Truth

“Someday in the future, a few people will push buttons – and millions will die a terrible death.

The problem with war is that the people who want it don’t expect to die in it.

And the problem with our memory is that it forgets, cheats, and distorts in order to survive. She turns death into an adventure if death spared you. But death is no adventure: the point of war is to kill, not to survive.

Therefore, only the dead can tell us the truth about war.

Words of survivors cannot convey it fully. “

Erich Maria Remarque

Vision Is Very Deceiving (1957 )

Moral Dilemmas

Here goes.

What the hell does one do with a moral dilemma? Not some namby-pamby-little-nick-on-the-heart-and-brain-thing, but a full-fledged, life-interrupting, and irrevocably-changed moral dilemma.

A moral dilemma that costs you valuable sleep. A moral dilemma that costs you health. A moral dilemma that could conceivably cost your life.

What I’m writing about is not the decision. The decision is/was cut and dried. Done. The tsunami aftermath, hell, the tsunami of dread that crushed me as the decision was made – nanoseconds stretching into honest seconds, minutes, hours, and now days – roll over my heart and intellect with suffocating fear.

Four years ago, we were forced to take our mother out of the home in which she lived for 66 years. The house was courtesy of her mother when mom was young and on the cusp of raising four children. In July 2018, none of the children could come to mom’s rescue. Mom slipped sadly into Alzheimer’s and our world was crushed.

This beautiful mother desired/desires nothing more in life than to finish her life in the house she raised her family in. In the four years she has spent with my little sister, me, and an assisted living facility, all she ever wants is to go back home.

My little sister cared for our mother for over two years until congestive heart failure forced her to realize she could no longer care for her. I took mom on for 11 months. I was a single parent woefully unequipped to handle the dual responsibilities of mom and dad, and sadly unable to care for mom as well.

When we sold the house, my little sister and I cried many tears. Those tear tracks on our cheeks remain fresh as mother has insisted for four years that she is going back home. The conversations with her have been heartbreaking over these four years. So much so that I avoid talking with mom and little sis struggles when mom crumbles into tears or anger.

This house, the gift from my grandmother, the structure that mom helped turn into a home, is her one touch with reality. Her main focus, which comes very hard for Alzheimer’s sufferers, rests in West Virginia and this house.

When we sold the house in 2018, we were pleasantly surprised when good friends from high school bought the house for their daughter. Last week, both my sister and I awoke to the news that the house was going to be auctioned that particular day.

I had desired to go live with mom in 2018 because the entire family knew of her life’s desire to live her final days in that house. I could not because of my daughter still being in school and a vicious custody battle. Therefore we sold the house and mom popped from place to place all the while insisting that she be returned to her home.

I have a good-paying job. The job is wearing me out. I’ve established myself here in Florida for 24 years. I have begun running my Inspired Mic event after two years of the COVID event. I am blessed with many friends and acquaintances.

I am the only son. In my mother’s eyes, I could do no wrong. This was a burden of untruth I found embarrassing and difficult to live up to. Yet, whenever I fell on hard emotional times, without fail, my mother was there. When the housing market crashed and people were losing their homes, she came to my rescue.

Now, on the spur of just a few hours, I pulled the trigger and won the auction of my mother’s house, the house I know solely as a home, the house my mother knows solely as the home she helped to build. So many tears and triumphs in that house. So much emotion and attachment.

What do we owe our parents? What does it really matter that mom gets to go back. She will be 91 very soon. Her care at the facility is excellent by all measures. My care may end up lacking. Do I owe her this? Do I, at 63, owe her the ability to realize her insistent dream? Am I stupid for walking away from the first good-paying job I’ve had in over a decade?

My heart is broken. I don’t know that I can even secure the financing, although it will not be difficult once I secure employment back home. The pressures of all that must be done and my emotional exhaustion at revisiting this crazy thing I did on auction day. I changed my life and there is no guarantee for the better. My leaving with cripple my employer. I do not mean him any harm. I feel so guilty for doing this for my mother.

I know this feeling. I felt it when we sold the house. I cannot even hope to feel exhalation on the return of the house. There is no promise from Alzheimer’s that mom will be satisfied with being home. There is no exultant happy ending betrothed to me, my sister, my wife, or the rest of the family, and ultimately including mom. I have tossed aside so much to give my mother her ultimate dream.

I have no retirement. I have no assets. I am feeling alone and despondent and hopeless and nearly defeated by life. This should never have happened. But it did. I must get right with myself. Somehow, someway, I must find the fortitude to rise above yet another life crisis. Crisis is a strange word to pluck from my vocabulary, yet upon inspection, I believe crisis defines this situation. I am once again going against the odds and at an age where I do not have the vim and vigor of yesteryear.

I fear so much. I fear my ability to take care of my mother. I fear that I have made such a financial blunder. I fear the pressure this could possibly place on my marriage. I fear that small little town I once loved that is now rife with meth addicts and heroin. I fear leaving the friendships I’ve built here for a quarter of a century. I fear I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life. I could list hundreds of other fears all attached to this, but you get the picture.

This is my mother’s dream, her dying wish. I envy her that. She possesses a dying wish. My only dying wish so far is to not die. I’m sure there are many, including my boss at work, that would argue that I have no obligation here. I am not obliged to sacrifice what’s left of my life to make this happen. I will likely be reviled by my boss. I hope not. This is a great pain for me. He needs me. I am not overestimating my worth. It’s a fact. He may be able to replace me, but likely not from what I’ve seen in this job market.

I will be back for more on this. I am being eaten alive from deep inside because of my decision as the only son and the only family member willing or able to put mom back in her beloved home. I know I owe her this. Not just because she has always been a wonderful mother, but because of a lifelong desire to be an honorable man. She raised me that way. I cannot turn my back on this. My mother raised me to be an honorable man. I’m the Golden Child, a burden I’ve always eschewed because I know those moments and times I’ve been less than honorable. Almost laughably, those times I’ve not lived up to the honorable man my mother raised me to be are not times anyone can point to.

People can point to crises in my life and question my decision-making, but I can stand and defend my positions at those points. It’s those deep, secret, personal moments where I’ve chosen to step outside honorability that I know. I”m sure everyone has these points in their lives.

I will not let my mother down. I am her last hope, her last chance to achieve her dream. The cost to me may destroy me, something my mother would never desire, so I must find a way to pull myself up by my bootstraps and help her pass in peace. The crazy thing there is that no guarantee she will pass like that. But without my action in this, the guarantee would be that she does not get her wish. I cannot abide by that.

I will need help. Much help. I will need support. Much support. I am flitting in and out of deep depression. This decision is taking a huge toll on me. Any kind words will be treasured not simply appreciated. Fear is running rampant in my heart and mind and I need to get to a better place. As I said a few paragraphs ago, I will be back. I must purge…

The Good Mother

Days of dreams
Nights of wonder
What little boy doesn’t snatch time to ponder

A wisp of a willow
A snap of a twig
A boy to grow up and live life big

Where did he find it?
When did he know?
Memories cripple him the more he will grow?

His safety stood certain
His ambitions ran wild
All maintained as he was her child

When she left him in tatters
Unable to think
Crushing sadness shoved his life to its brink

Heart weary from the battles of life
He soldiers on to her side
The untidy knight unwilling to hide

A good mother lives priceless
In the heart of her son
He stands with her now until the victory is won

Hello Darkness You’re no Friend

Out of Darkness

Traveling through hell?
Don’t slow down
Nowhere to go?
Keep moving
Hope lost?
Never further from you than your next thought
Love nonexistent?
Not when you fill yourself with love
Fear of death?
You will die
Fear of life?
See the immediate above answer
Too many view death as something to avoid at all cost
So few view life as something to pursue at all cost
One cannot put their energy into dancing with the fear of death without robbing themselves of the joy of life.
Many have died pursuing life at absurdly young ages
Hallowed and hailed as people who lived well
Yet we follow the talisman of old age as the end all and be all of life
Stepping out of darkness requires you to live YOUR life
Not the one you’re commanded to live

“Oh god! You’re a conspiracy theorist!”

If this statement defines you, move on. There’s nothing to see here. Go back to your docile, believe-the-media-mentality.

If you read the flow of information, you can see the manipulations. More importantly, you may learn to look away from the circus. Behind the insanity lies truths of actions most of us would be appalled to see.

Long ago, our media became masters of smoke-and-mirror reporting. They focus on a key issue, get the masses stirred up. Then, while so many folks are weighing in on whatever pseudo-crusaded they’ve generated, the disgusting work is quietly performed without outrage from the masses. Attempt to sue Monsanto for poisoning our food with their genetically altered seeds. While you’re at it, attempt to purchase true, unaltered seeds.

What about the paid rioters a couple years ago? Have you experienced paid protesters? I have. The sheer stupidity of these people cannot be described in words. During the obvious (and massively under-reported) paid protestor/rioter phase, a group disrupted life around my place of work. These people prove Darwin wrong at every turn EXCEPT for those leading the charge.

I observed the key people during the absurdity. The man, in his thirties, oozed a calculated intelligence. As soon as police arrived, he moved his minions on to the next location. They continued to catcall and berate customers walking into the cafe as they left, often full of profanity and vitriol. As I’ve understood since childhood, profanity becomes the final tool of a senseless mind. The focus of people who attack in this manner becomes solely a provocative endeavor.

Many people see through all this bullshit. I’m stating clearly and succinctly if the media is keying on something, there is a 100% chance there is an ulterior motive, never in our best interest. The sickest aspect of this becomes the connection between those pulling the strings of the media and machinating negativity nearly at all times with both corporate powerhouses and politicians blurring the lines between the two at a level that is as brilliant as it is diabolical.

All you have to do is look at our intellectually challenged leadership and connect the dots. The United States of America has been invaded by this political machine which now operates openly in its quest to dismantle our best attributes. These are sad days. The darkness to come shivers the soul.

So where do we look for answers? How do we fight an adversary who controls the conversation like a sick narcissist? That’s the modus operandi of our media. Gaslight the shit out of the masses then points to them as the problem.

If people have not been educated to the level they can see behind the curtain, the lemmings will run full-tilt-bozo to the sea. When media strums the negative heartstrings and points the rabid dogs they’ve created in a particular direction, all you can do is hold on to your sanity, your peace, and treasure what life you can find.

An aside, “my body my choice” only pertains to a certain segment of the population when in truth, anyone should be able to make medical decisions about their bodies. Bring this point up and you will definitely hear the absurd argument – “oh, but THAT’S different!” Continue to point out the simple logic and you will hear profanity and personal attack.

Back to health. Today, the media, among many other agendas, is driving the “mental health/depression” narrative. What’s wrong with that? Nothing if it were coming from an innocent, well-meaning source. The single-most proprietor of negativity and mental destruction, the media, now doubles down to tell us, “Look at what we’ve accomplished” without people realizing the snake that keeps biting them and the bully that continues to knock them down is the folks behind the very articles they’re reading on the subject.

In a perfect world, the most knowledgeable people on a subject would be the ones to go to for answers. In this world, these people stand proud as the perpetrators leading more and more millions to pharma (I will never capitalize this word – they do not deserve it). The media will decry street drug dealers and perpetuate the global power-and-money-controlled drug dealers -pharma. There exist only scant truths from the media anytime they mention pharma. Control now becomes the norm and the masses now roll over the manipulations like docile animals,

Protect your mind. When the crushing volume of media-driven tripe knocks you down, look at who the media wishes to divide. Understand that those who follow the media’s agendas will not be dissuaded. Friends, family, loved ones.

We live in an age when we must cling to our sanity and move forward or be assimilated. In an insane world, the sane person will appear insane. Scant consolation to be sure, but the alternative for many of us is unacceptable.

 

 

Battles

Age.

The toll of life.

So many simply say to pick yourself up and move on.

So much damage. So much pain.

So much euphoria. So much joy.

All exact their payment. The price you pay one day will bankrupt you.

Yes. Joy. Euphoria. Positives require energy. What happens when that energy no longer allows access points.

Huh! (gravely growling voice of a John Wayne type) “Pick yourself up! You gotta have the hunger, boy! You gotta want it! You gotta go for it!

Exhaustion doesn’t tap your energy. Exhaustion doesn’t steal your energy. Your hunger. Your desire. Exhaustion simply convinces your mind, heart, and soul there remains no point in carrying on.

I’m behind the keyboard again. The distractions of exhaustion, videos of great sports feats, Tik Toks, solitaire. What kept me from them this day?

Nothing.

Over an hour of sports, movie shorts, Tik Toks.

The hunger never dies. The desire flails and withers…but never dies…completely.

One day, one wicked day, the passion, the desire, the hunger, will perish completely. Let that day be the last breath.

Whether the words come brilliant, overloaded in pathos and insight, or the babbling of a pathetic madman, allow them to fall off my fingertips through the last breath.

Choice becomes more channeled, more of a struggle with age. The fire of youth, altruism, passion, boil away in the toils of life. Where does this keystroke owe its gratitude?

The intangible will.

That place within us we’ve always needed to acknowledge, respect, and utilize. The unnameable will within which lies as our final line in the sand. That line is not intended to be Tom Petty’s stand at the Gates of Hell, but the line you will yourself to step back into life, take the punches and throw your own.

In this day and age, a major shift has been machinated by sick, moralistically bankrupt powers who would divide a world and set us all at each other’s throats. I’m no different. I am disgusted by bioweapon domination and fear instilled controls that demean life and the simple human beauty of facial expression which robs us of one of the most powerful human traits, smiles and frowns and joys and loves and nearly everything precious to human communication.

I know there remain few open-minded souls. We no longer possess the luxury of an open mind. The manipulations have forced and foisted a black and white world. A do or die life scenario. Fauci’s failed attempts to eradicate large numbers of humans continue to struggle. Eventually, he/they will make it more powerful and deadly.

Screw the thought that the endgame will work out well. The camps have effectively been divided. The powers that be machinating all this strife and destruction obviously will keep doubling down on their media/corporate/governmental control of narrative until conflagration manifests itself.

Unless you live in that mass-manipulative circle that has the entire world choosing sides, there remain few options.

This negative, fear-based world delivers exhaustion to us all. This is what the media, global pharmaceutical drug dealers, and government desire. Take the attention away from “us”, the “us” being the puppeteers, and keep them all fighting, dying, and miserable. Global tyranny has finally arrived. Instead of Hitler, Mussolini, and Stalin-type megalomaniacs, we are experiencing the shadow tyrants.

The conquest is not through what we call “conventional weapons” this war is currently fought with words constructed as control through absurd fear and lies. There is no “conspiracy Theorist” here, only those who see and understand and those prone and groomed to mass manipulation.

There will be no “conversions” of camp by this writing. There is no expectation of open minds stopping to consider this “may” be true. There is only the hope that those of us who see, feel, and understand the despicalbe disgraces to humanity will never stop until they are identified and dealt with, do not give up under the exhaustion driven into our minds and hearts by ruthless media, corporations, and corrupted governments.

We either step ourselves over that line in the sand and step into living a HUMAN life, or we wither and die at the hands of those who would gladly see us all dead.

So maybe this is a rallying cry. Maybe this writing is a call to compatriots who are down but not out. The real issue for BOTH sides is not the narrative the media has so carefully crafted and disgusting liars like Fauci have fomented, but each side recognizing that the perpetrators of the destruction of humanity on a global level HAVE NOT BEEN IDENTIFIED.

We better wake up and realize this or the war will be real and the consequences will be a global disaster. Of course, that is the apparent endgame. Follow the money. Follow the power. Once upon a time, the media would do this. Now the slime of sellout pours from the media, a putrid cesspool of manipulation.

Someone knows. Someone knows who is behind this global war. If the identification does not happen soon, all will be lost. Live like a human. Cease being a puppet.

Line crossed.

In this Midnight

In this midnight…

Words tumble from the heart
They bounce around like ping pong balls in a lottery shuffle
Yet, these words don’t tumble, do they?
They gain release
Once you allow
Once you cannot deny them their voice
So, they’re not really words, are they?
Not inanimate, prickly-edged symbols
Not brilliance captured
More simply…
Emotions released…
Observations given wing…
Expressions escaping into a reality we don’t understand
Expressions departing the chaos within

In this midnight…

Flow becomes rapid when restrictions relax
Love aches more beautifully painful when allowed to fly
Peace etches silken smoke rings on nascent winds of life
For the snapshot of who you are
That body, mind, spirit, and soul
That intangible, creative, deep-feeling retch
Escapes the captivity of fear and control
Into the realm of shared existence from captive existence
Flow unencumbered develops a meaning
A life
A passion
An anger
A love for the ages
An underlying fear/dread/avoidance/rejection of death
A nebulous meaning
An anti-concrete version of this world and the beings in it
One which fits, just for this moment of keystrokes,
Into an intricate multi-dimensional representation of truth
Only the writer recognizes as the flow squirts out fingers
From the highway of one’s heart.

In this midnight…

I think of you
I feel you in my heart
I see you in my mind
I touch you on the keyboard
I hear you in my memory
I sense the aroma of your life
And I know it to be precious
Important to many
But as my fingers allow the expression from my heart to flow

Important to me…

The Call

Power.

A whisper
tease
promise
an aspiration
words coagulating in a pool of brilliance
meaningless
yet everything

Keyboard black
etched in white symbols
Mind Cimmerian
sketched in gray symbolisms
Truth
elusive as a thought on a hurricane emotion
Relevance
problematical as an individual raindrop desiring autonomy

Called to indite wisdoms, truths, pains, longings, passions, fears, triumphs, dreads…
all a whisper
insistent
Irritated by negligence
power wrested from the word cloud in one’s mind
limited by imperfections
perfected by the same

Know this:
Love exists
A vast, gigantic well which may only be truly tapped by conscious surrender
Love abides
An unfathomable profundity one only discovers once ego quells under capitulation
Love flourishes
A garden flowered by passions enormous and bantam
Love lives
Not only in Keats’ Grecian Urn scenario but in each breath, thought, desire, longing

For there lives not a human who at some stage did not wrestle with love’s mystery
Power
Love’s power rests strongest in those who embrace and yield to their innermost truth

The Call
She beckons
Every moment
Every thought
Every scent
Every notion
Every heartbeat
Every desire
Every fear

The Calls awaits fingertips,
Dancing waltz’s, cha cha’s, foxtrots, passions
Flitting the black oasis of plastic confinement imprisoned whithin the white symbols
Craving
Release
Expression
An ear to hear
A heart to connect
A gentle boomerang response
A desire for a recompensive echo rooted in the multilingual aspect of love itself

The Call of life
of passion
of writing
abides in love

This world crushes love.
Destroys the will to love.
Inhilates the roots of love
Yet,
The Call
The Spark
The passion
continues against all odds…


Life. Death. Living…

Once there was a way to get back home
That way lost itself in perilous joys and heartbreaks
Once there was a way to return to innocence
That way crumbled under the decisions of experience

Once there was a way to get back home
A tattered, littered, obstacle-filled trail
Peppered with pain, delusion,
A perpetual carrot
Always in view, always beyond reach

Once there was a way to get back home
Home being that idyllic landscape which both never existed and forever lives in our hearts
A shiny, dewdrop laden blade of grass on the way to elementary school
Filled with wonder and beauty
A moment in time where the vociferous voices of angry parents ceased to exist
An escape into a continuum only you could enter

Once there was a way to get back home
Never out of our reach
Forever in our wounded hearts and jaded minds
If only we could stop the world and search out that moment
A moving target becomes our sole view
When in truth there exists no target
Only a willingness to grant permission for entry

The way home lies broken and obscured by Life. Death.
Living encapsulates home in a boundless infinity
Stretching not to the ends of universes or galaxies
But to the infinite heart deep within

Once there was a way to get back home
Once every nanosecond
Once every breath
Once every heartbeat
Once every thought

All we need remains our own permission to travel…

My mentor and friend died a few days ago in his recliner in his apartment alone. This likely was how he would have preferred passing on. For me, his loss has shocked my heart just like a few dozen other deaths throughout my life. I cannot imagine he is gone. All I can grasp at this moment is that pieces of him, quite valuable pieces for me, live on within me. My ascent into the writing world, no matter how bumpy, varied, and full of mistakes, owes much to Rikki Ravioli, otherwise known as Rik Feeney. He lifted me, mentored me, was an incredibly good friend to me, for which I will continue to live in gratitude for his kindness toward me.

I have completed my sabbatical from writing. Once again, he has prompted me to action. RIP my friend. Wherever you are now, I’m sure you’re stirring up hornets’ nests…

I cannot write more in this moment.

Thanks to you, Rik, I WILL write more…

When Life was Worth Living

Did you ever have a dream that made you scratch your head? One that appeared on the surface phantasmic, but upon further scrutiny, owned a strong bit of Truth? Questions. Questions without answers. The definition of life for us all yet we emphasize the answers. The answers others create appall us. The answers others create resonate. Same for the answers we create ourselves.

Answers do not mean much in the end. Your answers. My answers. Their answers. All exist as a quiet whimper in a maelstrom cacophony of shouting mouths and minds and emotions. Yes, we track paths and resonances with others. Even these words, sounding so much like an answer falls prey to the din of voices in our heads, our media, our entertainments, our arguments, our perspectives.

Therefore, what is truth? What pushes us to strive for the sublime answers? Panic? Desire? A need to be heard? Loneliness? Frustration? Anger? Joy? Love?

In the end, Solomon owned the question. There exist no answers save the gold standard catch-all concept of diety and a plan. A plan laid secret. A plan we cannot fathom. Solomon stated that our lives are a “chasing after the wind.”

At the risk of pretending Solomon’s statement lends an answer, the concept only describes the reality of life. We convince ourselves we possess the wherewithal to divine answers. Answers plucked from the tornadic destruction surrounding us. We know nothing.

When Life was Worth Living

Ignorance.
Carefree moments.
Depths of emotional soothing
Sensory deprivation beyond the beauty we periodically wake long enough to admire before we fall back into analytics and answers

Sunshine
Blank mind open to our internal pencil…no, chalk
Simple observations accepted as a gift
Until the rains sweep clean our slate of answers.

When life was worth living
I stole a moment for myself
A concept to dream
Roll over my internal mental and emotional tongues
Revel in the experience of everything
of one thing
of focus and clarity
of foolhardy, delicious ecstasy

I remember many of the days or moments worth living
Despite the growl and vitriol of competing answers from countless trillions of sources
All demanding their place in space and time
At times recognizing my own folly of tossing more into the endless black hole abyss drawing us near
Each pretentious answer another shard-dagger to my perception of knowledge
When life was worth living

I know nothing
I must reach that point of recognition
From nothing, I create my next moment when life was worth living
Fringe thoughts allowed to fly off into the blackness
A central thought which defines me vanishes
I feel the life worth living become something tangible
Something attainable
Something beautiful
Despite the blithering idiot within and those without

Quiet
Calm
Peace
Alcove in the aforementioned storm
Swept away by the frailest of voices
Whispering the concept of answers

When life was worth living
My life did not care about answers or questions or concepts or rightness or wrongness or any other -ness
Life Is, Was, and Shall be the absence of questions and answers
A place of me, a moment, an experience, and a lack of qualification

when life WAS worth living
when life IS worth living
when life SHALL BE worth living
Owes nothing to anyone
Including myself

Strolling through the Brightness of Joy

Strolling through the Brightness of Joy

Evil doesn’t stab me because I embrace my joy

I rest in the beauty this world quietly offers – meadows and brooks and mountains and seas

I’m reborn each morning as my eyes open to the possibilities inherent in another day

I stroll through a chorus of sunrays and glinting water, and I enjoy joy itself, for nothing is more fulfilling or important

Dark winds and gray clouds mean nothing more than a good sleep, my heart singing, my life exploding in rose petal rain showers, and sparkling snow dreams

Without doubt, the evils of this world fall away from my contentment achieved when I embrace the beauty in my heart burgeoning with all the joy one soul may possess.