PISS ON EM ALL

"...Am I going to burn in hell for all the things I did..." These words from the song "Shook ones part II" by Mobb Deep bounced around my head today. Not that I believe in a literal heaven or hell - these concepts to me a relative to your circumstances. But that did not stop the words from echoing around every mangled turn in my brain. I thought of these words and as I did a crooked smile came to my face, perhaps if I were in a movie it would be accompanied by a reddish glow, a slight pointed growth just above each eyebrow and some ominous music.

By now I should not be amazed at the idle chatter people with no life of their own can engage in; but every now and then the extent of the chatter just throws me. The words that hemorrhage out the mouths of people whom I would give as much thought to as the thoughtless act of passing gas some times has me aghast. So once again I'm the subject of discussion for my past deeds, misdeeds, infelicities, indiscretions - take your pick; one of them must fit at some point in my life or another. At first I was annoyed - then that slowly turned to amusement. I had a good laugh - that persons whom I would not waste an iota of thought on, much less allow their name to pass my lips because of their sheer unimportance to me; would take time out of their clearly dull life to have a discussion about me did wonders for my ego. Usually the people worth mentioning in my life have some type of impact on my life - positively or negatively; and usually directly - other than that people are not so important to me that I would speak about them. It may be reasonable to assume that I'm important in some way to the gossipmongers.

I strongly dislike people who spend their time engaged in gossip - I do not encourage gossip; if you come to me to inform me of the latest water cooler news I will respond to you with the same temperature of the damn water. People's private affairs are not my business - they don't affect me directly or indirectly, and even if it did affect me it is for me to deal with in how I see fit and not for a third, fourth or fifth party. Gossip is usually the result of idle time and self-righteous ideals. Keep your ideals to your self and your tongue in your mouth and we good - be good christian folk and carry your troubles to god and leave them there. These self appointed neighbors keepers piss me off - spewing rumors based on assumptions and presumptions. I have heard things about people purporting to be the gospel truth only to later have the opportunity to speak to the person and find out otherwise - the truth always has a way of coming out. Reminds me of the words from "Say what's real" by Drake "...we're from a small town and everybody talks, and everybody listnes, but somehow the truth just always comes up missing..." I've heard stuff about myself that has surprised even me - I've been out with Sofie and it later got back to me that I was out with another woman at that same time. The other woman was Sofie, she just had a different hair style from when the idiot last saw her.

Hey, I'm no saint, I will be the first to admit that; but if these good christian folks believe in their dogma then they should know it is not for them to judge me. I guess it is ok, because in some instances they are not bearing false witness against their neighbour. Oh well, c'est la vie, you can't win them all, you can't please them all. Fortunately I have been practicing the art of living my life for me. Thank the North Wind for small mercies.

Chapter III

I know how this part is going to end
It's not unfamiliar, I've seen it before
The promises of happy afters
They don't live here no more

Bitterness and anger they rake at her door
Tears of solitude stream down her face
The life that she dreamt of, gone, without a trace
His name too painful, will soon be replaced
With canine and swine and everything unkind

She'll swear he's a bastard like the rest of his ilk
A man unworthy of the air that he breathes
She'll go through the motions, grin and bear
The usual hellos and I'm doing great
Inside she cries at what may be her fate

How did this happen
The question is asked
While you were looking and playing the arse
What do I do now
The questions persist
Put your house in order and accept this is it

No till death do us part
No more sickness or health
The good times turn bad
The better now worse
What god put together, man will soon sunder

This chapter ends and a new one begins
A speed bump in life, no longer a wife
Be woman, be mother, be sister, be friend
The chapter may be over
But your book, not near its end

Live life - don't mark time

People often say life is short, I too am guilty of that saying - like the regurgitation of some text splashed across on a bumper sticker which you have seen way too many times, to the point where you actually believe it. Life is not short at all, really it is the longest thing you will ever experience - no one has returned from the dead to tell me otherwise. There is simply too much to fit into this time we are granted on this earth. We have way too much time to fuck up what time we do have here and not enough time to fix the things we fuck up. I'm one who has often said that I have no regrets in my life - the things I have done, the mistakes that I've made (which has been cleverly renamed experience), the choices I have made. They are not meant to be regretted; but rather these "experiences" have contributed to who I am today. While there is some truth in that, perhaps if I were to scrutinize my life I would hopefully have the courage to admit that I have some regrets. But like Frank Sinatra said in his song My Way "regrets I've had a few, but then again to few to mention.

Perhaps in this life we live long enough for the things we do out of youthful exuberance and in the pursuit of happiness to return to haunt us; and when the haunting begins there is just not enough time for redemption. We often base the judgment on the length of life when we feel that some one (usually someone young) has in our mind been cheated out of a few more years on their life. When an old person (and by old I mean someone to the age range of 70 - 90) dies, no one says - boy life too short look at how granny just die there; no, quite the contrary, you old, you have lived life; three scores and ten, right. But is living life determined by how long you take before you are faithfully departed? Is quality of life really determined by longevity? Did that 90 year old, die miserable, lonely, unfulfilled? Did they wake up every day asking the North Wind - what am I still doing here, why won't you take me? What is to say that at 20 or 30 years that someone has not lived a fulfilled life; would have lived more, contributed more in their "short" years as compared to the 90 year old.

Life is as long as it needs to be - what we choose to do with the time we are given is entirely different. Live life, don't be an observe to life - but don't use the notion of life being short as an excuse for a short lived life and silly decisions. Own and take responsibility for every aspect of your life - yes even the shitty parts. Mistakes will be made - chalk it up to experience, but the less "experience" you have in this life the less painful it is, the more it is worth living, the less you are focused on when the ride will end. Now here comes the not so easy part - living these words.

My September 11th

I've been drinking from about 4:30pm I have lost count of the number of drinks I have had, so I guess I'm a bit inebriated. So what better time to write, let me see how much shit I will write and how many times I will need to delete and edit - as of this sentence I've managed to keep count of five deletions (even deletion I had to type over so that's six). I have nothing in particular to write about, just thought I would fuck around a bit. On Thursday while walking through the gym I saw the owner doing a bit of stretching and said a brief hello; exchanged the usual pleasantries - hey, how are you doing? - not good was her response; kept walking was what I did. People are rarely really interested in how you are really doing. It's just something to say. How are you doing? I feel like shit, my husband/wife is an asshole, my daughter is fucking everything with a dick and my son is smoking every grade of weed you can think of - how are you doing? Well, clearly not as bad as you.

Really, who really wants to know how somebody that has no real meaning to you is doing, So why even ask. Beats me.

Ok so enough of that shit. Right now I am listening to this song Every Girl - its a rap song with this new artist named Drake. Essentially the rappers in the song are rapping about wishing they could fuck every girl in the world. I can not begin to tell you the number of guys who have that very same thought. The difference is some of us accept that it is not possible and some of us don't.

Alright, I'm tired of this shit. I'm going to re-read this at some point and wonder what the fuck; but the temporary lost of ones faculties is always welcomed. It allows you to better appreciate when you have all your ducks in a row.

Halle to the spirits - Campari and Piton is the fucking shit.

Many faces one body

Emotions are ephemeral; much like the passing of gas - one moment they are with you the next they're out your ass (like the pain they can sometimes be). Ok, so perhaps emotions don't necessarily exit your body, mind (or whatever other crevice it has taken up residence in) through your ass. But at some point it exits none the less, at some point the emotions we experience even the most intense ones dissipate.

I am not as easily angered now as I was in years past, but that is not to say that I do not on occasion get pissed off. It has been a long journey to get my temper to a manageable point - to say it is under control might be wishful thinking; I should get points though for keeping the thoughts contained to the safety of my mind (be cognizant that my mind has a limited capacity like a hard drive). I have been known to fly off the handle for the most innocuous of irritations. And tonight (given the time I am writing this I should say last night) was no exception - though I may have over reacted, I feel my vexation was some what justified. What did disturb me through the entire tirade (albeit juvenile), was my desire to hold onto that feeling of vexation like a hungry dog hanging onto a scarp of meat. All attempts to appease me and offer some sought of armistice to the situation was rejected.

Did I mention I had a tendency to behave like an asshole (I should make a sign); it's my default setting, but I come with options. One of those options being emotionally needy Mr. Remy (stark contrast to asshole Mr. Remy). Tonight was emotionally needy option; this is not an option often used because it is my most vulnerable. When this option is not used as intended (give plenty attention, touch, cuddle, kiss, talk - if the mood is right sex; believe it or not in this option, sex is optional) I feel rejected, hurt, undesired (yeah, that's the vulnerable part - I strongly dislike that part; hence that mofo is kept under lock and key most times). I don't do rejection well, my immediate response is withdrawal, followed by anger directed at the source. The learned mindfuckers a.k.a physchologist would say I choose to be vex - I'm angering, or some physchobabble like that.

The irony is, because that side of me is not let out often no one would realize when it is out; therefore I would be hard pressed to get the response I want to it - and guess what I rarely get the response I want. So it's back to the asshole and no one even noticed that he was gone. Does that mean even in my most vulnerable state I'm still an asshole. I tell you sometimes its hard being me.

P.S. Did I mention it is 1am - once I'm pissed it is difficult for me to sleep, I must find a distraction. Hence blogging at this hour instead of sleeping. I'll be mash up in the morning - wait it is morning. Good morning

Shit for brains

I got this email from my supervisor last week, which I did not bother to open till this morning. It was feedback on some work I had submitted almost four months ago - ok the guy took some study leave; he had an excuse. But after so long I had disposed of the contents of the report like yesterday's lunch swirling down the sewer pipes. You can only imagine my chagrin when I downloaded the word document and saw every single page with comments and track changes. What the fuck! Boy instant headache; because now I'm suppose to review the comments, make the relevant changes and additional work that would bring it up to par. Again, I repeat what the fuck!

I could not begin to wrap my mind around what it was I did wrong; what did he want me to do now; where was I going to find that supporting information. My mind went on melt down. I started to doubt whether my findings were correct; did I substantiate them; were my recommendations valid; what kinda fucking auditor are you. Ok Earl, get it together; clear out the editorial changes and get to the meat of the matter - the comments. Ok, where did I go wrong? I could not believe how long it took me to get my shit together and address all the comments made. But it was not as mind numbing as I thought in the end - pretty straight forward question, to my surprise I was actually able to recover them from the cesspit that is my brain. I have good suction yes. So the day did not end up bad at all. I made it through the shit and I'm ready for my meeting tomorrow. Hooray!

Dreams

These dreams I have when I lay to rest
Blotted people and things, parading, enmeshed
They visit me to tell me tales
Adventures, people, conflicted souls

These dreams have no meaning to the conscious mind
My unconscious sub-conscious speaks in riddles and rhythms
What they say, I am yet to know
Perhaps they speak of the seeds I have sown

My conscious mind tries to decipher
Perplexing puzzles my mind has conjured
But my conscious mind enjoys being sane
In my unconscious my dreams should remain

Quietly loud they speak in my slumber
Painting pictures of battles within
Gentle reminders of some of my sins
My dreams when I rest they show me the way
Where I was, where I am and where I might be today

My dreams like book marks to my life
Recall pleasures and pains of my days
These dreams I have when I lay to rest
I live and breathe with my every step

Will they end when death knocks
Of that I'm not sure
Till then I will dream
Till these dreams, my dreams are no more