Thursday, July 30, 2009

The Things That Keep Us Quiet

(Thanks to April for allowing me to wrestle this photo out of her.)

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

I know nothing.

I am agnostic. I know that I don’t know.

Do I believe Jesus existed? Yes. I think he had to have been a pretty cool guy since everyone remembers him and thought enough to write a book about him, despite the potential persecution they would have received from authority for writing such tales.

I think prayer is a good thing. It keeps our desires and worries and the things we’re thankful for in clear view; these things are easily lost track of without constant reminders.

I think religion is good for some people. Some people need to believe in God and the world is a better place for it--in certain ways for certain people. Suicide bombers think what they’re doing is right, for these crazy brainwashed fools, God is not a good figure. For people finding God in prison and changing their lives because of it, people who would otherwise do much worse things, God is a good figure.

I am a good person and I don’t feel as though I need religion to be so.

I respect the religion of others; I will bow my head at a prayer over a meal, in a prayer circle or anywhere people are practicing their beliefs. Just because I don’t believe what you believe doesn’t mean you’re wrong or that I should devalue your practices.

I think if there is a “God,” he isn’t what people think, and I certainly don’t believe in a “Devil”. I think God is everything, good and evil, and we are all a part of it if it exists at all.

I simply can’t wrap my head around this “God” creature sending people to Hell due to an option he gave us, especially since he hasn’t made an appearance in so long. It simply doesn’t make sense, and I sure as shit don’t remember signing up for it. If you’ve read the Bible stories, you’d know God does some fucked up shit. I think he is both good and evil and balances himself out; we are all a part of Him, our good and our evil, and maybe once we die we just join a single consciousness with other beings.
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I believe in the possibility that there’s nothing there. “I think, therefore I am” doesn’t necessarily mean “I am” after I am no longer.

While I’m at it, maybe we’re one big alien experiment, and they’re just keeping tabs on us to find out how their science project is going.

All I know is that I know nothing. I will find out when I die; until then I will continue being as good a person as I can and hope the rest of the world is doing the same.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Monday, July 20, 2009

Insides Like A Christmas Tree

Pops is back home from the surgery and I'll be flying up to visit this coming weekend. It will give my mind a little peace to see him finally because he sounded really bad when I last talked to him on the phone. I'd never heard him sound like that before, his Chicago accent was really strong. I guess that happens when people are in pain or have extreme emotions one way or another, it was just kind of sad and scary to hear my dad like that :( He says he's recovering quickly and every day he feels a bit better.
I was thinking of posting the photo of his huge gash across the belly with staples in it, but thought better of it. Seen here is the pre-op MRI photo which got this whole mess started. I don't know what the hell I'm looking at, but I think it looks pretty neat!

Friday, July 10, 2009

Neil Young...Not Quite A Looker

I think it's a shame that in todays music industry you have to be smoking hot and fake looking to get anywhere (for the most part). There are so many amazing artists from our past that were quite ratty looking fellas, but they had this incredible talent so no one gave a crap.
Musicians today are not only over processed in their looks, but over processed in sound too. I have to turn off the radio sometimes and just sit in silence because I'm tired of listening to all this over processed perfect sounding music. I think music is GOOD with flaws and the squeak of guitar strings or the slight inhale or a quivering voice in just the right spot. Music is all about connecting with someone or something, but let's be honest, none of us can relate to perfection. It's not possible and if it were I sure as hell wouldn't want it.
I was just listening to a kick ass Neil Young song, Heart of Gold. Real, raw, human excellence.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Wet Noodle Up A Cat's Ass

Skipped going to the gym tonight. I made up the lame excuse that I had eaten too much vegetable stew and would definitely be having stomach problems because of it. Turns out it was true, but, eh, I feel lame for not even making an attempt. Was then thinking of getting a bowl of cherries but couldn't picture the bottom of the bowl when picturing the bowl, so decided to let it rest while the demons in my intestines fight it out. I'm just the bystander that rubs their shoulders, wipes their blood clean and puts Vaseline on that cut just about the eyebrow from that right hook. Touch gloves, let's have a good clean fight.
I haven't been writing much lately. Well, writing about dentists and fires and gas and kittens, but not WRITING. Something that grabs your collar and pulls an emotion right out of you sort of writing. I haven't been doing much of that at all. In a funk.
Yoga would be half way over right now. I could be very pretzely with legs flailing about every which way and zen and still confused about which side is right and which is left immediately, checking out what the guy in front of me is doing. I need to start wearing a wrist band on the right or something, brain just doesn't process quickly enough to avoid being a dumb shit and not knowing right from left.
About vegetable stew: it's delicious. Mom used to make it and say "you're gonna wish you would've learned how to make this some day!" and I would retort with "I won't need to! I'll find myself a man that cooks!" That battle ensued between approx. age 7-12 until my teenage hatred boiled over and the only talking we did was yelling when she dumped beer on my head or something ridiculous. I really do wish I'd've learned how to make that damned stew the way she makes it though, I really just don't quite get the right taste. Sure didn't find myself a man that cooks. And then again, my memories of ravenous pleasure from eating it could have been due to being poorly nourished. Only went shopping once a month when the Food Stamps came in. Mostly bought junk. By week three we were making sandwiches out of stale white bread and mustard. Week four was pasta and licking the school cafeteria tray. I really do think she could cook though. When she switched the recipe to meth, I guess her brains shriveled up and she sort of forgot. I tried to get her to make some things for me while she was here last. She made 'em, but they were missing something. Maybe the brain cells, maybe that I wasn't ravenous, or maybe that my great grandpa (Pappy) wasn't sitting there with his cowboy hat and soft dark leather skin waiting for his supper. I loved that man.
My mom told me a story while she was down here that shook my mind up and made me giggle like a school girl. Pappy from time to time let my mom's drifter friends stay at our place. He was letting a friend of hers crash out and I guess she thought it was in her best interest to seduce him in order to stay longer, so this twenty-or-thirtysomething woman got all up in my great grandpa's business (he was, I imagine, in his 60's or 70's at the time) and afterwards he booted her ass right to the curb. He told my mom later he figured she was trying to help her case by sleeping with him, "but it was like shoving a wet noodle up a cat's ass!" Holy shit that made me laugh! I was always under the "my word is my bond" and all those golden rules followin' impressions with my Pappy. Turns out he was just as ornery as the next guy. He was really a great man.
Anyway, I don't know how I got from stew to yoga to a wet noodle up a cats ass, but I sure feel like I accomplished something. Don't know just what, but a little part of the levy broke on this one. Thanks for listening.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Pops' Surgery


Dads on the operating table this morning for four hours. Please send some good thoughts his way. Love you, poppy.

Update 7/9/9: So far so good, pops just got moved to his own room and is chattin' it up with the best of 'em.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Reasons To Never Go To The Dentist

Richard went to the dentist today for a root canal. He was feeling confident; he's already had one root canal before. However, there was a bit of a horrifying twist to this one. They were about a half hour into the process when the dentist left the room. He stayed gone for 45 minutes, leaving Richard's mouth propped open and various dental items hanging out. Richard then begins to see smoke seeping into the little room. Ho. Ly. Shit. I then receive several frantic texts, which I respond to with some comforting crap despite my annoyance to what I think is his overreacting. The dentist returns, explaining there was a computer fire and apologizes for being gone so long without telling him what was going on. The end.
P. S.
This would be a bit better written, but Root Boy Wonder is complaining that my typing is "neurotic". I am mumbling obscenities.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

July 4th Extravaganza!

Reasons you would've been happy to be with my family last night:
1. Dinner was delicious. Barbecue ribs and potato salad (<-- made by me...yes, I did lick the mixing spoon and then continue mixing!)
2. Giving my uncle Kevin sass by going outside while he was grilling and saying "lower heat, longer cooking time!" A life risking decision for sure.
3. Illegal fireworks.
4. Watching my cousin hold a firework with too short of a fuse and blow half her synthetic fingernail off. Just the top part! No blood!
5. Watching my aunt Donna float on her noodle in the pool and see the fright in her eyes as a flaming pink firework heads straight for her! If she hadn't been in water, she would have had a hole in that bathing suit for sure!
6. Even after stepping a safe distance away, being forced to do a jig with Richard on the lawn as a swirly unpredictable white firework headed straight for us.