Road Blogger

2007-12-05T12:11:00.000-08:00

Regarding my unmet infantile need-as with most of us, much reflection and pain has uncovered a need to be nurtured and a need for security. In my unconscious search for these primeval needs, I chose women who I thought would take care of me. Obviously I didn't make good choices in this area. Both my son and I still live with the repercussions.

It makes sense how this came about. I was raised by a nurturing grandmother as an infant in the Philippines. My father was in America and my mother taught school just after I was born. Under my grandmother's care I felt safe. I called her "Ina"- translated, it means mother in Ilocano a dialect spoken in the Northern Philippines. We left the Islands when I was 3 and I told my Grandmother I would come back. I kept my promise fifteen years later. In between that time, I felt an anxious insecurity living in a brand new culture and with my father who did not treat me well because I competed with him for my mother's affection and of course my mother who controlled my soul with her fear of life. Upon my return to the Philippines and in the presence of my Grandmother-I felt an overwhelming feeling of safety. I stood up to my father and my mother during this time. I felt I could be myself. The anxiety returned with our arrival to the States.

It has been a journey to see both my father and mother as wounded human beings and not as the monsters I've painted them as. I don't discount my parents affect on me as I put on my psychological armor when I see my family. My sense now is that my mother was the better parent of the two. She did the bulk of raising me versus my father who I fought with constantly or was often away at sea. I want to declare this statement as my mother has taken the brunt of my anger-an anger I became aware of when I realized she cannot nurture me, give me security or keep me safe. Overall, I think I can grow to like this path of uncertainty and insecurity. It has enriched my friendships and my relationship with my Son both of which I cherish deeply. In this way I think I'm living a good life.

Witch Fire

2007-10-26T15:37:00.000-07:00

I was with my girlfriend at her home in RB dead asleep. When the Reverse 911 call wakes you from a dead sleep. The first thing I did was put on my underwear while together we were trying to figure out what to take. It was simple-the laundry basket, passport, her kids pictures and the dress she's to wear to her son's wedding.

My immediate family and close friend were safe so she and I spent the week at my home safe but we on the edge listening to the radio. Anyone I contacted I let know it was okay to stay with me and a family stayed. Funny about what we forgot to take-her computer, and a keepsake from her father.

We gave money to the Red Cross at Gate F at Qualcomm Stadium where the Chargers play and we tried to give sleeping supplies but they had too much already. At the Boys and Girls Club of Poway, we gave supplies and lent an ear to an old lady (Sheila). She was full of life and thankful that she had a place to sleep. It felt good to be around the community of San Diego. I was proud of their goodwill toward each other.

We listened to the media sparingly to avoid being traumatized and did our level best to maintain normalcy though it is just plain difficult to get back to normalcy after the worst of the fire has settled. It wasn't until I wept that I became aware of how much tension I held. I suspect I wept because we were past the worst of it.

We visited my girlfriends house when they allowed us in. We wore N95 masks because the air was full of toxic particulates. Her house survived but others not so good. A man up the street interviewed by KPBS lost his first house-his dream house with his collection of 100 year old bibles. I'm reminded of what Wallace Stegner wrote and I paraphrase "just when life becomes orderly and predictable, something from out of nowhere comes in and changes everything".

Wounds

2007-06-09T10:37:00.000-07:00

I don't see women as predators much these days. I was truly blocked and numb to see this before because it was the psychological "Casts and Bandages" I've used to protect myself from emotional wounds occurring during my nascent youth and which I've continued to use as an adult.

Though I talked all around the "Casts and Bandages" I did not talk about the wounds-my wounds that I protected. When it was exposed how much I needed parents that abused me, it hurt bad and I wept. Strangely it also freed and released me from these old bonds I've used to protect myself. I'm much more aware of my wounds which drive me and though the grudges are legitimate they don't hold much power. Each time these wounds buried deep in the past, haunt us by hurting others who have nothing to do with our pain. Breaking free from the protective ridgid bonds is allowing me to have real empathy for the wounds we protect ourselves from. Hence empathy for myself and empathy for others.

Weaving Scenarios

2007-04-15T14:02:00.000-07:00

My close friend's daughter is bi-polar and lives at home with her. The parents want their daughter to her own life. Many times they've implored the daughter to get an education or get a job. They've spoken to her about finding her passion. Nothing seems to help. Day after day she stays home watches TV or does nothing or does something harmful like cutting. The latest episode involves her grades in college-she's failing in most of her classes hence she represents a great anxiety to her parents.

This anxiety is where the parents exercised their greatest compassion. In their daughter's many failures they've been there to pick her up and dust her off and when deemed ready, will send her off again. Each episode is similar and its only difference is the context that takes its shape. With the failing classes, the daughter's professors have had difficulty dealing with her disease as she is disruptive in class. The failure feeds her depression and so my friend does her best to soothe her daughter and try to get her to see the brighter side of things. The father exasperated tries to convince her in the importance of goals and timelines. There are other influences in this young woman's life too. Like her mother's relationship with a man who is 6 years older than her daughter and the conflict this symbolizes for the young woman. We mustn’t forget the father who is insulated from his emotions and presents himself like he does his profession-a teacher. The mother tends to infantilize her daughter soothing each and every failure. The father infantilizes her daughter by patronizing every interaction much like a professor to a student. The daughter has no concept really of living with the consequences of her actions. One would like to think that if both parents can continue to be there for her or to say or do the right thing the daughter would "right herself". It hasn't happened yet and I doubt now that it would. Still, they both continue to get caught in the web of life that their daughter creates and find themselves tangled and unable to free themselves from the messiness she's in and time again.

So I ask this question, would they be monsters as parents if they cut their ties and have the world teach her how to function? My sense is this would be very effective. But in a worse sense, I think the parent’s motivation (another blog) to infantilize their daughter is responsible for her debilitation. It takes on this pseudo honorable form much like helping the homeless by giving them money. It is alive and insidious and it is not being talked about. It teaches the child dependency and worse stuffs their daughter’s choices on what her life could be-underground.

Speed Circuit

2007-03-17T09:34:00.000-07:00

Let me begin by sharing that I submitted my resignation the first week in March to my boss. It came with a butt load of anxiety. When it was done, I had the weekend anticipating a full court press by management the following week. It came in full force: again my boss then the General Manager and finally the Operations Manager. That Monday I handled them with honor in responding to their counter offers by stating simply “it’s blackmail and I don’t do blackmail.”

Secondly, separation is hard for me. Confronted with separation, my pathological enmeshment almost overcame my own judgment. It almost caused me to buckle and stay ensconced in a place where I was willing to settle and become complacent. The next day Tuesday I had planned to meet with the owner of the company and just thinking about it, my resolved waned. Now I know what it’s like to have a split personality. There was a circular dialogue of two conversations occurring within me. The man who wants to leave was being overwhelmed by the pathos of wanting to stay. The “man within” wants to leave because the untenable systems that are still in place are still in place-it is not going to change period end of story. The pathos wanted the familiar and what it brings: security, relationships and the family he’s known for the better part of the day, almost every day for 10 years. For a time, there was no one to talk to. I called my inner circle of friends and confidants. There wasn’t much available through the height of my anxiety but I got something and fortunately, what little I got from them was a life line and I settled down. It also helped to shake the inner dialogue by journaling about it and see on paper the logic in the debate. I also took in the go-karts at the Miramar Speed Circuit to relieve the anxiety. Btw, I came in 4th because I slammed a car against the wall when I shot the gap-I was penalized for it. As an aside, the meeting with the owner did not happen and it is yet to come. However, I feel good about it this time.

The process of leaving has opened up my feelings of sadness for the familiar. It is counter balanced by my feelings of excitement of starting something new. A friend advised that I focus on enjoying the time “in-between” where current problems are past tense and the new ones haven’t surfaced yet and I paraphrase “Why don’t you relish and enjoy this special window in your life” In reflecting on what he said, in the past, when those precious few windows did open up-I was unconscious. I think this time it’ll be different.

Humming Bird Above my Lawn

2007-02-27T23:48:00.000-08:00

I’m here at Starbucks drinking coffee when this dude walks past me with a blue parrot on his shoulder. He has bird shit on the back of his shirt. A woman/girl behind him is just grossing out. She’s got my attention too wearing an aqua marine pull over with brown printed rabbits and her blue sweats with the word “Pink” printed on her bottom. She’s wearing purple Uggs to finish the look.

This is good beginning for a vacation day. After my shower, the 45 minute one way walk to Starbucks was inspired by Larry McMurtrey’s character Duane Moore. He happens to ride his bike everywhere. A babe Annie Cameron finished telling him that he’s weak with women. Not a startling fact when I think about myself in that way. Recently at a Chinese restaurant called “Sam Woo’s” this waitress forgets my order and so I call her on it. In her own inimitable Asian way, she denies everything and blamed me for not ordering. I was immobilized at first and later reflected on how helpless felt even when I knew this restaurant has a reputation for good food and bad waitresses. This woman who doesn’t know me from Adam had just dismissed me and I felt insignificant and I was pissed off.

Nearing the anniversary of my brother’s death has me feeling vulnerable. This event exposed my distorted belief that my mother has her children’s best interest at heart. Bill’s death destroyed that myth. I held her accountable for her efforts in infantilizing her sons. Since then I’ve been outwardly angry at her and other women. It was about this time I started calling women bitches and meaning it. I had an uncontainable anger. It was like an affliction with Tourette syndrome. The underlying anger burst out at unsuspecting women. All I need to do is look back at my blogs. Several women wrote an email telling me to cool my heels.

Man the walk home zoomed. Less than 30 minutes. The time was spent thinking about my yearning for unrequited love and the dying dream that my mother cares for me. It’s a good thing I had new hiking shoes because I left rubber half moon marks on the pavement. I don’t think that path will ever be the same as I hit the ground with major intensity. I know what I yearn for and it is a dream that dies hard. When I hold on to my grievance-this period of righteous self indignation, this justifiable anger, I get the perverse pleasure of punishing women who don’t consider me whether it has anything to do with me or not. It didn’t matter that these women had their own drama and vulnerability to deal with. I have found it difficult in gaining my footing from this diabolical pathology. Sadly, it’s insulated me from connecting with women who want to get to know and love me.

Just out my window, there is a humming bird hovering over my lawn. It's so effortless and graceful. I can't imaging how much work that takes. Though I suspect it's easier than looking at the truth.

Twice Distracted

2007-02-11T08:28:00.000-08:00

Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief?

Robert Blake

I know I've been out of blogging commission for awhile. I've been distracted.

First on the professional level being wooed is very intoxicating. It isn't the first time but this time it is serious. I feel like a free agent a mercenary for hire. At the same time, it's caused me to rethink about many things from what I want to where I stand in the market place and yes my working relationships with people I've known for 10 years. It has also given me pause to look at the spectrum of options. Stay tuned for this one.

Second and more important, speaking in front of a group of women, I acknowledge to them how I've painted the face of my mother on the important women in my life. They had different recations: some felt awkward as I shared something deeply personal. Others admired my courage and some didn't care. I'm sure there were some who had an issue with it but they didn't share it. All in all, I was scared at first and settled down as the repercussions I girded myself against, never came.

If I was more religious, I might say God wants me to learn from my suffering. But on the existential plane that I ascribe to, I am responsible for my action. This is one action that I'm not proud of. The women in my life have been manipulated, coerced and ingratiated into a pathological vision of the woman who birthed me. This action has prevented me from seeing the women for whom they are and have had the affect of insulating them from man they see and know and want to connect with. This is tragic and sad as it leveled women who wanted to love me and prevented me from loving them back. Remarkably, sharing this has a calming effect on me and hence has given me hope that I can live with and perhaps appreciate another's humanity as Robert Blake wrote:

Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief?

I feel for the first time, I have my arms around this emotionally and the fog is rising and dissipating.

Love and Ambition

2006-12-17T13:32:00.000-08:00

An old but unnamed friend gave the young and successful Giacomo Puccini some advice in a letter:

"After much sententious advice to work hard, not to rest on his laurels, and to avoid running into debt comes a more specific warning: Keep clear of women who, with rare exceptions, are the plague of society; treat them as playthings, to be thrown away into a corner once you have done with them: use them as a physical necessity, nothing more. As you know, I speak from experience. One last word of advice, take care not to fall in love if you can possibly avoid doing so, since that will lead you into the grave of matrimony, which ninety-nine times out of a hundred hampers, cuts short, and ruins a young man's career, especially one such as yours, who need absolute freedom and independence. But if by any chance you should fall into the net, for goodness sake, marry a woman whom you love, who is beautiful, simpatica, well-educated, and kind, because if you don't, heaven help you."

Sage advice to not only Puccini but for young and old too.

Empathy Amiss

2006-12-13T19:22:00.000-08:00

Hear that lonesome whippoorwill?
He sounds to blue to fly.
The midnight train is whining low:
I'm so lonesome I could cry.

-Hank Williams

This "Hillbilly Shakespeare," reflected in his music how vulnerable and exposed we are. He was in the end alone and forsaken. Like many of us he was flawed. Yet, he was courageous-you felt the truth in his music.

I remember an experience with a former girlfriend. Roxanne and I arranged to meet. Unbeknownst to me, she brought her daughter. Through our nascent relationship, I voiced I didn’t want to develop a relationship with children. I felt the children suffered enough losses in their lives and they didn’t need to suffer a loss on my account in the event the relationship didn’t work out. Evidently she didn’t hear me and I couldn’t appropriately negotiate against her desire to have me connect with her daughter. When her daughter showed up I was angry instead of feeling sad that she would place her daughter in danger. At the time, I was flooded with emotion. I had no empathy for her motivation and reacted from a victim stance.

In my past blogs I have written about manipulation by women, giving a name to my grievance-misogyny and women’s objectification of men. What I haven’t voiced is walking in a woman’s shoes and what that must be like. This is the place where I lose clarity because I find it difficult to understand the feelings of women especially when I place myself in their circumstance. It’s confusing to me. Hearing a woman emote real time is powerful. It shuts me down. I completely miss the connection. It evokes my emotions and I'm lost because I am flooded with emotion. I revert to talking about others feelings hoping to get some relief. Sometimes I lash out or tune out. In the end I don't get heard and I am left alone with my fears; my anxiety. Hence neither of us gets heard and we are both left alone with our fears; our anxiety. It must be this feeling Hank Williams wrote and sang about.

Bicycle Gears and Veterans

2006-11-12T10:47:00.000-08:00

Have you ever tried to explain bicycle gears to a novice? Most people learn to use the gears intuitively. Earlier I tried to explain how they worked to my friend. Though her credentialed pedigree had Magna and Summa in it, she wasn’t quite getting my cryptic explanation. She crinkled her nose and said “I still don’t get it?” Chuckling, I threw out explanations of “driver and the driven and eliminated gear ratio among other things and continued with a different train of thought and said “gears move the bike a lesser or greater distance with one turn of the pedal.” As we rode faster, farther and longer, the intuitive nature of bicycling did their own teaching as she shared “so the front gears are the big brutes and the back gears do the fine tuning.”

We quickly forgot about the how the bicycle works and continued our ride. Bicycling down Kearny Villa Road in San Diego, the jet’s cylindrical after burners are flaming a white hot blue and trimmed by orange. Overhead you feel the power of these fighter jets flying in for a landing. The noise you hear has gone faster than the speed of sound. They land on the tarmac long and straight and surrounded by rolling hills of Chaparral, typically barren except Highway 15 and Miramar Marine Corp Air Station. I felt like “Maverick” in the movie “Top Gun” as I pedaled down the same road on this pretty day. There is some cloud cover that the sun pokes through and creates beautiful background shades on the clouds. There are few cars on the road and we’re enjoying the solitude. My reflections are about my brother and father, personal in nature-veterans who are no longer with us. I didn’t plan to honor Veterans on this day, it just happened.

Labels

2006-11-06T17:42:00.000-08:00

Each of us has a valid expectation to be recognized as individuals. Each of us in relationships have been injured by having the boundaries of individuality violated by the very people who should have respected and nurtured them. We have had similar experiences and feelings. This allows us to learn from each other. But pain, and the anger it generates, come from specific interactions he or she has had. I believe this is true for each of us.

The generalizations like "misogynist men" dismiss these unique experiences and the individual who has had them. We need some awareness of this. That seems especially true for women and it is true for men. I know I bristle whenever women recasts issues presented as a war between the sexes. I can tell women bristle when I point out how women objectify men.

The hostilities of men toward women and vice versa cannot be labeled. These are people, who make their own, very personal struggle through life. Terms we might use to wrestle toward understanding are only tools. We shouldn't mistake them for the person we are trying to understand.

Men and women are unique people who deserve to be seen as such. Relationships have been a powerful means for me to understand that, when I let it. I feel that when I present myself as an individual I feel particularly vulnerable. I can't hide behind some overarching "concept” in my mind or even as others try cloak you with it. I believe that stereotypes and generalizations can be and have been used to avoid by both sexes.

These days I don’t play its okay when it is not. How can you want a relationship if you don’t know the person? How can you want them to know your kids and even worse to have kids with them? Then blame them or others for your pain with generalizations? I know I’m guilty of this.

When we struggle with each other I feel sad and helpless. It makes me want to say something that will help ease everyone's pain, including mine. I know that's not realistic.

I personally want to be more self accepting and not cause collateral pain to others.

I want to feel at peace.

DaDa

2006-10-29T14:52:00.000-08:00

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.

Fugue

2006-10-22T15:32:00.000-07:00

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.

Southern Pussy

2006-10-20T19:05:00.000-07:00

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!

Stormy Winds

2006-10-11T14:32:00.000-07:00

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

Discounted

2006-09-29T15:05:00.000-07:00

Women don't know they discount men until it is too late. Men typically don't know they are being dissed by women until they are pissed. I know this is a sweeping generalization about women as there might actually be women out there who don't discount men. That would be a discussion for later. For now here are my thoughts.

At first, I didn’t know why I was upset. I was angry. These feelings began after our group discussion about this story Belinda wanted to discuss. After reading the story and relating her thoughts, Belinda deflected Randy’s comments and Phil's comments were ignored. Pat was met with hostility and mine were discounted. Yet when Tristan said something, Belinda took the time to listen and absorb her observations. This annoyed me. What is it about this woman gets my goat? Here in this venue, she discounts men and listens to women. Why should I continue to dialogue with someone who is discounting to men in general? These men responded vying for approval of or thinking they were helping her until they are left frustrated, deflated and shut down. Even worse, I know one of them is capable of holding on to his anger until it blows out of control and into the extreme of verbal and physical confrontation. When I see a woman do this-it is misandry as Nunya shared in my previous post and to say it in plain English-man hater. I don’t know how Belinda lives leaving men in her wake-pissed off. I know on some level it is a survival mechanism.

However, a poke in the eye is a poke in the eye. I was a closet mysoginist until exposed; she is a clueless and overt misandrist. I cannot let this go by without letting her know her affect on me. Not exposing her would be a disservice to her and more important, a disservice to me and others like me. I know too, that this act will continue to "de-construct" my concept of powerful women and see them more as human beings.

As always and in my other posts the people are real, the names are ficticious.

Self Loathing

2006-09-11T19:11:00.000-07:00

An aquaintance once shared "Men suffer in self loathing because they need women too much". Still, the need is powerful. They avoid telling the truth to women regardless of their feelings of being manipulated. They engage in misogynous venting with others in the fraternity of males. They live in shame as they live their lives in years of denial and in an abusive relationship. They are bewildered and confused and frustrated in this struggle.

Yet our need for women is so great, we deny or have not concept of how much abuse we take. We must be desensitized to this. I cannot imagine any thing else. I remember being complicit in this drug transaction between my ex-wife and a friend. On many levels and specifically: I was afraid of losing my relationship with my ex-wife. I involved myself in ex-wife’s drama. A mentor noticed when I’m in pain, I smile a “Mona Lisa” smile. During this drug transaction, my pain was evident. The drug deal between my friend and my ex-wife ripped the “Mona Lisa” smile off my face and left me with an overwhelming feeling of shame and embarrassment. At once in one fell swoop, I felt weak and pathetic and became disgusted with myself for being manipulated. She was Mildred in Somerset Maugham’s of Human Bondage. There I was as Philip, accommodating, placating and rationalizing that is okay to love and not be loved in return. Here are more instances where she stepped on my heart. One day we were watching the movie “Driving Miss Daisy” among friends. There was a scene where one of the characters asked, “Do you love me?” I whispered the same thing to my ex-wife, I was vulnerable. Her response was “I course I love you, why would you ask me a question like that?” I was hurt and embarrassed because it was delivered indignantly and people around us heard the way she said it. Then another instance-I was in an accident. She wasn’t at all soothing; she didn’t ask if I was okay. What I got from her was more about the logistics and insurance aspects and it had to be quick because she needed to get back to work. I can recall the many times after work; I came home to a shrew. We rarely talked about our relationship! Our daily life was filled with painful little dramas doing things to avoid real discussion. I was drawn to this like a moth drawn to a flame. I continued to take significant hits to my soul. It was like this all my life-she was my surrogate mother.

I don’t have this in my life anymore yet the ghost pains linger. A friend’s ex-wife wanted him to discipline his girls. He wouldn’t. He felt they would learn through the consequences of their actions. The ex-wife told him “since he will never be an enforcer and that he doesn’t view this as an opportunity to parent, she certainly won’t bother calling again. Ouch! I reacted in response and out spewed in what I thought was support of my friend “Are we doomed to be frogs? I say-Hell No!!! Unite against manipulating bitches!!!! Thing is, this bravado only lasts until we nuzzle next to pussy. Dammit! I've been infected with the malady-easily manipulated :( Besides, why would women in general try to understand when it's easier to manipulate with their rose buds? Ain't this the shits?” It was safe for me to share this misogynous venting with a sympathetic ear. When it comes to women, there is safety in venting in the company of men.

In the story, a scorpion and a frog meet on the bank of a stream and the scorpion asks the frog to carry him across on its back. The frog asks, "How do I know you won't sting me?" The scorpion says, "Because if I do, I will die too." The frog is satisfied, and they set out, but in midstream, the scorpion stings the frog. The frog feels the onset of paralysis and starts to sink, knowing they both will drown, but has just enough time to gasp "Why?" Replies the scorpion: "It’s my nature..." Call it lack of awareness, cowardice or confusion or all of the above. It is about men who have not had the experience of women who understood their shame of being manipulated. We are desensitized in one sense and painfully unaware of women who would be respectful in this way. You could also say, women are just as naïve and have been berated and humiliated by men for the same reasons. This result in both genders being trapped in a vicious circle of anger treating each other as body parts or amphibians or worse-much of it steeped in deep anger. We forget we are human beings and we treat each other as frogs and scorpions in the fight for life and death.

Violated Space

2006-08-12T12:39:00.000-07:00

What began as a good evening, turned out to be bad the following morning for my son and I. We were burglarized between the hours of 11:00 pm to 5 am. Even more disconcerting, someone came in to our bedrooms while we were asleep to rip us off. Thankfully no one was hurt.

When my son awoke in the morning, he asked me if I moved his rental car and where did I park it? I told him it was parked in the drive way. He thought I was playing tricks by throwing his pants outside until he saw my clothing too. I got up and began to see mounting evidence of the burglary. My home and car ransacked and the screen window ripped to shreds. I held my anger better than my son as we began damage control canceling credit cards, notifying police. We called work and took the day off to get cash and duplicate drivers’ licenses. I changed all the locks and called a security company for quotes. We took inventory of what were lost, mostly personal items like watches, CD’s, camera a days worth of work etc. I was pissed and scared at the same time. I cannot imagine what would have happened had I awoke.

I thought back to the night before where dinner with woman I am dating went really well. I felt good vibes coming home until I noticed a strange car in front of my house around 11am. These people headed to a party across the street. I thought nothing of it then but after the burglary I felt angry toward them. Especially when I found the slim cigars lying on the ground near the shredded screen-young people typically smoke these. The police told me not much would come from this type of evidence and that the detectives would concentrate on the rental car. They took information in a calm business like manner and I refrained from asking one officer about his “Pistol Expert” insignia.

My son was itching to have a talk with the kid who hosted the party across the street. He was as angry as the time he had a fight with his mother’s boyfriend; he almost knifed him. Thankfully that talk didn’t happen at that moment. Our emotional state began settling down as we took care of the business needing attention throughout the day. Later, as we informed the other neighbors of the burglary, we were calm in our presentation before we reached the neighbor kid’s home. I stayed away from accusations and told them-him and his family to be extra vigilant because we were burglarized and the only good thing was good that no one got hurt. I could tell the neighbor kid felt responsible for the burglary. The following day he approached me and apologized. I said “for what? I don’t blame you. If there anything to learn, pay attention to the people you are with and notice who of your friends would come to your hood and do something like this! You would know then they certainly aren’t your friends.”

Some of my friends thanked me for sharing my experience. Some thought of their own complacency in their home security and my experience was their wake up call. Some shared their stories of how their boundaries crossed in situations like this. At first, I was disassociated but I am thankful for it got me to take care of business. But now, it “creeps” me out when I think about it and what could have happened. It seems hard to set it aside now.

Impulse or Security

2006-07-24T17:55:00.000-07:00

Regarding the deepest conflicts, how can you begin to know the real you if you are driven by a family script? In your struggle to define within yourself “fear of life or fear of death”, I can only imagine anxiety, chatter and chaos especially when you begin using your judgment in understanding the script and let alone to begin dealing with it. I continue to be perplexed in dealing with my own script. I admire the struggle in understanding who you are and the damn difficulty in accepting and defining yourself. To fear life is to play it safe; to fear death is to live dangerously. Deciding who I am is no piece of cake!!!

I’d like to know what it is like to have a woman accept the real me and I wonder what would I respect in the acceptance.

find out what they want and then advise them to do it."

2006-06-19T21:43:00.000-07:00

"I have found the best way to give advice to your children is to find out what they want and then advise them to do it." ~ Harry S. Truman, U.S. President

He, President Truman has something here. Also, I believe is easier said than done! I didn’t take the time to visit my Father on this Father’s day. I felt it was better to spend real time to with my kid. Truth be told, I didn’t have much of a relationship with my father and spending time with my boy was a way to honor the memory of my own father and my unrequited wishes that he would be there for me. Today my child and I respected each other by not setting up obligations other than our dinner reservations with plenty of flexibility and lots of options.

It wasn’t always like this. I’ve done my share of teaching my child what I considered the right way to live and behave or so I thought. Yet, in my efforts to teach, what I accomplish effectively alienated him at the time because at times, my teachings were laced anger and frustration. Anger and frustration colored by my experiences and they were experiences that were out of context with his own experiences. It’s like my parents penchant for being cheap and their desire to raise me in that way-because they were products of the depression and the war where the goods were hard to come by. It surely didn’t make sense to me, a child of Post WW11 living in the richest nation in the world. It made sense to them however. I was confused as my son was confused with me. It wasn’t all about me either; sometimes the kid didn’t get it! He didn’t get it because he didn’t think in ideas or concepts but in concrete-black and white and all of this stirred by his ego centricity. I learned to trust that my modeling in real life situations somehow took hold of this young man. I also learned to accept being relegated to a cheer leader for this child and frankly, it has made a world of difference!

As for living in the moment, the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim fans were just great as was the game. Though the Padres lost the ballgame, the feelings of goodwill we had along with the weather and the spectacular coast line made the train ride home all the better. Dinner was fabulous and as we toasted “Fathers Day” I took time to reflect on this young man laden with testosterone. He was happy and I felt happy. This shared experience was a good one! This is one experience my kid and I will file in our good memories category. A category to fill to overflowing.

Taps

2006-05-26T13:34:00.000-07:00

To the Pilots, Soldiers and Sailors –I Honor in their peaceful rest ...

"Taps"

Fading light dims the sight.
And a star gems the sky, gleaming bright.
From afar drawing nigh – falls the night.

Day is done, gone the sun,
From the lake, from the hills, from the sky.
All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.

Then good night, peaceful night,
Till the light of the dawn shineth bright.
God is near, do not fear – friend, good night.

Go to sleep, peaceful sleep,
May the soldier or sailor God keep.
On the land or the deep, safe is sleep.

Love, good night, must thou go,
When the day, and the night, need Thee so.
All is well, speedth all to their rest.

Fades the light, and afar goeth day,
And the stars shineth bright, fare Thee well.

Day has gone, night is on.
Thanks and praise, for all our days,
‘Neath the sun, ‘neath the stars, ‘neath the sky,
As we go, this we know, God is nigh.

Mother's day

2006-05-14T15:11:00.000-07:00

“”it’s a mother’s job to mind our business while we are growing up. Cut her some slack if she is still learning to mind her own.”

In one sense I’ve become my mother’s protector and at the same time, I’ve detached more than ever from her influence. It was evident during the time I spent with my mother today as I helped her with a new cell phone for mother’s day. The day went well as there were no judgments but amazement about what she pays attention too.

My mother told me a funny story of her neighbor’s interaction with a dog: Marianne told my mom she sued the Porenta’s for eating a dog she was feeding and caring for. Evidently the dog was hardly fed and Marianne took pity and took care of it. Then one day the dog stopped coming over. Marianne asked during my mother and father’s walk if they want to ride in her Rolls Royce, they accepted and she told them about the people who ate the dog she fed. Marianne sued and won a judgment and money. “I don’t want the money I want my dog back!” she cried. "Did she think I was fattening the dog for them?" My mom didn’t know who it was until my fathers funeral service when Mrs. Porenta saw Marianne and told my mother later that she was "that mean woman who sued her". My mom just shook here head...

Business Man's Special

2006-05-13T12:04:00.000-07:00

When I woke up Thursday night, Danny’s lovely wife was upset and I could hear their phone conversation that Danny was in a hornets nest. My head hurt with bruises and my hips were bruised as well. Also, my elbows were red with raspberries. Upon further inspection my wallet was missing and my new cell phone was missing. Earlier prior to me waking up, Danny did not make a good impression on my son as just before he finished introducing himself, reverse peristalsis kicked in and he hurled into the kitchen sink.

Sometimes you just want to get high! This was a day I decided to let go. I had tickets to the Padres-Brewers businessman special day game. For the time being I’m waiting for my bud Danny who was driving to my crib from Jamul about an hour away. Jesus had just mowed my lawn and upon inspection, I noticed he missed the mushrooms. However, the lawn, “man it still looks good.” I am really digging this new super bowl sod I’ve recently had installed. The sun was breaking through the mid morning haze and it felt right to bust open a bottle of the local micro brew known as Red Trolley. I put on Primo Aventuras a local Salsa Band and practiced my Salsa out in the front yard for my Asian neighbors to see. I told Danny when he arrived to be prepared because we were getting hammered.

The game was great! Padres won 8-4 and the Padres Pitcher Jake Peavey had 13 strikeouts. Between the two of us we matched or exceeded Peavey’s strike out ratio with spirits. Later at a garden bar on 6th and K we continued our sophomoric onslaught and got into a discussion with a couple of pretentious dudes on golf which escalated to an argument on who was better our guy Charlie or their guy Hank. Basically it was about whose “Dick” was bigger, better, faster! As we postured-one of them gave me phone and the person on the line asked who the fuck is Charlie Morton?” and I said, “who the fuck is Hank Wilson?” With that we wagered large amounts of dollars and dates for them to play before we were asked to leave by the bouncer dudes. I remember Danny a calling cab to drive us to where my car was parked! Though I don’t remember, I’m sure we tumbled several times before we felt this was best thing to do.

Typically when I have acted out, it was for escape or to medicate or to act out aggression. Maybe this experience was all of these. Or maybe I was in the tailwind of Danny’s marital stuff. Who knows? How do I feel about it now? Yes it was childish, yes it was dangerous, and yes it was living out there without thought to the consequences. No I don’t want to do it again at least not without preparing for the consequences, and finally, yes I did thoroughly enjoy it!!!

What Miles Do

2006-05-06T09:56:00.000-07:00

This was inspired by Douglas Goetsch Poem "What I do"

What Miles do

I washed the car the way he did,
bucket, brush, towels, wax and soap
early, before the sun, after a rain
spraying the chrome, hub caps, hood,
roof top, soaping up, rinsing off,
wiping down, applying wax revealing
shiny reflections.
Maybe he felt like them, or just pride for
owning a cool car.

Squatting low, leaning against
a fender looking for holidays.
What I did was help him look
by following his eyes along the
glossy curves and over the hood
towards an open screen door
where a man stood with his eyes
crossed like his arms.
The man saw my father smile.
He saw there was more to my
father that I couldn’t see when later
my father and I competed man to

man. I begin to get it when I react, when I
shave my patchy stubble on my
chin and upper lip. When we
were out on the town breathing
the night and sipping whiskey with a cube of ice
the way we like it. Gagging on cigars together
when man with eyes crossed, returns as
twenty-something’s shouting gook and chink.
I smiled his same smile and the same
The hell with you!
before they disappeared into the night.

Love and feeling

2006-05-01T17:03:00.000-07:00

I don’t know many who do well with love especially when one equates love with a deep feeling of connection. Why these feelings can be diabolically pathological!

There are many deep feeling/s of connection- for instance a deep connection to someone who’s abandoned you. What about the ones deeply connected to anger? What about deep connections to danger because one feels alive in the danger. Then there is a deep connection because of dependence. Often these deep connections are confused with love. I think this is where we’ve deluded ourselves. I think this is where the lack of honesty lies.

Can we reconcile love with any of these deep feelings? Isn’t the loving act something that cares for another’s soul, well being, and physical and emotional health? Damn these feelings are powerful for sure. I can look at my own behavior where I’ve acted in a loving way-yet what I’ve missed is the powerful chemistry. I struggle with my attraction/affliction for the beautiful woman with the “Stone Heart.”

Txs Neets and Etor for checking in

2006-04-12T18:30:00.000-07:00

I've been writing in my journal as it allows me to think without an audience in mind. My oh my, in a few weeks a lot happens.

A dear friend passed away. Anthony’s one of the few men that have lived his convictions consistently and has walked his talk. This is more impressive in a highly political environment such as a unified school district.

You can tell a lot about a man in how he handles the adversity in his life. He’s had a lot of training as a Pastor of two Baptist Churches, youth counselor and coach. He also told it as he sees it especially when it’s controversial. For instance, he served with Lieutenant Calley of the Mi Lai massacre debacle. “Brother Miles, he was set up to fail! An immature and inexperienced man in a leadership position-leading his men in a frightening situation where you don’t know who your enemies are! If blame is to be given out, our superiors needed to step forward for placing a young man and his boys in an untenable position.” Anthony was their Mortar man.

One thing about Baptist services is how they celebrated his legacy. It was very lively and I thought of Ray Charles. As the final Baptist preacher one of many shared, “We are sending one of the really good brothers home. Will you pray with me? People complain why the good ones are taken away so soon. It is like-why it’s easy to be a good Christian when times are good, Amen? But we forget to be good Christians when times are bad-difficult and hardship kicks us face, will you pray with me? But my man Tony never forgot about being Christian during these bad times, he's also a big man you knew him when he walked by! Dude has massive physical presence, but wasn't this man gentle and kind…will you pray with me!” I can’t continue this dialogue anymore because this particular preacher rose to the heavens and scorched us in hell before he brought us back to earth-will you pray with me! Tony was 56 years old and died of complications from surgery of an aneurysm.

Also this week is my best friend Allen was at BK (Bankruptcy) hearing. BK has taken one of the most competent men I know and buckled his knees. His sense of identity was in “never land” and he had no strategy for this up and coming BK hearing. Though he is one of the best strategists I know, for a brief period was without a personal strategy of his own in dealing with this current crisis. It was a true intervention of his closest friends beating him to pulp when self pity came to visit or when he isolated or neglected his health. We kicked his fucking ass!

He was amazing during the hearing! Along with his own attorney, he parried with a panel of Lawyers who implied fraud and wanted a judgment! I don’t know how this is going to turn out. But the man is riding his horse again and not wallowing in weakness-his financial health warrants it.

I must say, it’s been hard to get back to real work. I am boring! I’ve decompressed from so many things and I need more rest from my time off. today, It was nice to feel the road and hear the music. The sky was a sunny blue and I am focusing on what I want to focus on. I’m here in Temecula near the Wineries. Old Temecula is now a tourist destination with its own Starbucks. Once they reach Main Street, the cars slow way down. Unlike the speed of the autos earlier when I was in the business district. There, with company names like Guidant, manufacturers of medical equipment as well as other companies like Costco and Barbeques Galore; they sat on orl blocked from view the rolling hills that at one time resembled the hillsides of Tuscany. Shit, it’s hard to wax poetic prose on this kind of landscape. In fact it drives me inward to plumb my own depths and inner workings.

In plumbing one particular branch pipe came this thought,“Happiness is overrated”. I read that in a book somewhere. Boring is better! I tend to believe this. The rampage of life comes and goes and continues. My current conclusion is the method on how I respond to the difficulties of life and whether it is in line with whom I want to be and have I been as keen observer of who I am within these difficulties. Have I been brave, compassionate, generous and cynical? By cynical I mean how my behavior corresponds to real time, in real life and in an appropriate way. I use the word cynical because I tend to project what my illusions are to someone or something. That to me is delusional! My meaning for someone or something is typically not true. They all have their own meanings. I don’t want to believe in illusions. I want strategy! I want to think before I react and when I am confronted with the different meanings of others! I don’t want happiness or pain born from this type of ignorance. Thank you brother Allen and brother Tony-hopefully through your experiences and the experiences of others, I hope I’ve learned and improved in this area. We’ll just have to see once bullshit heads my way! For now life is boring and I am content with that.

Hate List

2006-03-06T22:11:00.000-08:00

Dammit, tagged by Neets to list my Hates! Damn this is a doozey! Anyway, here goes:

Someone stepping on my foot because they are not paying attention!

Homicide- Need I say more?

Incompetent posers-When it isn’t entertaining so give it a rest!

Telemarketers! They ruin my sanctuary with their intrusion!

Adults who prey on children! Nuff said!

Hate-It is too easy to hate!

Apathy-It is cowardice at its best-see Katrina!

Avarice-Obsessing on greed is soul-less-See Enron!

Mutilation-I can’t get into someone defiling another against their will.

Physical and emotional torture-It’s cruel!

Waste-Like fuel in grid-lock or the ordinance that our Military Industrial Complex provided to the freedom fighters to fight a Holy Techno War that wasted lives and the depletion of our aquifers so our desert cities can blossom etc...

Addictions-My brother died of an addiction! It takes away your ability to make choices.

War and Conflict

2006-03-02T18:46:00.000-08:00

Like the Transcontinental Railroad or the Brooklyn Bridge or the American Automobile, Industry, Electricity, Hoover and Grand Coulee dams among other water delivery systems etc… these infrastructures among many infrastructures feed, clothe and shelter us. I am sure there are projects out there but I cannot think of many that have been built without graft, corruption and greed. We can’t live without these infrastructures because they sustain us. Also, we in our cultural rigidity won’t or are unwilling to surrender our current lifestyles brought about by these wonders.

We also believe that the world shall live as we do or perish. In today’s world we’ve made feeble attempts because we are unable and also incapable of being efficient consumers of ours and others resources for now. That said, as a country and compared to the world, we are still the most efficient consumers who at the same time have been desensitized to the suffering in the world. Just look at the third world existence of the Middle East, Africa and rural Asia. We live comfortable lives while minimizing or ignoring their suffering.

This a paraphrase from Wikipedia-Economic Imperialism in other words entities who believe that imperialism implies exploitation and is responsible for the underdevelopment and economic stagnation of the poor nations, and those who argue that although the rich nations benefit from imperialism, the poor nations also benefit, at least in the long run.

And this is another paraphrase from Encarta-Economic colonialism where colonial rule benefits the colonized by developing the economic and political infrastructure necessary for modernization and democracy.

While this would be the methodology of rulers and systems, my belief is we are institutionalized and aculturated to accept our current status quo. Though there is tremendous conflict and upheaval, we benefit immensely from doing so. That is how we can live with others suffering. Hence, we indirectly take part this continuance of Economic Imperialism and Economic colonialism because it serves our self interest. Until an economic equilibrium is attained by the third world, tragedies like the ones in the Middle East will continue for us and the other people of the world...It is in our history that we will not leave nations with the resources we thirst for-alone. It is another form of manifest destiny we as a nation have so embraced. It is overwhelming and it is amoral like the Tsunami or Katrina. How arrogant is it of us to believe that we have created and live in a system that is without tragedy. How many of us really live conscious lives and live our convictions. There are those few but I maintain this most powerful system we live in silences those voices and continue its gobbling of others in its overwhelming path until it finally uses up its resources and dies or until a newer better system replaces it.

The other nations, with different cultural and religious backgrounds are unwilling to give up their way of life too without a fight. Yet, it is my opinion that in the long run they don’t have the resources or the information technology etc... to fight today’s economic colonialism and imperialism. Right now it is overt but soon as we establish economic infrastructures there, it will be easy to gut these different ways of life. While the battles continue, the death of these ways of life is inevitable.

Yes we live in these overwhelming and turbulent events. Yes we shall stand by our convictions or think that we do and yes we can engage in these realities. And yes at the same time while we live in these systems, we must remember that our life is nothing but the meaning we give it inspite of our hardships and how tragic it may be for us and others.

Light Blue Panties embroidered doilies

2006-02-22T23:00:00.000-08:00

Five, six, seven, eight, the sweat oozes from my pores. Women turns first, then the man and our hands are crossed with the man’s right hand holding the woman’s left hand over the top of our other hands where the women’s right holds man’s left. The moisture mingles with the movement of our bodies. Our brains register the sequences with rythms. We convene at a Tapas Bar called Appertivos and it all leads a quench of our thirst with wine. It is called “Appertivo” with delicious Tapas-Spanish finger food.

It’s dark here with voluminous flights of wine flowing down the gullet to wash the tapas down. Our talk is bold and brash enough to impress the woman with the tight green bodice and the intricate embroidery curving over the natural roll of her hills. “Vollipoce is red and deep with a light oak-"it’s my favorite" she says with the garlic bread and fried squid. She wants us to drink her favorite wine and we buckle to the roll of her sensuality. Our mouths say yes and our high agrees.

Another woman enters “Appertivo” and rushes to the bar which we have named “Bizarre Experiences”. Ken the owner deftly moves in to confront her and lead her and her flowers so she would sell away from the patrons. She turns to nail Ken with her Walkman and drops to the floor screaming the curdling scream of a woman giving birth. Her arms flail and legs wildly kick. All Ken could do was capture a leg and drag her through the tables with her dress splayed in different directions and her light blue panties flashing colors of embroidered doilies. Out the door she goes and Ken with her. She beats him more and I’ve noticed he hasn’t landed a hand on her with the exception of her being dragged from the premises. Ken is left with a goose egg on his head and I could tell there is collateral damage because it didn't feel right to be intimate with the woman I was with.

Kooky Lady

2006-02-20T17:52:00.000-08:00

My neighbor next door is a strange bird and so I have given her a new name hence she is now known as the Kooky Lady. She is about middle to late fifty with streaky white hair and a scowl for a face. She takes care of an invalid husband named Ram-mee. I’ve never met him and on occasion I’ve seen the Kooky lady take him for a drive. I try not to engage her in conversation because she’ll lock you in and talk and talk and talk and talk. You could be headed somewhere important like work or a date and she’ll continue talking. Finally I’ve made it a point to shut the door and leave in her mid-sentence.

One day, as I was leaving for work, she saw me and all she had was a tee shirt and she ran toward me and all the while tugging at her tee shirt downward. It was cold and I could see the goose pimples rippling with her cellulite among other things I didn't want to see. I could have driven off but there was such urgency in her voice so I stayed to listen. This experience talking to her became one of my regrets since all she wanted was to tell me to hold off on building the fence for two weeks.

Then there is Isaac a friend from the mid-west who was visiting so I gave him the front room to sleep in. This one very early morning the Kooky Lady rang and rang the door bell. She tapped and tapped the window with her keys which finally woke Isaac up! He wrapped a towel around himself and opened the door. She told Isaac that Ram-mee fell off the bed and is on the floor. Isaac told he’d be there in a minute and so he put on his trousers and a tee-shirt. When Isaac walked into her house the pungent smell of urine raked his nose. In the dark light of the house, there were papers strewn everywhere and the rank of food left in the sink almost made him vomit. When he got to their bedroom, Ram-mee was on the floor naked and with the worst body odor imaginable. He lifted Ram-mee upright so the Kooky lady could wipe him up. He began walking backward to their bed and his left foot slipped on something slippery and he fell backward onto the bed with Ram-mee on top of him. Ram-mee’s head grazed his chin and Isaac cringed at the feel of Ram-mees body against him and his wispy hair on his lips. He threw Ramm-mee off of him and adjusted him onto the bed. Isaac spent hours in the shower trying to wash the experience off of him. Even with all the washing, my son Quint smelled something bad at the breakfast table and Isaac had a guilty look about him.

tagged and now your it

2006-02-05T16:12:00.000-08:00

If I haven't shared this already EOTR, I would enjoy your friend ship in real life.

This sounds like fun and my plan is to nail 8 unknown attributes of a perfect lover.

She cares for my soul as I would hers.

Her kisses are bolts of lightning and brushes of velvet flowers and her presences are soft strokes to my heart.

Her touch sears my soul and sends coronal bursts to her cervix and still, I can lose myself with her and still be my crass and irreverent maleness.

She is open to the possibilities.

She’s there to support me when I slay dragons and demons and I would be supportive of her thus, our lives could be tawdry to rich, beautiful and messy but mostly peaceful.

She’s physically and emotionally healthy as we both could possibly be and she would want for me as I would want for her, what ever that is.

Through ravages and rampages of our life we would look out for each other in support and have demonstrated to have carried one another during our utmost weakness.

She shares the spiritual nature like icicles falling from trees against warming shafts of sunlight shining through and illuminating the path with prisms of color or the rare aria that is sparse and tragic evoking painful tears.

I plan to tag virus and neets.

Hotlanta

2006-01-30T20:39:00.000-08:00

“Excess on occasion is exhilarating. It prevents moderation from acquiring the deadening effect of a habit.” Somerset Maugham.

Well I partied in excess in Atlanta! I missed the boring opening session of this continuing education conference I attended. Henson my boss was annoyed at my tardiness so I apologized for being late. I don’t apologize for the partying and I certainly made the right decision to sleep in. I ate and drank and engaged with work people. With the exception of my new friends from New Orleans who were grateful for our help, I feel bored.

Perhaps I need some rest from something? I hope this is short term but still, it’s having the same feeling of being deadened in my habits as Somerset has quoted. I don’t know what that has been about. A friend once told me that “boredom is really not talking about the things that need to be talked about.” I need to look at this. Perhaps too much work (job) and reflection (personal) has made me an uninteresting person in my day to day activities. It’s odd because it feels as if I’m isolating myself from human beings. Also, I’ve been craving the intimacy of touch and real conversation in the moment. At the same time, I am unwilling to “act out” and get involved with the crazies that I easily attract. It’s time to do something different that excites a passionate response. A good indicator will be my date with Regina. She is a connector and teaches communication and if this feeling persists it looks like it’s time to visit Garry my shrink. I’ve got to pay attention to this and hope that it doesn’t persist because I don’t want to live a deadened life.

An Angle of Repose

2006-01-19T20:17:00.000-08:00

I posted this on ETOR's Ambition and Love:

I can appreciate your honesty. As in the title of Wallace Stegner’s book, “Angle of Repose” our life is like detritus stumbling down a mountain until we reach our Angle of Repose. I have looked upon my choices too in marriage; job etc… where it would appear I compromised. But I would discover that in those situations- it was all I was capable of at the time as evident in your advisors advice to you. For me, I would tumble downward as detritus until I settled in once again until I got a new job or a child or wrangled with pathology that I thought was love and all of this providing me a new level of awareness. It has sent me again downward as detritus. Given that I’ve rolled downward without real direction, I am so glad events have occurred that have knocked me out of ruts.

This was my response to EOTR’s on her blog on Ambition and Love. Frankly regarding love, I didn’t know what I wanted or to expect in ambition and love. I have the drive for both but in the past I did not know the impetus! I did not know what turned the engine on for love and ambition. I did not have the knowledge of what influence them. In the early days, I believe so much of was rote behavior brought on by unconscious fear, desire, hunger and other biological reasons. While I search my memory banks for real analysis about being in love, it seems there has been very little thought about it. It’s not like a car where I am interested in compression ratios or where I inspected the rear end to see if it was a Ford or a stock Chevy or if the engine was blue printed. With relationships it was feeling and connection. in my case, I thought it was acceptable not to have deep feelings of connection and it conflicted with what I felt was a more important: to feel a deep sense of connection. I began to crave this even if it made no sense intellectually, emotionally and sexually. What was even more remarkable-this unconscious behavior going on within me and my belief that I was living in love with clarity and sensibility. particularly in my marriage.

Bring on career, children, death and tragedy and I stumbled losing my clarity and sense of direction. It appeared that I lost my ability to be honest and sensible. I made what I thought were compromises that caused regrets in my life. Staying in my marriage comes to mind. I regret the lost time in my struggle to stay with my ex-wife. At first it worked for two young kids together in surviving a new world. We built careers, got educated, acculturated and raised a child along with building a standing in community. But nothing prepared me for the disintegration of my marriage. As we delved into our primitive secrets, I came to an awareness of a 8 year old girl’s tragic death of her father which stiffened her emotional responses so she could survive without him. The shock was imprinted deep within her amygdale, so that her pain was held in check. Also, the vision of her father was that of a perfect human being that could do no wrong. No man could measure up because or our own infallibilities. And I, shaped from birth by a couple who lived in fear of being killed and tortured. They learned to hide and not live their lives because they could die. This is what was brought to the table when these young adults got married and raised their children. These adult children absorbed ancient fear and more that lurks out there and inside too. It’s now a part of how we deal with and live our lives. Neets wrote that “we are walking talking collages”. This collage came together: a girl incapable of deep feelings of connection and a man who experienced little the deep feelings of connection. It was a perfect match. From there we saw tremendous drives toward careers and ambition that was a surrogate for the love we were incapable or giving or receiving. For now I believe there is hope for me and sadly, none for her.

Still, it was hell being brutally kicked out of this rut! As I shared with ETOR about detritus; I had no idea why I tumbled downward until I had aquired some semblance of awareness and I acknowledged these influences. Influences that are and will be a part of of my life forever. They just don't have the power to affect the people I love. I am more vigilant and driven to arrest them so I could live free from these influences and more. From their comes the more difficult task of doing what I felt was right thing to do like getting a divorce because I didn’t want before me a loveless marriage. I didn't want to subject as model for my child: how two people lived as a couple like we did. I feel pain for my ex-wife’s tragedy but I made the right choice. In that choice, hard work and time has distanced the past and I see even a more present peace within me. Peace that has allowed me an “Angle of Repose” from the passage of my marriage.

Feeling Good

2006-01-15T13:38:00.000-08:00

Barry,

Here is a journal entry dated January 9, 2006

When Quint was fourteen, he gave me a card on my birthday. It was Van Gogh’s “Sunflowers”. These are the same flowers in a picture frame I carried to the truck and handed to Truce on the Saturday we moved you. Mossy numbered the flowers 1 through 14 and what he’d written inside was: “Thank you for fourteen wonderful years”!

Earlier in the day, I caught Leigh my date looking at my shoes-construction shoes at a French Restaurant. I explained that I was moving a friend. Leaving was a little awkward because I left so abruptly. There was something wrong with her of course and helping you move made it a great excuse to leave! In any event I was long gone and off to help you move what Truce shared as “nick nacks”.

When I arrived, I saw the “Group Chairs” moving out of the Pennsylvania Office with precision. One man would carry a chair apiece. I took a chair and held it horizontally and walked toward the door. The high back of the chair went through the door first until the elbow supports cradled the door jamb and was eased through the door. I held it that way until I reached the hall where the stairs went downward. From there I turned it upright holding the chair just above the elbow rest before making my way down the stairs wary of the steps that fanned into a right turn. As I arrived at the first landing I took my bearings something I’ve never had to do those many years I’ve gone down these steps. I made two more precision moves straight through the door and another through the Iron Gate. We placed the chairs in parallel to Third Ave., where they were staged to be loaded onto the truck. Barry took a seat in the lead chair. This act affected me. The man who has been my surrogate father, mentor and friend was physically frail. He wrote “For the last 40 days or so, I have daily experienced lightheadedness and the memories and fears that go with recalling how it was early with this latest bout of atrial fibrillation. I have been admonished against doing any lifting because of the need for the puncture wound in the artery near the groin. I have a large hematoma around that wound that is truly scary looking but my doctor says not to worry; just take it easy. I know it is harder on Mara than me. That is how I felt when she has been ill.”

I wanted nothing more than to lend him my strength as he had done for me and others on those countless numbers of Thursdays when we sat in those same chairs and navigated through our passages of life. When I received Barry’s email thanking us for our help, I resonated again with the good feelings of that day. It was the same feelings I had received from Quint when he thanked me for those fourteen wonderful years!

Powerful Event 2005

2005-12-31T14:12:00.000-08:00

There is a light rain here at home. It is a good time to write because I feel reflective. I am thinking to myself about the most powerful event in the year 2005. It wasn’t Katrina or my mother or the War in Iraq. It was the death of my brother, two years younger than I.

Barbara Kingsolver wrote “It’s surprising how much of memory is built around things unnoticed at the time”. During the wake, I was recounting a memory I had about Pieter and I to my cousin Carmen. My father’s friend Julio walked to the table where I sat with Carmen and asked me if I could stop talking while my relatives prayed. I snapped at him because it felt as if he did not respect my space in the home I grew up in. I said; go back to your prayers old man, “your praying does not minimize my need to talk about my brother’s memory”. He’d interrupted a soulful moment of honest expression to satisfy his sense of prayer decorum. He shrunk as we met eye to eye.

In March my brother died. In the middle of the day in my office, I was in a conference call with my client Chuck and John our PM. “Miles, my structural guy has concerns the building can’t handle the weight of your equipment selection.” Shit, this phone keeps going on give me a minute.” The calls coming in on my cell-it was my mother. “Miles, Pieter is gone.” “Where is he?” “Pieter he’s gone!” I thought “Dammit, I should’ve pulled the starter! He’s found his car keys. “Miles, you don’t understand, he’s gone!” Her tone pierced through my original focus. “Where is he? He was in the garage and I dragged him into the hall. I looked at John in my office and said “take care of this problem. I’m out of here!

It was difficult to think about things during this time. It hits you hard in the gut; like a fist to your heart. When I finally heard my mother’s cry, “Pieter, he’s gone!” I locked in and focused. I focused on the paramedics, police, crises intervention and the examiner. They all came when I called 911. I told the examiner he was an alcoholic. The creeping thought came over me…this “business of death” it gets in the way of grieving. When I finished with them, my tears flooded my vision and my heart heaved and wailed. I held his hand it was cold like his eyes, vacant to the world around him. Several days later we received news from the autopsy: He bled to death because of a breach in his esophagus. They believe it was due to the alcohol. It made his esophageal tissue brittle and prone to breaching. It was slow and physically painless death. Carmen placed her arms on my hand and asked me to continue…

It was earlier in March when I drove up in my vintage Ontario Orange 71 convertible Vette. I drug Pieter out from bed and chucked him in the passenger seat. He was still groggy but his eyes cleared as the unmistakable rumble of a muscle car’s engine breathed. All three hundred plus horses vibrated to life. First gear and then second gear planted us against the seat. It felt as if we were riding the engine of an overgrown go cart. The speed bumps on the road became digital dots and our hair resisted the wind. At some point we were on Hwy 52 enjoying the desert bloom and killing butterflies at 100 miles and hour far into El Cajon! There were thousands of them floating through the desert, migrating from Mexico. He told me I didn’t know how to drive. “You drive like dad-reckless! We were hearing each other that day. We talked over a wind that mumbled our words and burned our skin. On Kearny Villa Road, a dip scraped the cowl and the fucker laughed-the bastard! I didn’t notice at the time- it is a memory of my brother who I love and shared joy. Much sweetness was built around things like this. But with him too, I lived a thousand deaths and killed him a thousand times before I set boundaries. When we finished, the sense of quiet surrounded us as he cleaned my tires, and helped me wipe the bugs from my car. Little did I know, this would be our last drive together. It was another memory unnoticed at the time, built around “things”. At the Eulogy, others shared their memories too built around these things unnoticed in the past. I now relive them as memories.

This speaks to me

2005-12-21T17:22:00.000-08:00

Learn to walk in the sweetness of the possession of your own soul.
D.H. Lawrence.

To be influenced or pushed or manipulated into situations that compromise what I believe, who I want to be or what I am -I have a particular awareness of it during Christmas Time. During this time, I find myself hanging on to this syntax of words by D.H. Lawrence.

The expectations of others can be overwhelming-especially the ones that come with conditions! This year, I’ve battled my mother in her efforts to cripple me like she crippled my brother. Throughout his life, he was crippled early on by an enabler and his inability to stand up to her. He was desperate in his battle to be the favored son. In doing so, he sold his soul and in his adulthood he chose surrogate mothers as girlfriends and when they left him, he was further weakened by alcohol as he medicated the pain. In my mother’s home, my brother chose to die last year by drinking himself to death. Death my medication.

I don’t villanise my mother as she was built by powerful events of her time like World War 2. She lived a life hiding in caves terrified of being raped or bayoneted and she hungered for food. Her childhood was stifled by the terror outside. She was a girl who couldn’t play and always lived in fear of the outside world. She resented her father and brothers because they took things away that were rightfully hers. In protecting her, they prevented her from living. Thus, this was her model to raise her children.

Upon my brother’s death, she relied on me handle my brothers affairs, sell her land, and handle her trust. During this time there was an insidious undermining of my efforts. The second guessing and the numerous advisors who would have her ear and then she would do nothing. She would take no action. It felt like her giving me money and then snatching it away from me at the last moment unless conditions were met. The message I received was my efforts didn’t matter and that she didn’t trust me. Intellectually, I wanted to help her. Unconsciously I grew to want and fight for favored son status. I fell into emotional trap of money and material value being equated to love. My intellect fought with my emotion. It took me months to become aware of this battle and while the battle raged I was immobilized like solitary confinement without dark or light.

I want what makes her content and brings her happines. For me, being loving forgives but it doesn't let go of the awareness of the jagged rapier in her hands. I will take time to visit her and give gifts. I suspect I will wear leaded armor because she is kryptonite. My saving grace my deep friendships who see truth in my actions and share their honest thoughts. This work has helped me understand and acknowledge that I have no need or want of her possessions or her machinations of manipulation. My friendships have given me a basis of what being loved looks like. All of this among other things brings my intellect and my emotions congruency and thus my soul has never felt so sweet.

Horse Dust

2005-12-10T17:55:00.000-08:00

Driving toward the coast the sunset held a bright blue sky and brilliant orange hues gleaming beneath the clouds. Clouds that reared like a team of horses with their hooves in the air, forcefully pulled back. Clouds that shown the bridle's bit cutting into the horses mouths spewing spittle to mix with the dust. And this dust takes the shape and colores of an aurora borealis streaming from the mane and tail of these clouds.

What a time to write this! To write an acknowledgment of my son's entry in to the adult work a day world. He has fullfilled a dream since he was sixteen. Dammit he has begun to break the bonds of his mother. He is an academic and he's won essay contests. But, instead of concepts and ideas, he will live where brick meets mortar, and amperage is pressurized by voltage and where fluid flows through pipe. It is concrete, stable, and blue collar. In any event, it is his first steps toward mature masculinity-a sense of independence and an identity through his work.

Isn't this the age old struggle between the mothers desire to protect her sons and in the process infantilize them? When a man begins breaking the psychic bonds created by these maternal instincts-he is ravaged by confusion, fear or anger. He'll need the men in his life as he breaks through the infantilism. He'll need us as models even as we struggle through our own doubts of masculinity. As I come from a generation of men raised by women, I hope women will be sensitive to this vulnerability.

Though I remain gaurded with my own pathos complicit with this: I hope men and women together, we would gain spiritual peace and not criticize but to nurture and support and we would grow in respect for one another and provide physical affection for each other. Is this too much to ask and are we capable of it?

Balls of Abandonment

2005-12-03T12:33:00.000-08:00

A friend and mentor asked me one time why same sex friends could not call or write and each doesn't get all freaked about it. If the answer can be found in our relationship, I believe it's because we know and trust how each other feels no matter the circumstances.

If I recall, the main point we focused on regarding your fear of abandonment was around your motivation to "glorify women" and not see them for who they truly are. You see the things you like and deny the things you don't, not wanting to discuss the tough stuff. You also don't seem to be honest about who you are, and after time your self denial causes soulful problems that you have trouble living with.

We deal with it differently, but we both seem to have difficulty seeing and accepting women truthfully, as complex & intriguing creatures with human imperfections. To you they need to appear mostly, if not all, good and to me all bad. You glorify them, hoping they'll stay and I villianize them knowing they'll leave. Neither of us seems to believe we are acceptable for who we honestly are and can't accept women on the same premise.

Meanwhile, we both live lives devoid of an honest, loving and trusting relationship with a woman like the one we share together as men. What fools we are.

In writing this, I've experienced a brief moment of clarity. As a man when I'm in a relationship with a women it seems "I have no balls". Is it easier with you because you have your own balls? You know when you think about it, without a woman our balls are useless and with a woman in our lives our balls are theirs. So are they really our balls at all? Aren't we just courteously carrying them around for a woman until she wants them? Have I been worrying about loosing something that really isn't mine? If we are destined to be eunuchs, I think letting a woman have my balls sounds more enjoyable that letting them wither away.

Your brother eunuch

White Woman

2005-12-03T11:25:00.000-08:00

My father on leave, was a triumphant warrior returning home from post War II. There in the barrio was a feast in his honor. Among his friends and relatives, his brother rifled through his personal items and pulled a picture of his Romanian girfriend. Right now, I'm angry when I think of my uncle. When I was little, he was the one who stole the wood my father was saving to build his home. Call it jelousy, sibling rivalry or whatever it was, he was the man who betrayed my fathers relationship with this European woman. He loved her, he told me so. When my uncle presented the picture to my grandfather, I know he was not looking out for my fathers best interest. I suspect it was his own need to be respected by my grandfather with much the same reasons Joe Kennedy took on a fatal mission to surpass Jack Kennedy's exploits in the Pacific. My grandfather was a simple man, illiterate and a man of the land and narrow thought. He also wield great power as he struck the relationship down. He told my father he would not be a part of this family if he married this woman because she was white. A brave soldier struck down by the force of his father's will.

My oldest aunts husband (he forged the birth certificate) was charged with finding a husband for him. He arranged marriages on the side and knew of a young woman in town. She was to become my mother. When I look back at this arranged marriage, for the most part it was a marriage to survive. She was the boundary to his seemingly reckless adventuring. She was full of fear and he was fearless.

I made a soldier weep

2005-11-26T13:26:00.000-08:00

It was 5am when I got up to make the flight to San Diego. I made it! I survived my Family's Thanksgiving Dinner.

The object of the Thanksgiving Battle was the "Trust" set up to be a road map for my mother's assets upon her death. When it comes to our survival, both physical and emotional, it is dog eat dog. The battles fought over the battle field of a Thanksgiving Day Turkey roast was anxiety ridden. Gawd it was a stressful Thanksgiving! What did I expect tame animals for relatives? Hell no! According to my observations over the years, my family is not a reasonable family. Like the wild, my sister's kitchen wrought battles of kill or be killed. The psychological battles between my mother and my siblings raged! It was creepy when my mother lowered her voice and in her conspiratorial tone secretly discussed the terms with my brother. It seemed all the hurts over the years came forth. Thee catapults and bows trudged forward. Jagged rocks and poisoned arrows flew my direction in a triangulated abundance- instigated by my mother and brothers. Thank goodness I have a brother-in-law who could soothe wounded animals, this time because he understood the context of the "Trust." Dammit this was frustrating because earlier, my family begged me to get this Trust done. I was asked to take care of it because neither my siblings or my mother could mobilize to get it done. I am glad it is over with. Funny thing-I had told her (my mother) from the beginning-I don't want anything from the disbursement of her assets. All I want is peace.

Back in my safe comfy seat on the plane, I noticed this soldier's cammy uniform of digital dots. He was returning to Camp Pendleton and will be deployed to Iraq. Between our peanuts and orange juice, our conversation was sparce. I could tell he was nervous about traveling half way around the world to danger. I thought about this soldiers safety. It is a wonder to me how this country founded on Judeo Christian beliefs can spawn an accepting view of blood,torture, fear, and an arrogance of imposing a belief system on people who neither want nor have a comprehension of our version of capitalism and democracy. Thus, my sense of the world has a "me against you" feeling that is spiraling into a black hole. Though his talk to me on Iraq was brave, there was a nervy edge to it.When I wished him good luck and good speed, he felt my concern for his safety and we hugged. He turned away because he was near weeping. Where are the wise? All I want is peace.

Vastly Different Era

2005-11-23T17:12:00.000-08:00

My father was born in 1927 in among the rice fields and salt mines. It was a third world existence with no running water, no electricity and calesa pulled by a water buffalo and when the monsoons arrived, shallow bottom boats took them to town to buy supplies and back to their homes on bamboo stilts.

Given that he grew poor, he needed to find a way out of this drudgery. With the world in upheavel, he wasn't locked into shackles of rural poverty any longer and he leaped into the yet unknown life of a naval servant-a steward in 1946. He was sixteen when he decided to venture on his own.

That was not without difficulty because to gain entrance as a naval steward, perfect teeth were required. For his dental examination, he had his friend stand in for him. Still a child and thinking he had time before notification of a pass or fail, he had gone home to let his mother know his whereabouts. He also needed to overcome the fact that he was underage by a few years. With his friend's dental record of perfection, he was selected among the many. Fortunately for him the naval recruit officer walked through the unorganized throngs of potential recruits to find my father. It was Javert looking for Valjean and my father's friend slipped away at the last moment each time he came near. Luckily the man did not know who he was looking for. When my father after almost three days arrived to the recruitment camp the hunted became the hunter and Valjean found Javert. He showed the recruit administrator his forged birth certificate. He finally persuaded his brother in law when he visited his mother. His brother in law worked for the department of records. He was reissued his birth certificate thus overcoming being underaged. He was finally in! With his warship somewhere out in the middle of the pacific, my father was summoned by the ship's dentist. He sat in the chair with the cloth over his face muddling the overhead light. The dentist examined the molars, canines and incisors. Perplexed he examined the molars, canines and incisors again. Flustered, he examined the molars, canines and incisors again for the last time. He sounded annoyed when he had the nurse draft new dental records while mumbling something about incompetent knuckleheads.

He lived his first two decades with reckless adventure. When he was 18 he bought a convertible Oldsmobile that he didn't know how to drive. When he was nineteen he and his girlfriend were chased out of a Mississippi diner by racists-they couldn't catch him in his Olds! In his mid twenties he fell in love with a woman from Romania. He traveled the world as an impervious young man, he was having the time of his life.

Fatherhood, Grief and Loss are Fused Emotionally

2005-11-22T23:34:00.000-08:00

It was time to get away from America’s neglect of the poor or the McCain-Cheney debates on soft torture and the Presidents rational about the war in Iraq. It was time to get away from the conflicts of my son and his mother boyfriend. I took some time off to reflect and pay attention to my soul on the anniversary of my father's passing. No amount of reflection soothed me when it came to my father. I was immobilized for awhile: I was just going through the motions at work (Fortunately, no one at work was the wiser) and I wrote prolonged reflections on paper, journals and computer. I wrote at home which includes blogging. This was interesting as it felt good to receive good vibes from strangers responding to my written word. Though sad, I have not been to morose or maudlin. I could see my moods change in and out of sadness particularly within the stories of this blog.

A friend and a mentor had taught me that the subjects of fatherhood and grief or loss are fused emotionally. This time the depth of difficulty has not changed when dealing with this loss. As an example, my mother asked me to help her with her trust. Though I felt my father's presence in their home, it is odd knowing his physical presence is gone to where lightning strikes and coronas flare. Though dulled I helped my mother go through the process of transferring their assets to the trust. I was in the place of my father among many other things I've had to do. I weathered my mother's reactionary thunderstrikes. For me, it wasn't time to lay down the plow-it was time to plow the hard row of emotions and get this damn thing done. Yet his presence inside of me were boulders, roots and clay in this soil too! It's time now to write about him. Perhaps I can unearth the bull caca to writing his story through my eyes. If nothing else, he is the father I yearned for and the man I dealt with, I fought with and his powerful affect on me lingers. I want the future generations to know about him. By writing I hope to temper his affect.

There are many words to describe who he was. He was fiercely determined with incredible integrity. He was intelligent though he was not confident of his intelligence. He reached a 5th grade level education but chose to leave school to mine salt and farm rice. I suspect he used this hard laborious work as an impetus for him to rely on his resources in the hunt for something better. Auspiciously, there was a World War II that brought about war ships. As the story goes, he was one of the young men hired to load ordinance onto the ships. After several hours of loading these bombs, an American sailor looked at this skinny kid who was to become my dad. Aside from his earnest and hard work, he wore tattered rags and a rope belt. He took pity on him. He brought him into the mess hall will the gleaming stainless steel and shining square pans steaming with ham and roast beef and mash potatoes, vegetables and offered him a plate full of this food- and then seconds. My father forgot about the food in his pocket-the salted fish and rice wrapped in banana leaves. When he finished his third helping, he told the sailor he needed to go back to work because his boss might fire him. When my father stepped out from the portal onto the deck, the sailor gave him a duffle bag full of clothes and a message for his boss. My father was illiterate at the time so he did not know what the note meant. It didn't take him long to figure this out as he continued working. Others around him were sent home. He was sixteen then and his ideology was confirmed and he was still very naive.

Burning Screen

2005-11-19T19:28:00.000-08:00

When I think of burning, I am reminded of a film where the two people in audience (you know who we are) performed in place of the film. As the film purred frame by frame, they were in a long drawn out process of spontaneous combustion. There was combustion everywhere, and others felt the heat as they wiped their foreheads and took their jackets off: most of them left when the candy liquified, coffee boiled and popcorn smoked. It reached superheat. The film melted and oozed through the light of the camera like the autumn colors of liquid amber dripping down white screen. In the shadows, the staff watched and the film operator watched and no one dared enter because of intensity. It wasn't until the passion cooled that management offered them free tickets for an encore and a performance worthy of an Academy Award!

Bee's and Iguanas

2005-11-15T18:20:00.000-08:00

I wanted to post some thoughts on reptiles and insects because I need a change of pace and before I forget to.

Bees:

The last time I was stung by a bee, a friend and I took a lunch hour and rode mountain bikes in the Discovery Hills area of San Marcos. We didn't know it at the time, but there atop the hills, we stumbled onto a bee farm. Bees as you know are attracted to anything that moves and one got caught between my helmet and ear and stung me. When I finally got back at work, my ear swelled and it looked disproportionately large compared to the other ear. It wasn’t the pain that hurt but my skewered vanity; especially when my co-workers called me “Radar”. They wanted me to communicate to the cosmos and relay it to IBM's Big Blue. Damn bees!

Iguanas:

My friend’s woman is an artist with dyslexia whose has been recognized by the Berkely art community and she raises an Iguana. She shows off “Mikey” the iguana when I arrived. She was very proud of Mikey who I found out later that he is really a she iguana.

It got me to thinking, is an Iguana a pet for me? Would I be proud to own an iguana? I don’t know, besides I don’t know much about Iguanas? Their look is lizardy with rough skin and pointy scales. They also have long fingers and claws to poke and pull upward on your arms and your, legs and in their habitat trees upward towards 50’. Their tales make them seem bigger than other lizards I know of. I understand they have a good sense of hearing and smell with great eyes to see well with. They can also re-grow their tales-amazing. Why I’ve heard they could fall from 40 to 50 feet to the ground without getting hurt. They can dive from trees and into water and swim well too. They would posture in front of other males to show their alpha or impress females by raising their dewlaps. If only life and love was that easy.

My friend’s woman has created a habitat in their spare room with UV lights. I’ll have to ask her about the river and stream part as Iguanas live in tropical rainforest areas, near water sources, such as rivers or streams. They spend most of their time high in the forest canopy, about 40-50 feet above the ground. Another friend who lived in or near their natural habitat tells me at times they lived on her roof then crawl into the house and make themselves comfortable. Her house must have been very tall and very impressive. Either that or they had seasons where it rained cats and iguanas.

As I recall there was a big hubbub whether Mikey the Iguana and Missy the Australian Cattle dog should be nose to nose. While Missy was being playful Mikey had her dewlap extended. Iguanas evidently are territorial and they act aggressively and will bite. Since their bite is full of bacteria a serious infection could happen and I wouldn’t want it to happen to a charming dog like Misty.

Hygiene, artificial habitat, territorial aggression, sharp claws and a bite full of bacteria and all that they require in captivity slay any desire of mine to have a pet iguana. Still it might be a cool look to walk your iguana at Golden Gate Park or take picture with him/her or with your surroundings at home. It might appear soothing listening to indigenous flute music while cradling Mikey and yes your friends would be impressed until they were able to think about the ramifications of a beautiful animal like that in captivity even benign captivity. I do think it's cruel and dangerous.

Reciprocity in Love and Rapprochement-Complicitly!

2005-11-11T17:15:00.000-08:00

This week, I had taken time to memorize this beautiful poem by William Butler Yeats:

"Wishes for The Cloths of Heaven"

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Those are my feelings too, for all the important people in my life including the women in my life both past, present and to come. In love's realm, it is through sustained resilience that I've survived and thrived from a loved one treading on my dreams. Reciprocity in love and rapprochement together!

In my reflections today, It’s been sometime since the passing of my father and my break-up with my girlfriend. This, along with My son moving in for now because of his trauma with his mother's cancer and his conflict with her boyfriend and when you combine that with having to deal with my mother and her "Trust" and where her not so veiled threats of cutting me out of her "Trust" sent searing flames toward me-it can cripple and immobilize. None of the above have crippled me. It fact it did me no harm. I acknowledge that it is a lot of shit so allow me to puke and puke again! There, I'm good with that! Reflecting back, all of it has made me a bit vulnerable. Even so, I’ve had strength to deal with these ravages and rampages thrown on my lap and it has a long way to go to reach my reserves.

Interestingly enough on the women aspect of this, I’ve survived and thrived and have lived a wonderful life with women! I feel I am becoming and I’ve never felt more confident about myself with women-especially when it comes to reciprocity in love and rapprochement. I’ve been intimate with several remarkable women. What occurred in the throes of deep passion, beauty and connection with them both good and bad, is how I've used reality and honesty as my guide. Manipulation has not been as powerful a factor as it once was. To be clear about my meaning of manipulation- I mean the complicit dance both men and women do to continue the insidious pathology, family of origins and the constant rake of narcissistic wounds. All of this, has for the most part been set aside as a non factor. I feel more ready to connect than at anytime in my life- connecting for the right reasons.

I've never felt so strongly about my commitment to this!

Olivia Soprano

2005-11-11T11:43:00.000-08:00

Well you know my mother AKA Oliva Soprano has a penchant for chain yanking! She calls me frantically with her authoritarian voice demanding I drive to her mechanic shop. What am I to do in the middle of my work day buried up to my elbows with bovine excretion? Unlike my ne’er do well sibs, I take time out of my day to take her.

First, she gives me the address 4517 Adams: we end up in a residential neighborhood. She informs me it’s near 30th Street, clear on the other side of town. Second, I tell her no problem, give me the name of the mechanic. She says “Tiki”-So I call information and I am told there is no ‘Tiki’ Automotive anywhere in San Diego! Third, I find out she had Ross meet her there this morning. Ross was late for work because SHE got lost. Ross tells me it is 4517 30th between Adams and El Cajon.

In calling Ross, I got the details and got her there with little aggravation. Please note for future reference her mechanic is TK Automotive not Tiki…Arrrrgh! You would think that she would know the particulars wouldn’t you? To top it off, when we got there, her mechanic is out getting parts and has the garage shut down. The house next doors tells we’ll have to wait ½ hour. Well you know I’m not going to leave Olivia there alone so I take her the Chicken Pot Pie place for dinner. I mention this for Ryan's (my nephew) sake.

Finally I get her back to TK automotive so she could drive home. As I’m driving home it’s getting dark and as you know I’m worried now because as my lovely ne’er does well sister shared, she has a hole in her left eye! I called Olivia and luckily she made it home.

To my surprise, I am truly not affected by her yank arounds! I've found that I've been generous.

Rock Dogs

2005-11-10T18:36:00.000-08:00

Along the beach are sculpted rocks,
They're stacked like the stones of Easter Island lording over the breeze .

The breeze cools my skin and the sun turns it brown.
the cell phone ring is muffed by the crash of the ocean.

I am the momentary ugly faces when
pungent seaweed rushes in and out of my nose.

I jones for cup of coffee;
I find that yellow railroad station serving lahtees and orange cinnamon buns.

I can't shake an image as I settle in,
an image of rocks perched as a Maltese with a butch hair cut.

Waterfront Bar

2005-11-07T17:16:00.000-08:00

Be forewarned, I will share not only when my mind roils with turbulence: I'll share the inner most working of my mind during an act of over-compensation. I think you might enjoy this journal entry as I wrote in the moment while I was at the Water Front Bar on India Street.

I read in Paulo Coelho's book Eleven minutes; Maria writes ..."Men are very strange, they can beat you up, shout at you, threaten you, and yet they're scared to death of women really. There's always one woman who frightens them and forces them to submit to their caprices; even if it's their own mother."

I know I am generally good with my masculinity but as my friend Deborah reminded me today, I was afraid of going cute when I wrote about the lamb. Dammit, I submitted to the caprices of cute. I was emasculated by my own pen-traitorous! One thing I need to address: is this journal class influencing me to write as a man-gina? I wonder...I need to pay attention to this. A girl friend with a penis I am not! No way! No how! Emasculation is what men are afraid of. Emasculation! Shit, it was emasculation by my writing. I cannot believe I wrote about gnawing on a stupid lamb. I can't believe I shared it-pathetic...

Where to begin, this journal entry began at home then on to the "Melon Patch" or more commonly known as the Waterfront Bar. Yes, it is the same bar where Marlon Brando made headlines in “On the Waterfront”. The “Melon Patch” reference refers to the women’s breasts who worked behind the bar. Here I am now at the oldest bar in San Diego; at least it had the first liquor license in San Diego. I've just ordered Huevos ala Americana and a Bloody Mary. It feels good to write here.

Right now it feels like a boor’s nest of belligerence in this place. It smells like fish and I want to eat it. The grease and the hot sauces are part of the furniture so are the waste of hundreds of bottles of booze. The refrigerators are churches of steel, housing the spirits of beer and directly in front of me-the tap handles. They are as follows: Guiness, Miller, Budwieser, Sierra Nevada, Yellow Tail Ale, Stone Ale, Bass Ale, Sam Adams, Newcastle, etcetera. It looks like I can do a sentence using the beer names and a verb here and there: "Look there is Bud and Miller with Sam Adams kicking back in his Newcastle in the lovely Sierra Nevada eating Yellow Tail and Bass."

The man sitting next to me just finished 3 shots of Jagermiester. He introduces himself as JT and is curious about my writing. So I share my beer sentence with him as I continue to write. I'm hungry as I haven't eaten anything this morning. My food's palatable; in fact it's pretty good. There are a few guys admiring my vette. It's pretty cool but I don't really want to talk while I eat. I want my solitude. I figure people drinking in the morning really don't do deep. These people are drinking and draining lots of booze and quite a few smoke unfiltered camels. It is in the air and they are here to get slammed, "City Slammed" in the morning. Whoa, the woman behind the bar just shone the waist band of her thong as she bent down to grab what JT called the elixirs of life (he is obviously talking about the bottles of booze)! Peeking thong straps seems to be the “fashionista de guerre” for the younger women. I like it! JT lights another camel and tells me he's on the wagon but today he feels like celebrating. I can't blame him for that!

Damn, there is some slim elbow room here. It looks like JT Jagermiesters are kicking in as he is getting really friendly with the girls. It feels awkward because the people think he is with me. Wowee-he just asked me for a ride!? I asked "where do you live?" He says 'three blocks up" I then blurted "what are you a man-gina?! You need to walk dude!" I don't think he quite got the message but he says "you got a point" I bought him another Jagermiester and he then made his way home-walking. He seems to be walking straight.

It's time for me to go too, "la cuenta, por favor!" I like that they know what that means. This entry looks like an over compensation for writing about that damn cutesy lamb. I still can't believe I did such a disgusting and despicable act! I'm not down with that.

Oh Death

2005-11-06T16:15:00.000-08:00

I've been feeling weepy and sensitive today as time rolls towards the anniversary of my fathers death.

The stain dripping down the fence is an imposition. There is a dullness in the Lamb Osso Buco at the Savory Restaurant-it would be wonderful any other time. I don't feel the progress of men hard at work moving dirt back and forth here at my home. The Chargers cannot defend against the pass that the young Jet's QB Bollinger throws. I don't care if they did it once last minute to win the game-still it is frustration! There my brothers utter apathy shows as they neglected to insult me during our last conversation. My work lays on my desks pleading to be completed and I look at it with angst-it needs to be done. My vette's starter went out on me and the tow costs me $60.00 and the embarrasment of a cool car being tow'd as if it were impounded. It happened in front of a Starbucks where they know who I am. My companions are clutter everywhere and a lone light shines on my dingy socks and its glaring against the backlight of this computers LED. All of this converging into the deep vulnerable spiral I know as the loss of my father.

Blue Ridge Trip

2005-11-06T15:55:00.000-08:00

By the way, here is a piece about the Blue Ridge inspired by a sentence from a friend's Blog. The prompt for this piece was a piece of imagery on Tantric Sex which goes as follows: “Describe the sound of a moist waffle falling onto a hot griddle."

First one cannot escape the hot and mild humidity in this place called Blowing Rock a town just off the Blue Ridge Parkway. Famished, we walked into the Speckled Trout Restaurant and the smell of hot grease added to our body temperature. There they give you a choice of which side of the restaurant to sit in. On one side there is no air conditioning. I want to believe it is an effort to separate the smokers from the non smokers. In the middle of these two spaces-the Kitchen. Throughout the restaurant, all you hear is the sizzle of fryers bubbling and spattering. It was also the bathroom side too. It held rough hewn southerners smoking, drinking beer and eating fried trout. Since my body was heating up, I decided then and there, I wanted the non-smoking air condition area and so they placed us in front of the walk-in freezer. Cold air rolled out upon us each time they gathered or put away the frozen trout. A young Canadian transplant named Tal greeted us and asked what we wanted to drink. He gave us our tea-one sweet, syrupy sweet and the other is not. And then he asked me what I wanted to eat and I said “Trout”! He then asked, "Do you want that trout deep fried or pan fried?" I ordered pan fried. It was regional and it was good eating, yet I couldn’t tell if it was deep or pan fried.

My discomfort leads me to believe whether trout is deep fried or pan fried, it doesn’t mingle well with sweet tea. From Route 321 we turned onto the Blue Ridge Parkway and toward Linville to visit a place where they made the movie “The Last of the Mohicans”. It is also an area where a Professor of Religious study at Appalachia State University in Boone, NC, told us about a church. This is a church of recovering Baptist and Conservative ideologues. There you go, another Church and as one Carolinian shared, “you’re in the buckle of the bible belt”. On the Parkway, the miles dissipated into the past and I forgot about my discomfort. I became cognizant of the trees on each side of the road. We drove through the longest most beautiful tree tunnels I have ever seen. It felt like music to me as the leaves were the notes and the trees were like horn players on each side of the road blowing notes of beautiful colors. Colors that reached across the road until they met forming a canopy of infused color-crescendos of color! Everywhere, you are surrounded with colors of bright yellows, soothing greens, fall oranges and brilliant reds. One could see the shades of light-a million shades of light and occasionally, shafts of light bursting through the color. They are spot lights on the two lane road left behind in the rear view mirror. I could feel the air in my lungs rise and fall as I breathed. There is a calming you get upon exhalation just as your finger depresses the button of a camera and inside of you, what is left inside of you is the fragrance and essences of color from these beautiful mountains.