Sunday, October 29, 2006



Driving down Morena Boulevard, you have a mix of single story, flat roof buildings. The air is filled with vehicle exhaust fumes. Morena Boulevard was once old Pacific Hwy. In the early 60's it was even more industrialized. Running parallell is Hwy 5 the main freeway now. Along the way there’s Nico’s Taco shop, a Valero gas station, Toys R Us and a Lamps r Us-light store. These non descript businesses dot the landscape with their garish lights and odd motifs. Telephone lines also run parallel with the street as does the railroad tracks. Still in business, my father once bought a Chinese dining table and chairs at Genghis’ Khan Furniture store. Off Morena next to Genghis Khan is Buenos Avenue. I pulled off Buenos into an alley with its broken concrete jutting randomly. I bounced up and down before I settled onto the blacktop parking lot. My destination was there ahead of me-the music venue, Brick by Brick.

Standing on the corner waiting for me are three bachelors who have legitimate grievances with women. Two are aware of this and the other has no clue. When I walk up to meet them, there are three who are aware now. It’s ironic that the one with no clue is in the business of awareness-he is a News personality. Inside, we played pool drank beer and listened to music. It’s the kind of music you listen to using ear plugs. I love the name of the bands that play here-Nashville Pussy, This Fiend Kills and on this night-Dada. Mr. News personality claimed that, “DaDa is the best band you’ve never heard of.” Curious, I Googled DaDa:

“…A movement in art and literature, founded in Switzerland in the early twentieth century, which ridiculed contemporary culture and conventional art. The Dadaists shared an antimilitaristic and antiaesthetic attitude, generated in part by the horrors of World War I and in part by a rejection of accepted canons of morality and taste. The anarchic spirit of Dada can be seen in the works of Duchamp, Man Ray, Hoch, Miro, and Picasso. Many Dadaists later explored Surrealism…”

I wasn’t sure the band was congruent with this idea until I saw a “Fuck Bush” sticker on his guitar. All that to say I was close enough to see the stickers on his guitar when I leaned my belly against the stage. I chuckled when the lead guitarist walked off the stage to ice his elbow. It was clear to me that he had a repetitive motion injury from playing the guitar using three chords and moving his fingers up and down the frets to attain a musical dissonance.

Taking some time from the throbbing and pounding music, the smell of night air filled our lungs with exhaust. It was refreshing! My pool partner and I settled in on a discussion on how women objectify men. “It’s not our butts or the size of our dicks-it’s the expectation that we men can soothe their fears” my pal offered, “Remember Barbara and Billy? Barbara admitted to Billy that she married him because she needed to feel close. She used sex to feel close.” My buddy animatedly pointed his finger and chopped the night, “There not a chance in hell Billy could soothe this need and Barbara made him pay. She had an affair with some guy from Napa after a dream where Billy left their bed in the middle of sex to play pool with us.” I couldn't wait to wager my thoughts on this one, “Man, I can see why he’s pissed-numbnuts was trumped by a dream.” I continued, “Well if you think that’s fucked, here’s another example of women using their rosebuds. There’s this extraordinary woman, competent and powerful. Felicia unwittingly used the “damsel in dis-dress” gig to get Mac her next door neighbor to fix her home! She got her nice house. Mac got “blue balls” and a wife who was pissed off! To make matters worse, she made him pay by forgetting her health. She lost a leg and died with the complications of a diabetic. Mac continues to pay for it. He pays for it when he helped her convalesce and he continues to pay for it after she passed. The currency he pays with is guilt! Even worse, Mac is unaware he's been dumped on by two women. ” My pal shook his head and said, “That’s the shits, dumb fucker thought he was going to get some from Felicia and was fucked by wifey. I take it they did this naturally without awareness of their needs and regardless of the damage to him? With a wry smile I said, "Dude! Rhetorical question. Damn, women are emotional but they’re completely clueless on the subject of how they objectify men to meet their specific needs. In these cases, they expected their men to provide for their security.” We walked through the door and headed toward the bar to get us a couple of beers. We both reflected on the idea of women somewhere who would understand their dehumanization or objectification of men to meet their needs what ever their needs may be.

Sunday, October 22, 2006



I've written alot about anger and have given to naming it misogyny and misandry. Naming my feelings help me give a voice to the grievances.

With my recent missive about the southern belle, and our break-up/forgiveness- I felt she didn’t deserve the power behind my anger. That was my transgression. I did apologize to her for that. I had an inability to separate from powerful women-my mother and ex-wife. She got the full force of it. This is the reason why I apologized. I knew she didn’t deserve all my anger. This was a classic case of punishment not fitting the crime.

I understand how put off a woman would be with the heading "Southern Pussy"-it’s objectifying. Earlier, I couldn’t put a heading like that on anything female. I idealized women and I couldn’t see/didn’t want to see the abuses. For now, it may put people off, but I’m through stuffing my feelings. I hope my anger about this is tempered by placing it table for examination. It looks as if I paint a broad brush here but it deals with surviving abuse. In our psychological fog, we do what we do and continue to do what we do to survive abuse. Yet in our need to survive, tt results in heaping a lot of pain and suffering between people in order to get our needs met.

By giving a "voice” to the grievance and naming it misogyny and misandry-it helps me. Although my Southern Belle had her own brand of delivering pain and suffering, naming my stuff misogyny gave me the opportunity to see the abuse I gave her. Bringing feelings into focus helped me understand my reactions and acknowledge my part in coercion and manipulation. Also as an aside, the word "Fugue" helps me name what immobilizes me.

Still, I see how the heading "Southern Pussy" would take away from the message to women. It is more important for me now to share my feelings raw and uncensored-I’ve stuffed them long enough! By the way, the heading “Southern Pussy” was the name of the R&R band I saw Thursday at “Brick by Brick”. I did share it with the Southern Belle and we had a good laugh about.

Friday, October 20, 2006


Southern Pussy

Scarlett my ex-southern belle called me...

This past Thursday, we talked about families, kids and our love life. Of course my love life is currently non-existent-especially the sex part. This was hard. Aside from her body-I’m susceptible to the melody and rhythm of her southern voice. At the same time, I’m very fearful of being caught-up in my affliction for the psychological fugue that overwhelms when we talk.

“Hey Rhett, this is Scarlett, I’m driving through the most beautiful country in Kentucky. The trees are changing faster even and farther along than Georgia. They’re gold and burgundy and orange and just wonderful and the grass is still green-so beautiful. I’m driving and passing the exit of Lincoln’s birthplace (a side trip we took on the way back to Peach Country) and I thought it would be an appropriate time to talk.” I couldn't put the phone down or hang-up.

“I’ve met someone...!” I felt relief as she shared a few things about the "new soldier". Later, she asked me directly about our breakup and how abrupt it was. I used anger to break it off with her. “It’s over-I’m through with you!” It didn’t matter what I said. She would call again and I would buckle and succumb each time. I couldn’t tell her she was full of shit because when I did, she’d be hurt. I fell for her feigned weakness. I patched things up. I was a pathetic “Johnny Rebel on the spot.”

Awhile back, I drew strength from a Yankee who helped me with breaking up. He was so determined to break-up with his girlfriend-he whacked off before telling her it was over. Unorthodox but effective! Inspired, I stopped answering her-I had had enough!

She asked why I was hostile in the break-up. So I asked if she knew the word misogyny-she knew the word. I said, “I was pissed-I painted a broad brush with women. You happened to be the target of my hyper-sensitivity to coercion and manipulation. I couldn’t make the distinction between my anger and what you wanted or intended. Later as an aside comment she said, “I keep my lips sealed now. I don’t even tell my soldier where to park in a parking lot.”

Although I thought about it, I thought it wasn't a good idea and unnecessary to go into her Misandry-its over!

Another thing, I felt this conversation with Scarlett was unfinished business that needed finishing. I had used anger with our multitude of break-ups. I’m not proud of this. I want to think that this was an attempt to amend my transgression by acknowledging my part in it and my responsibility.

I believe the conversation went okay. There was some clarity that I held on to. I’m sure there are comments with a differing opinion. By the way, it helped that I shared with the Calvary my missive about my misogyny. Thanks to Calvary for the insight and exposure-especially Bathsheba, who was the target of my anger and Mildred who was the impetus of my fugue!

Wednesday, October 11, 2006


Stormy Winds

As usual, I walked into a baseball bat recently. A very good friend said “How can you love her if you don’t even know her?”

At a conference, I listened to this woman friend. I was drawn into her web of coercion and manipulation in her struggle to divorce her husband or not. Once again, I felt resentment and anger. These feelings betrayed what I wanted to say to her. I confused her with my ex-wife. I churned inside and I forgot about the work I’ve done. I was in the periphery of the hurricane. It was as if I wanted my ex-wife to know how much effort I put into our relationship. I wanted her to know how hurt I was. It was something I had unsuccessfully conveyed because it wasn’t going to work. In the end, I knew it wasn’t going to work and it didn’t.

I also confused love with my battle not to lose my identity. Back then, I battled to keep my relationship with my ex-wife intact because I needed to remain as I was. I was afraid of stepping out into the world without an identity-I had no balls then! With my woman friend and for all my efforts, I was again sucked in the by the rotating winds of the hurricane. Dammit! I had forgotten she was a friend and she became my ex wife. I walked into her stormy path and was left strewn once again-in the rubble.

Later during another discussion, we talked about how we make our spouse a parent or how we parent our spouse. We do what we do and we unconsciously coerce and manipulate resulting in wounds that then become feelings of resentment and anger. It is even more pathetic when we consciously know this and continue this aberrant behavior. That said, I really don’t know how good I am at healing these wounds. As I write this, I feel sad and I am regretful for how I behaved in front of my son during this time. I wished I had divorced sooner to stem the affect I had on him. Because of this among many other things, I am further committed to healing my wounds-especially where I am coerced and manipulated or when I am doing the coercion and manipulation. These are where these insidious storms reside-where we are parented and where we parent. I don’t want to be driven by this kind of life-a life of coercion and manipulation! It is not the legacy I want nor do I want to waste my life living like this

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