved out and moved on. I dug in and went under. I have spent too much time sifting through the dirt for traces and shards of the life we had together. The pieces I discover are ugly and mangled. The slivers pierce and cut me but no matter how many I gather the restoration is incomplete. Too much of us and too much time has been lost. It doesn’t matter that I continue to bravely face the pain; there is no substance behind it. I am not afraid of a broken heart. I am afraid of our broken promises. She may have been the one to leave but that does not mean that I was wholly there before her decision. Promises were broken; I failed and she failed and we failed. I am not afraid of failure. I am afraid of our surrender. Where was my defiance against our common enemy? Why did I shrink back from the challenge? Why did we believe the journey to be so daunting? I am not afraid of the journey. I am afraid of stopping to rest and never starting up, again. I mustn’t be afraid of the pain. I mustn’t rest to try and escape it. I can not allow what I mustn’t to prevent me from doing what I should.

I am starting with something that is emptier than starting with nothing. I keep insisting upon reviving that which is dead. How do I put aside the emptiness and the hollow echoes of that which once fulfilled me? Let go. Get up. There’s nothing left alive there anymore. I have sewn together a figure of straw and stuffed it with my memories. My tears won’t give it eyes or my cries a voice. My wasted breath won’t give it life or my blood a beating heart. I stand in this place, alone.

The journey is not over. I’ve rested long enough.

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Fits Me to a "T"

Here I was going along all righteously indignant and mad at the world and one of those curvy critters with the squishy bits got in here while I wasn’t looking. Now the whole plan to hold a grudge and incite riot with my inflammatory posts is in serious jeopardy.

She was here for one afternoon and now all of my stuff is being boxed up and tossed out in the garage. All of my sulphur and brimstone has been reupholstered in pastels and frills. (Is that Fabreze in her hand . . .?)

See what happens when you listen to women? As the bumper sticker so aptly remarked - “God, made Man, and rested. Then, He made Woman and no one has rested since.”

Man, she blind-sided me! She caught me off guard with her feminine wiles by flattering me with a comment on one of my posts. Next thing I know she’s making helpful suggestions about improving my site and I end up spending the next day and a half totally overhauling and renovating the joint. Even put a room addition on, the left margin column with the greeting and labels and stuff to “Let a little light in this place so someone might visit.” She thinks this blog ought to be warm and inviting. The Nerve!!!

You know what I say? IT’S ABOUT TIME!!!

Surely, anyone reading my blog knows it’s a pitiful attempt to get attention. My one friend has assured me my blog will either bring in women to try and fix me or women that really want to kill me. He is very smug in predicting that either result is exactly what I’m after. Of course, he’s right but what’s that got to do with anything? Now, this still doesn’t make the world a perfect place. I am grateful for a friendly feminine touch in my life but my overall lot in life remains the same. The woman in question is going to prove to be a wonderful sounding board for some creative projects and I hope to be the same. But, I’ve still got the “single for life” syndrome to contend with as I try to establish relationships that don’t cross any boundaries or send false signals. Right - Lots of luck.

The problem with the squishy bit critters is they’re so darn hard to ignore. Thank God this is a medium without face-to-face interaction. A smile or tear from one of those double X chromosome things and I’d be lost. If they continue to actually participate in my posts with comments I’m liable to forget myself and write a lengthy entry on how wonderful a woman can be. The thought sets my teeth on edge and makes my spine cringe.

I must remember my mantra: “Women are evil, Women are bad . . .”

. . . Where . . . did this ring in my nose come from?!?! What the . . .?

I’m really losing the battle, now. I don’t know if my heart is in the fight to stay away from them anymore. My friend is getting re-married in two days and I’m more excited than he is. (OK, maybe that’s an exaggeration.) The woman he is marrying is wonderful and I’m equally pleased for both of them. In some ways this will alter our friendship and I will have to suffer the loss of monopolizing his time. You know what? It’s so worth it to see what a difference having her share his life is making. I love that guy and to see him happy, again, doesn’t make me jealous or envious it just makes me glad that the right thing can still happen in this world. I just don’t have a map for the world I find myself in at this time.

So, I keep looking at that pink silhouette on the above T-shirt. Am I not supposed to desire someone standing there with me like that? Is there a reason for me to remain alone, but somehow not lonely? Is there a fit for me with a new love and a woman whose form is only a shadow to me now? I have no answers. I know how I feel. I know what my longings are. I know I could easily chase after the first woman willing to stop and talk to me. That’s so pitiful. I also know that I won’t indulge myself and that I will spend a good deal longer hemming and hawing and watching time run away from me because I’m too unsure where to place my next step. Even getting lost is so much better with someone by your side.

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I'm NOT paranoid. Why does EVERYONE think that?!?

Too much of anything is really never a good thing. We all know this from experience. The “thing” in question determines what quantity isn’t enough and what is too much but you know when you’re hungry and you know when you’re full.

For me there are a lot of things where I’ve wrung out the last drop and there is a hollow, empty, echoing void. In direct proportion to this I have had more than my fill of several negative consequences. There are certain corollaries in this life. There are inverse relationships. I really can’t quantify their measure but I can qualify their significance. I am beginning to feel as if my life is playing out like a lost episode of The Twilight Zone. Somewhere, Rod Serling, is directing the daily monotony of my life.

Mr. Serling loved to explore what the consequences would be for people if they were to get their greatest yearnings and wishes. These secret longings usually involved being left undisturbed or to be able to replace a weakness in their character with a perceived strength and so on. His work employed a lot of reflection on the realization that people generally were better off where they were. The irony, in my case, is that I was already extremely content with where I was. I was aware that I had fundamental work to do on some areas that adversely affected my family and I don’t believe I was blind to my faults. Just, generally, life was really good. So, because of that safe life and content existence I never had the compulsion to change direction or reinvent myself. I liked me – which, based on my tenaciously clinging to a now very distant past, tells me I still like me; that me that was in cruise control in the family mini-van.

Unfortunately, that min-van ran out of gas a long time ago. The wife and kids thumbed a ride out of my life, the bank repossessed the mini-van, and that highway was diverted and all traffic rerouted far, far away from me.

Now, I’m that creepy hitchhiker guy that everyone is uncomfortable around. According to surveys I actually represent the majority of people in my economic circle and age group. There are a whole lot of people single or single by divorce, starting new careers, starting over in their forties. We must all be behaving the same as well, for the most part, as I do not come into contact with such folks. I do have myself in a hermit-like lifestyle. Admittedly, that isn’t conducive to a thriving social life. But it goes back to that satisfied feeling with which I used to be so familiar. I’m not at all interested in a diet of fast food relationships and junk food get-togethers. I want to be able to sit around a table and drink in the company and the atmosphere. I want to be able to slow down and enjoy the experience. No one has time for that. I require too much attention. I’ve got too much to get out of my system and to work through for most people’s palates. When you have time – lots of time, but not much else – you get your fill of hearing your own thoughts in a hurry. I may be more lucid than at any other time in my life. So what? No one cares. Now, to recognize and accept that no one cares would cripple anyone. When all you have is time to review that rejection over and over again it’s torturous. And the excuses that those who make time to care for you have are all legitimate. They are actively participating in living. Those excuses and pre-occupations are also their protection against contemplating the pain someone such as me is experiencing. No one likes to hear cries of pain. But, when you are the one in pain you are going to cry out involuntarily regardless of how unpleasant that may be to others. So rather than tell me to shut up, people don’t tell me anything at all. In fact, they just stop visiting, stop calling, stop answering my emails – just . . . STOP . . . being a part of my life.

So, what is the opposite of paranoia? Because no matter how much some wish to shrug off my observations or down-play the severity of some action’s affect on my well-being, I am not imagining. Right now, I am the biggest buzz kill on the planet. I enter a conversation and people stop talking. I go to dinner or a movie, alone, and people rootch around uncomfortably in their seats. I tell someone what I am really thinking or feeling or experiencing and they stop contacting me. I write a blog and no one acknowledges it. I join a discussion in someone else’s blog and I kill the participation like water on a lit match. I am endeavoring to reach out and beyond myself and circumstances to reconnect with a larger representation of humanity. If my methods are awkward or offensive one might expect even that would be addressed by someone. What I do not want to declare, despite the evidence, is that I’m seeking humanity and no one has any. There is no other conclusion. A beggar will find more than one person to extend themselves and contribute. A prisoner can find amnesty. The convicted may still hope for mercy. I am not afforded any of these things. Go ahead – look ME in the eyes: Selfish bastards . . . Liars . . . Cowards, all.

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I Want A Do Over

There are several congenital defects in the human heart. Their effect is immediately recognizable but their cause is undetectable. If you ask, women can swear with certainty that it is exclusively the fault of the Y-chromosome. If you ask, men will avow that there is a universal rash of behavior attributable to but denied by women. Unfortunately, one of the global symptoms shared by all of these defects is the need to find fault in others.

The impact is so pandemic while the cure so elusive that there is a general acceptance and surrender that belays discussion unless it is in private conversations or hidden in vague language. The philosopher seeks out its pathways; the artist explores it in verse, in lyric and in portraits. The great and the small struggle but find no solution. Those in pain find comfort in blaming everyone with whom they have come in contact. Those crippled or weakened may fight to regain function or find the struggle too great and succumb. Some observe the devastation which others have endured and steel themselves in an effort to prevent circumstances the opportunity to incite the condition.

But when and how and where the defects will present are beyond our control. It doesn’t matter whether one lives in solitude or indiscriminately socializes because, despite the observation that these are communicable, everyone is already a carrier. The same urges, instincts and longings drive us all with the only subtle difference being how far we are driven crazy.

This seldom stops us from asking, “Why?” I am asking quite a lot at this time in my life. The defects of which I am most curious are all about the stupefying insistence of human beings to deliberately dismiss one another. I have no real questions to the causes. I have no unsolved enigmas in the ways we conduct our malice. Where I have a lot of time invested is in why we won’t examine our resentments and bitterness to resolve them but will enthusiastically do so to reinforce them. The human race is determined to wile away its existence in futile passions.

[Insert record scratch, here]

I want a do over. I want a do over in nearly everything. That’s what made me drill down into the things that screw up relationships. I can’t get a do over unless another person gives it to me. That is the underlying problem in all human interaction. Nearly every conflict comes down to one person being willing to try again and the other person being dead set against it. This happens between nations and right on down to family members and is always foundational to a man and woman in conflict.

Historically in the majority of cases involving men and women it is men seeking the do over. This is not because men are solely at fault or necessarily the guilty party – except it seems that it is necessary as far as women are concerned. So it’s men making the pleadings for a re-trial in all of the “love” songs, romance novels, and movies. Seriously think about that. And, then also seriously evaluate that “love” appears to be something men want and women leave men wanting.

Yeah, yeah – Boo Hoo, I know. For all of the claims of women pining for that special someone no one is ever special enough. I am still going to contend that men are willing to work with a woman’s faults but women can not reciprocate. Women suffer a man’s faults. That is in no way the same thing.

The entire system is set up for a “woman’s prerogative to change her mind.” In other words, a woman will not be held to her choices, decisions, or indiscretions or be made to be accountable for her contradictory nature. Instead she is rewarded for being contrary by every aspect of the dating, courting, marriage and mating rituals. Be honest – there is a whole lot of expected ass kissing for women. Men are expected to be consistent, trustworthy, reliable, diligent, devoted – predictable. That is why a woman lashing out at a man for unsatisfactory (in her biased estimation) behavior receives what a woman believes to be her most scathing indictment, “I don’t even know who you are anymore.” If a man were to say this to a woman he would hear derisive laughter. A woman isn’t the same person within the same breath much more any extended period of time.

What this equates to is a performance-based system for relationships between the genders. It is a meritocracy whereby the man is a pawn. Love is purely conditional as far as the affections of the woman toward the man. He must make all of the proper moves in the correct sequence and even then never expect he passes muster. He will be doubted, questioned, taunted, mocked and deceived as ever the woman sees fit. The game is rigged. A man can do no better than finish and had better be damned happy and content with that. While she’s keeping the mystery she’s also keeping score.

By definition the rules guarantee that the man is constantly guilty until proven innocent. This becomes protracted to associate the onus of fault to be exclusively the man’s while the woman holds court as jury, judge and executioner. The extended consequence is that one party believes herself blameless and a victim due to her association with the man. When she tires of the game he is dismissed with a summary sentence of either, “I’ve outgrown you;” or, a personal favorite, “I don’t love you and I never loved you.” In fairness, the latter might actually be the closest to a pronouncement of truth to ever pass her lips.

So, knowing this is the game I still want a do over. I still seek reconciliation and whatever love she has to offer no matter how imperfect . What I want is the same acceptance that I offer her.

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Yes. It's big of me, too

There are some things about men and the things enjoyed by men that most women just don’t get.

As just a for-instance, the male predisposition to their fanatical devotion to a sports team immediately comes to mind as well as most references to the Three Stooges or the Marx Brothers.

Here’s a classic example with Groucho Marx, as Captain Spaulding:

Captain Spaulding: “Well whadaya say girls? Are we all gonna get married?”

Mrs. Whitehead: “All of us?”

Captain Spaulding: “All of us!”

Mrs. Whitehead: “But that’s bigamy!”

Captain Spaulding: “Yes, and it’s big-a-me too.”
- From “Animal Crackers” (1930)

Margaret Dumont, was in seven Marx Brothers movies and publicly confessed to having never understood their humor on or off the set. I find myself in a similar baffled condition with the current exploration of polygamy. I’m curious to know how women feel about the attraction such an arrangement might or might not hold because I’m scratching my head about this as a man. I don’t know if I am more disturbed or intrigued.

The cult under investigation, in Texas, is not the first time the media has taken more of an amused than sober look into this issue. Several years ago there was a gentleman that took advantage of a parcel of land at the intersection of four western states. None of the surrounding states had ever staked a claim to the territory and this enterprising individual built a homestead to accommodate his fifteen wives. Seeing as no state owned the land then no state regulations forbidding polygamy applied. He also took the presumptuous position that since he was not in a state, per se, he was not bound by federal laws, either. That’s an amazing pair of huevos on an hombre happy to take on fifteen women and the United States at the same time. These fifteen women were very similar to women interviewed on a recent Oprah exposé of a Utah community of polygamists. The dozen and a quarter wives all seemed quite sane and quite satisfied with their arrangements. In the case of Huevos Grande, all of the women were well-to-do professional businesswomen – the majority being doctors and attorneys. This completely flies in the face of public expectation. I, for one, imagined most women in such a relationship were “married” at nine years of age and then never allowed to be exposed to the public.

Boy, do I have egg on my face.

But there’s more. Mrs and Mrs and Mrs and . . . Mrs and Mrs Huevos slept in dormitory-like arrangements. I’m not kidding. They slept in bunk beds, four women to a cabin.

Wow.

They also had a calendar of chores with each woman taking turns in a sort of Sweet Sixteen rotation. I don’t know if they wore nametags or had a number branded on their persons to keep things organized but the share and share alike carried right on up to whose turn it was to sleep in the “big bed.”

You see, apparently, polygamists insist their intimate times are wholly monogamous. These men are just your average one-woman-at-a-time kind of guys.

How Do I Phrase This?
The Chinese are a very ancient and wise culture. Their written language is very informative because they use simple symbols combined in unique ways to express complex dynamics of their speech as well as human thought. They are very direct and blunt, as a result. Their expressions have been honed and refined over thousands of years. Do not question the wisdom of the Chinese. An example is in order:

This is the character for a tree:

木

Combine two or three trees and, logically, you have a forest:


The Chinese are very smart.

This is a woman:




Combine two women under one roof and you have Trouble:


The Chinese are brilliant.

Oh, Yeah. The observant among you may have taken note that the character for “woman” used in the word “trouble” looks just like the representation of “forest.” The character for “tree” has the general inference of “wood” and so is related to the qualities of something made of wood – among those: “rigid” and “numb.” The Chinese are insightful.

It would appear that the majority of polygamists innately understand the inherent dangers of only two wives. In the recent interviews that I have encountered the magic number of wives is three. So, officially they are trigamists. It makes monogramming the linens more difficult but seems to make everything else run smooth as silk. The pattern that I seem to be picking up from the few candid couples . . . No, quadruples (?) openly discussing how their relationships work is that there is the traditional monogamous marriage, first. Some time after the marriage is consummated and progressing along the normal lines there becomes a mutual desire of both the man and the woman for another woman. How does this meeting of the mons, er, minds occur??? I can not even begin to imagine initiating such a proposal without anticipating loss of function in several parts of my body thus making the whole proposal moot anyway.

It gets worse. It seems that the most likely candidate to interview for the position is the wife’s sister! This is mind blowing. Sisters are generally known to be close, but not all of the time and not about sharing the same guy. Let’s face it, sisters are usually quite competitive and there is always some psychological cruelty being exhibited from one to the other. No woman wants to follow the pack unless it’s to go to the bathroom. Women hunt alone. Women want to be an exclusive. What is going on here? Curiosity or proving you’re the “better” woman just doesn’t offer enough incentive. And for a guy to risk having more than one pissed-off woman to contend with defies rational explanation no matter how promising the sex. These guys must have evolved through the mutant DNA of the praying mantis and simply expect their heads to be chewed off after mating. Or . . . they have the instincts of a fox and have taken alpha dog to a whole new level.

The Buddy System?
Women are, typically, extremely territorial. So much so that I am surprised that most do not pee on everything they claim as a way to mark ownership. (Perhaps they do?) This awareness on my part has resulted in a few sadistic little things I enjoy in the developing stages of a budding romance. This occurs during that time where I am not supposed to be aware that all of the seemingly harmless and innocuous little out-of-the-blue questions she tosses my way are actually a calculated catalogue. But, I do know what she’s up to so I exact a small toll for such trolling under the bridge being spanned between us. During any quiet moment when she is snuggled up next to me and has taken fascination with my watch I will innocently “confess” that it was a gift from an ex-lover. If my wallet is a little tired or worn? Sure; why not? That was also a gift (even if it wasn’t). This guarantees me a delicious moment of spiteful pleasure and, within twenty-four hours, a few small gift boxes with new watches, wallets and other trinkets to replace my “old ones.” I have no say in this. No sooner has the new watch been unboxed but the “old one” is torn from my wrist, never to be seen, again. Although I have never tested this for any big ticket items like a big screen TV or a car I am nevertheless curious as to whether she would clean out my garage if I could persuade her all that stuff had sentimental attachments . . .

Knowing this about the nature of the creature I think I might pay a hefty sum of money to a polygamist to learn the ways of the master. After the introductory lessons on “What is the sound of one hand slapping” perhaps I would receive enlightenment. Deadly sushi as a steady diet is still too advanced for me. But what is beyond comprehension for me is this: The third woman to join the happy trio seems to be the guy’s office crush. I don’t know how this happens, either. These seem to be guys that routinely say “Yes’ to the fleeting thoughts that go through men’s minds to which one would normally opt for “No.” Where does, “Hey, I love you but you’re sister’s interesting, too,” and, “Oh, there’s real chemistry with a co-worker . . .” ever come into the conversation of a married couple?

Wait! I think the explanation is starting to gel for me. I want to say this slowly so that I don’t lose the concept while articulating it.

These men have brought home playmates for their woman’s multiple personalities.

Rather than turn and vent on the husband the wives can either commiserate or brow beat each other into compliance. The beauty of this revelation is so eloquent. This is an epiphany! I am beginning to be illuminated by the profound nature of this discovery. It’s so elemental; so perfect. It is the Art of War applied to marriage. This is astounding! The enemy of my enemy is my friend becomes the husband of my sister is my friend’s husband is my husband. I am in the presence of genius. I need a moment . . .

It explains everything. In the interviews the men and their wives all assured the audience that these multiple partnerships were not about the sex. The women were so peaceful. They seemed content, at ease, fulfilled. They had their children and their daily routines and their husband and each other. They also seemed fairly affluent and lacking in none of the suburban niceties Americans use to define normalcy. I tended to believe them. It’s a tag team. The wives don’t have the normal domestic frustrations because they essentially have wives, too. Many hands make light the work, don’t you know. And they can definitely relate to each other. When they’re complaining about their husband they don’t have to wonder if they’re being understood. And talk about peer pressure! Who wants to be the wife that can’t hack it and threatens to leave? She’d be torn between letting down her friends and losing position among the wives. Wow; a psychological choker chain.

Hmmm. But, it’s not about the sex? I can see this, too. One wife either draws the short straw or actually happens to be in the mood. Either way, the husband is pacified and the wives return to their business with as little disturbance as possible and no hard feelings. The other thing that was fascinating with these families was the number of children. It is not an exaggeration to say each wife had at least seven children. This is where they looked like Stepford Wives because all of them had their wits and figures about them despite the constant baby production. Yet, that answers another aspect I suppose. These women like being pregnant. These are households full of uterus (uteruses, uteri?) with an itch wanting to be scratched. Many men are adamant that they want families but not too many want large families, I suppose. I guess finding a willing guy with the “minor trade-off’ of a few other breasts to feed isn’t so bad. There are a few logistical issues here, too. Women in groups tend to get on the same cycle. You want to avoid this. So, I guess strategic impregnation keeps the clocks set to different times. And pregnant women are horny women. You polygamists are sneaky devils!

Still, this leaves questions about how children raised in this environment sort it all out. Do the moms as well as the kids have secret suspicions that dad has favorites? With so many step-siblings there have to be some brother/sister crushes and other weirdness. And the chain of authority is hard to follow. Does each mom receive the same respect and obedience? Do the wives wear uniforms with stripes denoting rank? There have to be situations where a mother does not appreciate another mother disciplining her child. When a child calls for mom how many answer?

This calls to remembrance a discussion my ex-wife and I had concerning a friend. He had lost his wife to cancer and had two young daughters. This man was a fantastic father and raised his daughters, alone, for several years but he was a virile dude and wanted a lover and a mother for his kids. For a short period of time the sister of his deceased wife came to visit. My wife and I immediately noticed that there was attraction between the two of them. Such a complicated situation really had the two of them at odds as to what to do. You could visibly see them struggle to not allow their feelings to be expressed. It was agony. My wife nearly broke my ribs to get me to shut-up when I suggested that the girls might have to start referring to her as “Aunt Mommy.’ It was funny but captured the irony inherent in the situation. How bad is the Aunt Mommy problem in a polygamist home?

This post could go on and on so I’m going to wrap it up. I had tried to research to whom to credit the quote, “Once a king always a king but once a knight’s enough . . .” because it seemed anecdotal to this discussion. Unfortunately I was unable to certify the author.

However, I did come across some great quotes that could be dovetailed into my thoughts at several junctures. It would appear that, Woody Allen, has been quite prolific in the quote department on the intricacies of sexual relations. After his marriage to the adopted daughter of his lover I thought surely I would also find ‘Whose Your Daddy?” attributed to him, but alas, my search was inconclusive. So, I will conclude this entry with a series of memorable quotes.

"Love is the answer, but while you are waiting for the answer sex raises some pretty good questions." - Woody Allen

"Sex between two people is a beautiful thing. Between five, it’s fantastic." - Woody Allen

"Sex alleviates tension. Love causes it." - Woody Allen

"Sex without love is an empty experience, but as empty experiences go, it’s one of the best." - Woody Allen

"Sex between a man and a woman can be absolutely wonderful - provided you get between the right man and the right woman." - Woody Allen

"I believe that sex is one of the most beautiful, natural, wholesome things that money can buy.” - Tom Clancy

“You know 'that look' women get when they want sex? Me neither.” - Steve Martin

“I believe in putting women on pedestals . . . high enough to look up their dresses.” - Steve Martin

“There are a number of mechanical devices which increase sexual arousal, particularly in women. Chief among these is the Mercedes-Benz 380SL.” - Lynn Lavner

“Women might be able to fake orgasms. But men can fake whole relationships.” - Sharon Stone

“Women need a reason to have sex. Men just need a place.” - Billy Crystal

"According to a new survey, women say they feel more comfortable undressing in front of men than they do undressing in front of other women. They say that women are too judgmental, where, of course, men are just grateful." - Robert De Niro

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Saving for a rainy day? More like for a Tsunami

The economic principle is known as “Supply and Demand” but the world seems to be practicing “Demand and Supply.” Today I’m going to depart from focusing only on my own immediate pacification and look at the endemic picture instead. I don’t care if you’re money is in your mattress or if it’s in well diversified holdings, futures and investments – neither one of you has a pot to piss in. Believe me, that pot will need to be huge because you don’t need to be saving for a rainy day – you need to be saving for a Tsunami.

I say this because if you’ve bought into the world-wide financial pyramid scheme and your credit score number is higher than the actual tangible amount of money you have in the bank then you are so screwed. We’re not even talking savings or retirement accounts. Uh-uh.

The consumer-driven economy has spread to every corner of the globe. Now, regardless of national political agendas the common goal is to buy, buy, buy at always inflated promises on the return. There is only so much real “stuff” to go around. Perhaps you are familiar with the shortages in raw materials required to sustain industrialized societies? Let’s see, there’s copper (which is being stolen from public installations such as telephone and utility poles), platinum is definitely next as well as zinc. Oil seems to be popular . . . these are just the building blocks and sustaining components for everything we use and have become accustomed and or artificially dependent upon. There are other minor inconveniences such as food supplies that aren’t able to be maintained. Now, I am NOT among those that claim there are just too many people. I claim there are too many stupid people.

Everyone in this nation as well as every other nation logically wants the best of everything. Are you detecting a pattern? From the time a baby takes the cookie out of their mouth to steal the obviously better cookie in the other baby’s mouth the game is on. Do you really think the current downward economic spiral is going to correct itself? The apocalyptic answer would be, “Yes. Eventually.” I sure hope we aren’t waiting for that result. But, the collapse of a house of cards always comes to rest on very real ground of tested substance.

The world financial institutions are that house of cards.

Let's see - businesses pay employees who in turn spend their salaries in businesses and all of the above pay income into the government in the form of taxes. All exchange a currency whose value is established by the banking industry, regulated by the governments who set the value of the currency. This value is determined by evaluating the products and services of the businesses and setting a worth to each. That’s all somewhat obvious, yes? Well, it helps to squint a little more closely at the obvious every now and again. At one time there was a principle understanding that whether currency was in the form of tiny pebbles, or sea shells or gold coins or linen with the faces of world leaders, or a row of numbers in a ledger that there was something of globally recognized equivalent value – a real thing that was locked away for safe keeping which was represented by the currency. Everything in this system worked well because there was a built-in protection against abuse. Whatever was considered the treasure upon which promises of payment was based was of a known quantity. There was only so much of this good stuff. Everybody knew it. Everybody wanted it but understood there wasn’t enough to go around. The value of the currency had a fixed limit. Throughout history, whenever an individual or a government tried to misrepresent their worth by INFLATING the purported value they held it would eventually become obvious that they were extended beyond their true means and their accounts would only be CREDITED when they could prove they had enough of the good stuff with which to pay.

Many of you are familiar with a classic example - the hapless state Germany found itself, after World War I, whereby the nation was being denied the ability to get real value for their goods and services in a vengeful retribution by the victor nations. The perfectly understandable impetus for the treatment had been that it was necessary to prevent the aggressor an opportunity to use their industry to tool up for future wars. This became a blanket that cloaked the criminal, deliberate artificial devaluation of Germany’s goods and services. In other words, they were being robbed. In desperation, the German government printed more currency than they had real stuff to back it up and this inflated the price of everything only to drive the nation into deeper debt and devaluation. As has too often been the case, it took war to break the cycle.

Credit used to be difficult to procure. This was (and would still be) a good thing. But now the general mindset is that credit is an entitlement – not a privilege. Where did this change? I deliberately referred to the “financial industry,” earlier. These same entities were once known as “financial INSTITUTIONS.” That is a telling distinction. With the cultural shift in business away from producing a product to showing a profit the whole definition of industry changed. So now every imaginable thing became an industry – not just real things. Why? That is because real things have finite quantities. There are only so many real things to go around. If we’re going to maximize profits then we need to make more stuff. The reasoning followed that an infinite amount of stuff meant infinite profit potential.

Everybody could have everything they ever wanted!!!

Problem: Selling pizzas is limited to several things:

1. There is only so much stuff in the world from which to make pizzas
2. There are only so many places where it is possible to make pizzas
3. There are only so many people that want a pizza
4. Pizza is only wanted a limited number of times.
   

Solution: This all changes if instead of selling pizzas you are selling stock in that pizza! You are no longer selling an actual product but the belief in that product. As long as you can create interest you can sell an intangible concept for an actual exchange of currency and make that all important profit.

This concept is a perpetual motion machine. The problem is that perpetuating motion requires constantly refueling the engine. Oops. There is only so much real fuel to feed the imaginary machine.

Everyone wanted the promises made by investing. Every nation and business and institution bought into the ride. Everyone ignored the fine print which said that the possible gains were not guaranteed but the losses would be real. Everyone extended themselves by believing that the perpetual earnings of profit would increase the imaginary value ahead of the very real inflation. Now there are lame efforts to stop the bleeding and dump more money into perpetuating a fantasy.

For the senior class in my Baby Boomer Generation this has all worked out very well; for the junior, sophomore and freshman underclassmen – not so well. The oldest members of the Boomers invested well and invested wisely and then pulled their theoretical profits out of the stock market in the form of very real assets for their very real retirement. Those assets are not coming back. With real there were only so many of them. Also, the Boomers worked when products were real, too. They manufactured and sold physical goods. They also had the benefit of a very real and very large customer base. Consumers of the same status and fiscal strength were there to purchase the real stuff. There is not much real that is made in America anymore. This includes people. Birth rates continue to decrease and workers grow old and die with none to replace them. Instead, the concept might originate for something in the United States but the real product is manufactured in a “developing nation.”

We are no longer developing. Meanwhile, other nations are desirous to have what we have. They’ve figured it out, too. They have industrialized and look like replicas of what we were a hundred years ago. They also are modeling all of our real failures right along with our real successes. We were the largest exporting nation but are becoming a really large importing nation.

We are entirely dependent upon other nations for our real needs. It should trouble you that we do not even manufacture a man’s shirt on our own soil. Hathaway Shirts, started business to supply clothing to the Union Army for the Civil War. They were the only remaining manufacturer of their kind in the United States until they closed their plant about fives years ago. We don’t even make our own clothes!?!?! Aren’t you frightened?

We run to buy things at the most discounted prices possible and don’t even blink that all of it is made overseas. Am I being alarmist? Answer this concern of mine, then. You are aware that most retailers do not make a profit for the entire year until the Christmas holiday season, correct? Retail – by definition – makes no products but only sells those made by others. Yet, retail is one of the only growing markets in our economy. Meanwhile American industries announce their lay-offs and plant closures in that same season hoping to drown the bad news under carols and sparkling lights and offset the real impact on the imaginary stock market while consumers are drunk with spending. Spending beyond their real ability to pay on extended credit into the next year! So, here’s my question. The retailers make just enough profit to survive and pay their employees minimum wage. How is this infusing the economy in a healthy way? The bigger question is after displacing our own people from their jobs and sending those jobs abroad – How many of the Indian Pakistani, and Chinese workers (just to name a few) do their Christmas shopping over here?

It’s obvious that we need to save money wherever we can because we’re pissing it away on gourmet coffees, off road vehicles for one person to commute to the office, spa treatments and gym memberships because we don’t physically work a day in our lives. So rather than perform some honest day of labor in (god forbid) a factory, or growing a crop of grain or doing real, productive work we spend fortunes on How-To seminars and erectile dysfunction pills. I’m so glad that we have our priorities straight and personal gratification comes first.

Rather than deal with anything having to do with self-control and denial of greed and excess we would rather turn our attention to the “feel good” diversion of the day to get the onus off of us and somewhere . . . intangible. (The flavor of the moment is global warming.) As long as we do not have to really do anything personally to correct a problem, only “contribute” . . . We’re good! The more enormous and beyond anyone’s scope to actually fix it – the better.

We have one answer to everything at present and that is, “Somebody throw money at it and make it go away!” Our money is no damn good, people. The stock market is not a bad thing – that’s not my point. The stock market is not real. It’s the literal representation of a bill of goods. There is no secured value behind the numbers. The very institutions established to police greed got greedy themselves. There is no real value behind any of it. The worth is inflated beyond all proportion. Stop worrying about the bubble bursting and start looking at all of the hot air being pumped in to try and avoid the inevitable collapse.

There is a very strange hush all around the halls of government and investment houses and any other venue where money is the business such as insurance companies. If this were a horror movie this would be the eerie silence just before all hell breaks loose.

We paid too much for the pizza; and, the real estate, and the jewelry, and the no interest until next year. We demanded it and “they” supplied it. We and they just happen to be the same person. None of this will stop itself unless we stop it. It will not continue if we don’t stop it but the spin we’ve been fascinated by for so long is becoming unstable. We don’t have enough energy to put into the top to keep it going and it’s getting wobbly and about to take a wild path before it grinds to a halt.

Here’s another example of what has my attention. Three of the largest suppliers of oil, outside of the Middle East, are nations with serious cash deficits. They do not have real resources to back up the expenses they will incur producing oil. They will pass those expenses onto every barrel of oil they produce. The projected impact is that a gallon of gas will climb above $5.50. Stop to consider that oil is also used in plastics manufacturing and chemicals and other products. The fuel to generate electricity will raise the utility bills further of industry and individuals. Just a small for instance: The cost of a bottle of aspirin will climb dramatically because of the cost to produce its plastic bottle and run the automated equipment that makes the product.

No one is in a position to stop using cars, trains, buses, trucks and airplanes. We can’t stop using electricity cold-turkey. We need to keep producing food, shelter and clothing. But everything else that we could give up (but won’t) will suddenly look very stupid compared to barely scraping by to afford to go to work. Now, don’t think that “the senseless war”, or however you refer to Iraq, is stopping you from enjoying better oil prices. The history of the oil producing nations has always been to maximize profits when the demand is the greatest. Guess where we are? Oil is a commodity. The demand is very desirable to build into your commodity to ensure constant and ever increasing demand. Look at something as totally needless as diamonds – yet how desirable and expensive those little pieces of nothing always are. As long as people want something they will pay to have it. The only time somebody wants most things is to know they have it instead of everyone else. Sad; Isn’t it? How angry are you when someone else gets the parking space?

The economic melt-down has come to a full boil and it’s only a matter of time before it erupts. If you are living on credit or in a house that is over valued or have insurance and investments tied to imaginary money you’re in for an awful series of losses. I am living a very austere lifestyle that includes deliberately denying me a few things. It isn’t all wonderful but it is designed so that I don’t lose things that I value more. You know – real substance. I don’t think things are going to get better anytime soon. I would like to do better than barely survive.

Too bad most won’t do what needs to be done. How am I so sure? Let me introduce a concept that will get immediate chortles and giggles . . .

Abstinence.

Ridiculous, isn’t it? You immediately think in terms of avoiding sex and oh how absurdly funny that is. No one could do that. No one would do that. That reaction is why my argument has already been proven. To abstain is nothing more than to not participate. The prevailing attitude of the day is that one should not have to make such choices. We don’t want absolutes. There is no good or bad. No right or wrong. No good or evil. No one wishes to have any restrictions or limitations placed upon them and absolutes need to be dismissed to achieve that goal. We want no constraints and show no restraint. It’s pathetic and it’s weak and it’s beneath our dignity but who cares about dignity when we demand respect? We want what we want when we want it. We refuse to be denied. Little annoyances like being told that supplies are limited only apply to someone else.

What a load of crap. Because of such “thinking” we can’t quit smoking without a chemical pacifier. No one is responsible for their personal problems – instead it’s somehow a public spectacle and a corporate obligation. Nobody has the balls to stand alone anymore. I don’t mean shoot their mouth off; I mean take a stand on principal. Do we have any principles and values that are still based on something real?

One thing is undeniable about abstinence. If you don’t participate in something you don’t suffer its consequences.

The world has substituted opinion for truth. That may not register with you immediately. Truth is one of those nasty absolutes that are denied to exist. If you live in denial you will eventually be confronted by reality but you will not be prepared for the encounter. Don’t wait for someone else to fix this mess for you. Do whatever you have to, now, to make sure your cards are on the table and not up in the air with the gathering storm.

Read more! Don't question me [click here] - DO IT!!