Memorial Day Greetings...
It's obvious, our "spill in the Gulf of Mexico" is a disaster of epic proportions... and what makes it worse, is many of us saw it coming and happening while those "in charge" insisted it was being taken care of... a "legitimate costs" would be paid.
"Top Hat" is forgotten, and now the one 70% solution "Top Kill" is dead... didn't work... the disaster continues!!! All the greatest scientific minds in the USA have failed - or have not been listened to. Who the F*** knows??? The feds are so busy harassing people wanting to be happy, whatever that may mean - getting fresh air (can't at the moment), getting drunk, getting high, getting spiritual... watching tv... writing a blog post... pursuit of happiness... all I'm saying.
Meanwhile the hill I live on in the White Mountains is inundated with smoke from a forest fire in Quebec, Canada.
Hard to breath... all the smoke. I called 911, and they told me it was a fire in Canada... we have to be 150 - 250 miles from Canada. But like the wildlife in the Gulf of Mexico, (well protected by federal gov laws), I'm fine too.
Speaking of breath... wow, that life on that deserted island was great... all 36 hours of it... I came back to life... actually started thinking creatively again... smoked some ganja and got to work... built myself a shelter, cut wood, for a night-time fire...
By the time SWAT arrived to "rescue" me... I already had setup a camp, gone fishing - caught fish, and was successful foraging... smoked some of the good bud, and was relaxed. Had a good nights sleep.
In the morning I got up and ate a great breakfast, smoked a little more bud, and hiked... explored, enjoyed myself.
I said "36-hours"... yeah, well, the Coast gurad arrived, and DDA hellocopters... within seconds I was swept off the island and landed back in the USSR... I meant the USA... sorry.
I was charged with "possession of pirated goods" and "narcotics". I explained I was on vacation - doctors orders, my sail-boat was seized... I escaped, yes, with a ton of cannabis onboard, but I needed a source of rope if I was to survive... did they think I'd get that from tobacco???
Anyway I'm back... charges dropped... I was given a bottle of whiskey, and a pack of cigarettes, courtesy of the federal government when ship-wreaked and a survivor. Geez... I thought I was doing pretty well???
I think it's time we RETHINK our science.
Back to work tomorrow... It's slavery, that's what it is, only under a different name and including many more people. We hardly question it. Sheep in a field with fox to "protect us"!!!
May 29, 2010
UNDER THE RUG... The Water Under a Bridge - by BobKat
Making much ado about nothing may be your opinion about my previous post - "Reflections".
In part, I feel, since it lacks a history. My John Miller series describes some of the crucial points, but as BobKat, I haven't yet disclosed much of what led up to events that night, my response, and why the event traumatized me so much. It's the notion that as people we need to have hard shells, like turtles. But this is my blog, my story, and yes I did the "hard-shelled turtle" routine... but under the right amount of pressure, a turtle's shell can be as fragile as an eggshell. And my shell broke...
The clash was not between my mother and myself, but rather, the culture she lived by, and the culture I grew up in. I don't hate my mother for what she did. I could fault her with several basic flaws - lack of communication, lack of interpersonal boundaries/recognition of them, inability to "think outside the box", prejudice... but it's really not the point, to find fault with her... the point, is given the culture clash I experienced at the most crucial time of my life, I was left devastated and broken, when in truth, I'd discovered my true self, had excelled educationally, discovered untold wonders of life, experienced the best of times, and a once shy, underacheiving, lone introverted youth grew into a dynamic, popular, inspired, twenty something success story. An impossible story, that was in fact true... and the thing that most stunned me was based on the clash of cultures, my mother wouldn't open herself to may discoveries in life - convinced she was that I had left the short road, which is the only road in life, and I'd gone to the dark-side.
My father... he was my best friend during those days, but there was nothing he could do, or was willing to do to open my mother up to the possibility her son was truly happy and prospering. She was stuck in her ways... and that meant, during the best years of my life - the years that could have made me a star for life, my mother became my unfortunate antagonist of the story. And given my dependency on my parents growing up, my mother had a lot of power over me, then, and it became a battle of epic proportions.
It ended when I found what i needed in life, when I found me, myself and I, when i was moving to a new world to use the knowledge I'd gained from a little more than 3 intense years of education and experience. It ended during one phone call home the night before i was to leave on my new journey, a night where over 3 years of battle was put to an end in the method of a curse - a mother's curse to her son.
It isn't right, and it isn't fair... and it isn't something someone should carry with them for life! It also isn't physical violence, which many people carry with them through life from growing up. But what it is, is a violence, let any violence, that's unjust, and wrong. There is an age of transition where as children, we become adults. As the child it hard to see the "forest through the trees", but as an adult, it should be clear. My father saw it, and was encouraging... the only reason I survived. But even he had to admit, "the town is too small for your mother and you", and by town he meant the state. Which is why I made plans to move west.
It was the perfect storm, that night on the phone with my mother.
I begin there, in that time, because, it became that point in my life where my future was severed from my past... for all the bad and good that may or might have come from it, there is now what there is. The purpose of my blog, this topic - "Under the Rug", is the one story that needs to be told.
It needs to be told just as the life of many person's need be told... not only because I made the mistake of letting go several very good friends, unintentionally, by moving away, following my "plan" which was more being made for me, as I would have/should have stayed.
Within a month after I returned from AZ to move back in with my parents at age 24, defeated, I was out with my friend's Earl and Joni, at around 11PM we stopped at a coffee shop, and to my surprise my intimate friend Diane was working there. I hadn't seen her in almost a year, and she was a sight for sore eyes... but it didn't last long. The curse was soon to be etched in stone - a tombstone.
In several short-stories I've written about Diane, I call her Germaine. There's actually a story somewhere out there from those days I wrote to a woman bar-tender, that I really liked. I called it "Echo's of Germaine", a 40 page story. I also have my own originally story, in a spiral notebook, also 40-50 pages, titled, "The Story of Germaine Echo".
Diane was 27 when her and I had an intimate connection one night in 1977. I was 23 at the time. It was a Friday night, and on Fridays the Arts Center building was locked down at 7PM. People could still get in, if they had a key, which was seldom, or if they knocked on the door/rang the bell, and one of us custodians authorized there entry. Ahh, power.... But it was true, normally, between 3 and 11PM M-F myself or my half Italian/half Apache co-worker had command of the Fine Arts Center. We had our menial cleaning jobs to do, but we had plenty of free-time too. We also had lots of "projects" we did - both official, and private. It was, for all practical purposes, the end of an era... the end of the period in our current society where "freedom and self-responsibility" were accepted. Where art flourished and the combined power of the 60's hippies and the 70's enlightened brought about enormous changes...
The Viet-Nam war ended... the war that never should have been, but was. The war that defied the voice of the American people. The government coming to terms with racial desegradation, youth, "turned on and tuned out", free-love and recreational drugs... a free for all with Timothy Leary's death being the mantra and the fear... a new age for women, the Equal Rights Era... the origin of tie-dyed clothing, of communes, of Woodstock, Watkin's Glen.... a new age where a twenties somethings person I witnessed the birth of a nation, and the death of a nation.
That night in 1979 when Earl, Joni and I met with Diane at the coffee shop... my life came to an end...
Diane told me that night she was going to kill herself...
This shouldn't have come as a surprise to me... when I met Diane she told me quite frankly the reason she was a nursing student at the college was because she "wanted to learn the correct way to kill herself". Oh, I took her seriously, but I could hardly act on her confiding in me. Lot's of people confided in me. And she wasn't the only person comtemplating suicide. I met her in 1976, and we enjoyed many meetings and shared much.
Myself, I'd understand suicide... but Joni did... and she talked with Diane for awhile...
I pleaded with Diane not to do it... and begged her to come to my apartment after she was done work - we'd work something out.
At 10AM the following morning a mutual friend called. Diane had killed herself in the bathroom at the General Hospital.
Diane was married to a loser, from what she told me. She had two children, Rudy and Mazanna, both between 6 and 8 years old. They lived with their mother, and the husband was mostly gone, which Diane liked... she showed me the 38 revolver she'd kill herself with one day. I tried to understand but couldn't.
I'd met another beautiful young woman during my years as a custodian at the college, the wife of a guy a grew up with. She was model attractive, down to earth, and very smart. She'd never confessed her desire to commit suicide, except to say one day - "it's so awkward being human". She told me she "felt her body was weird", which I listened to, but again didn't understand. She killed herself.
As did Diane. As did several others... and my conclusion - our society and it's rigidity and narrow-minded norms was destructive, and discouraging.
At 25 I was a broken man with a lot of personal power still in reserve. It would take all I had to make it to age 30... I may have felt defeated, but I was still young enough that I could try and be a phoenix... I moved to Boston... it was the beginning of my self-exile. There was no question I had to make my own home somewhere new. That my past was gone, and my future bleak. To make matters worst I came down with a serious urinary tract infection, and chronic fatigue after a really bad flu. I'd be sick for years, and initially lost 20 pounds... which took years to bring back.
Overall, my years in Boston were very good... I hadn't planned on continuing being a custodian, but as my father said, you need to use what skills you have, and to move to a new place being a custodian was a good move. I was fortunate - I can't name the place, but I got a job at a prestigious Art School and museum in Boston, which included being a security guard. In 1981 I received my BA degree... while working at the school. For awhile there it seemed like I might make a come-back, but I didn't. I was still physically ill. And doctors could find nothing wrong with me, despite my symptoms. Depression became a familiar feeling. My mother continued to be the antagonist in my life, pointing out all that was "wrong" with me.
Moving to Boston meant for awhile cannabis wasn't available to me... but that didn't last long. It lasted long enough that I started drinking a lot - wine. I also did a lot of writing.
I had new family in Boston also... my father's sister's daughter, the oldest one, Wini... my first cousin 3 years older than me, and a Harvard grad... she was a wild one... and you can say, she was and would be a critical part of my life for over the next 10 - 20 years...
Next time... "The Decadent 70's"...
In part, I feel, since it lacks a history. My John Miller series describes some of the crucial points, but as BobKat, I haven't yet disclosed much of what led up to events that night, my response, and why the event traumatized me so much. It's the notion that as people we need to have hard shells, like turtles. But this is my blog, my story, and yes I did the "hard-shelled turtle" routine... but under the right amount of pressure, a turtle's shell can be as fragile as an eggshell. And my shell broke...
The clash was not between my mother and myself, but rather, the culture she lived by, and the culture I grew up in. I don't hate my mother for what she did. I could fault her with several basic flaws - lack of communication, lack of interpersonal boundaries/recognition of them, inability to "think outside the box", prejudice... but it's really not the point, to find fault with her... the point, is given the culture clash I experienced at the most crucial time of my life, I was left devastated and broken, when in truth, I'd discovered my true self, had excelled educationally, discovered untold wonders of life, experienced the best of times, and a once shy, underacheiving, lone introverted youth grew into a dynamic, popular, inspired, twenty something success story. An impossible story, that was in fact true... and the thing that most stunned me was based on the clash of cultures, my mother wouldn't open herself to may discoveries in life - convinced she was that I had left the short road, which is the only road in life, and I'd gone to the dark-side.
My father... he was my best friend during those days, but there was nothing he could do, or was willing to do to open my mother up to the possibility her son was truly happy and prospering. She was stuck in her ways... and that meant, during the best years of my life - the years that could have made me a star for life, my mother became my unfortunate antagonist of the story. And given my dependency on my parents growing up, my mother had a lot of power over me, then, and it became a battle of epic proportions.
It ended when I found what i needed in life, when I found me, myself and I, when i was moving to a new world to use the knowledge I'd gained from a little more than 3 intense years of education and experience. It ended during one phone call home the night before i was to leave on my new journey, a night where over 3 years of battle was put to an end in the method of a curse - a mother's curse to her son.
It isn't right, and it isn't fair... and it isn't something someone should carry with them for life! It also isn't physical violence, which many people carry with them through life from growing up. But what it is, is a violence, let any violence, that's unjust, and wrong. There is an age of transition where as children, we become adults. As the child it hard to see the "forest through the trees", but as an adult, it should be clear. My father saw it, and was encouraging... the only reason I survived. But even he had to admit, "the town is too small for your mother and you", and by town he meant the state. Which is why I made plans to move west.
It was the perfect storm, that night on the phone with my mother.
I begin there, in that time, because, it became that point in my life where my future was severed from my past... for all the bad and good that may or might have come from it, there is now what there is. The purpose of my blog, this topic - "Under the Rug", is the one story that needs to be told.
It needs to be told just as the life of many person's need be told... not only because I made the mistake of letting go several very good friends, unintentionally, by moving away, following my "plan" which was more being made for me, as I would have/should have stayed.
Within a month after I returned from AZ to move back in with my parents at age 24, defeated, I was out with my friend's Earl and Joni, at around 11PM we stopped at a coffee shop, and to my surprise my intimate friend Diane was working there. I hadn't seen her in almost a year, and she was a sight for sore eyes... but it didn't last long. The curse was soon to be etched in stone - a tombstone.
In several short-stories I've written about Diane, I call her Germaine. There's actually a story somewhere out there from those days I wrote to a woman bar-tender, that I really liked. I called it "Echo's of Germaine", a 40 page story. I also have my own originally story, in a spiral notebook, also 40-50 pages, titled, "The Story of Germaine Echo".
Diane was 27 when her and I had an intimate connection one night in 1977. I was 23 at the time. It was a Friday night, and on Fridays the Arts Center building was locked down at 7PM. People could still get in, if they had a key, which was seldom, or if they knocked on the door/rang the bell, and one of us custodians authorized there entry. Ahh, power.... But it was true, normally, between 3 and 11PM M-F myself or my half Italian/half Apache co-worker had command of the Fine Arts Center. We had our menial cleaning jobs to do, but we had plenty of free-time too. We also had lots of "projects" we did - both official, and private. It was, for all practical purposes, the end of an era... the end of the period in our current society where "freedom and self-responsibility" were accepted. Where art flourished and the combined power of the 60's hippies and the 70's enlightened brought about enormous changes...
The Viet-Nam war ended... the war that never should have been, but was. The war that defied the voice of the American people. The government coming to terms with racial desegradation, youth, "turned on and tuned out", free-love and recreational drugs... a free for all with Timothy Leary's death being the mantra and the fear... a new age for women, the Equal Rights Era... the origin of tie-dyed clothing, of communes, of Woodstock, Watkin's Glen.... a new age where a twenties somethings person I witnessed the birth of a nation, and the death of a nation.
That night in 1979 when Earl, Joni and I met with Diane at the coffee shop... my life came to an end...
Diane told me that night she was going to kill herself...
This shouldn't have come as a surprise to me... when I met Diane she told me quite frankly the reason she was a nursing student at the college was because she "wanted to learn the correct way to kill herself". Oh, I took her seriously, but I could hardly act on her confiding in me. Lot's of people confided in me. And she wasn't the only person comtemplating suicide. I met her in 1976, and we enjoyed many meetings and shared much.
Myself, I'd understand suicide... but Joni did... and she talked with Diane for awhile...
I pleaded with Diane not to do it... and begged her to come to my apartment after she was done work - we'd work something out.
At 10AM the following morning a mutual friend called. Diane had killed herself in the bathroom at the General Hospital.
Diane was married to a loser, from what she told me. She had two children, Rudy and Mazanna, both between 6 and 8 years old. They lived with their mother, and the husband was mostly gone, which Diane liked... she showed me the 38 revolver she'd kill herself with one day. I tried to understand but couldn't.
I'd met another beautiful young woman during my years as a custodian at the college, the wife of a guy a grew up with. She was model attractive, down to earth, and very smart. She'd never confessed her desire to commit suicide, except to say one day - "it's so awkward being human". She told me she "felt her body was weird", which I listened to, but again didn't understand. She killed herself.
As did Diane. As did several others... and my conclusion - our society and it's rigidity and narrow-minded norms was destructive, and discouraging.
At 25 I was a broken man with a lot of personal power still in reserve. It would take all I had to make it to age 30... I may have felt defeated, but I was still young enough that I could try and be a phoenix... I moved to Boston... it was the beginning of my self-exile. There was no question I had to make my own home somewhere new. That my past was gone, and my future bleak. To make matters worst I came down with a serious urinary tract infection, and chronic fatigue after a really bad flu. I'd be sick for years, and initially lost 20 pounds... which took years to bring back.
Overall, my years in Boston were very good... I hadn't planned on continuing being a custodian, but as my father said, you need to use what skills you have, and to move to a new place being a custodian was a good move. I was fortunate - I can't name the place, but I got a job at a prestigious Art School and museum in Boston, which included being a security guard. In 1981 I received my BA degree... while working at the school. For awhile there it seemed like I might make a come-back, but I didn't. I was still physically ill. And doctors could find nothing wrong with me, despite my symptoms. Depression became a familiar feeling. My mother continued to be the antagonist in my life, pointing out all that was "wrong" with me.
Moving to Boston meant for awhile cannabis wasn't available to me... but that didn't last long. It lasted long enough that I started drinking a lot - wine. I also did a lot of writing.
I had new family in Boston also... my father's sister's daughter, the oldest one, Wini... my first cousin 3 years older than me, and a Harvard grad... she was a wild one... and you can say, she was and would be a critical part of my life for over the next 10 - 20 years...
Next time... "The Decadent 70's"...
May 28, 2010
UNDER THE RUG... Reflections - by BobKat
My vacation is over! The Memorial day weekend starts. So how was my vacation? I ask myself that question.
As I previously mentioned, I got sick with a virus Sat. night, a week ago. The sore throat was brief, the coughing, congestion, fatigue, quite serious. I did call the doc on wed... the nurse there said it sounded like "a virus that was going around". "Let it run it's course", the nurse said.
It's just as well... it gave me time to ponder the mysteries of life... especially my own life. It also gave me a good reason to rest, and do nothing but think. The whole reason I have a blog is to share my life with others. I want to share because somehow I got caught up in the era of "Who Am I"? And I took it to heart.
For those new to my blog there were three major influences to who I became... by age 24.
1) A conservative, conventional, middle-class, Depression era aware, post WW ll, family, who believed in the "one road" through life, theory, which I challenged. To make things a bit more confusing, my father was a atheist, my mother devout Christian. I grew up going to Sunday school, then confirmation studies that were two or three summers, and eventually I said "no" to organized religion, and decided to find my own truth in life. It was the 1970's... and although to my family it was still the 1950's, I somehow managed to flourish during the 1970's, and education, sex, and self-awareness were my mantras.
2) None of this would have been possible without my introduction to cannabis, though I don't remember the exact year it happened, it was after I'd graduated HS.I was over 18, and a virgin too. I'd nearly died at age 16 experimenting with alcohol... never could hold my drink, until I turned 50. Cannabis brought my mind into focus... in a way that's nearly impossible to explain. I can simply say I became aware of myself.
3) Books. Need I say more? I was a voracious reader most of my life... sci-fi, mysteries, true-crime, fantasy... but the book that really did me in was a book I have listed in my "Media List", Ray Bradbury's, "Frost and Fire". The story perhaps should be obliterated from our society, as well as others that give us the means to become self-aware. One of my other most influential writers was Henry Miller, whom you may know from the "Tropic of Cancer" novel. Well, he wrote a lot more novels than that, and if I was to nominate the best writer to represent America, it would be Henry Miller!
May 1979... I quit my job as the custodian at the college where I worked. I was 24 years old. My plan from the beginning, around 1971 when I got the job was to do it for 3 years. In hindsight it was my first BIG mistake. And I realized my motivation was influenced by my family and expectations. It was a great job. Good pay, great benefits, great environment... in fact, a friend at the time who really envied me, got my job, got married, had over 6 kids, and as far as I last knew, lived a happy life, retired with a great pension and is still a good life. But in my family, the job was - lets just spell it out - a DISGRACE.
So I had the plan... yeah, a plan... that got completely scrambled, with a crescendo the night before I was off on my "new life in Arizona". It wasn't odd, that part... many friends were going west, to AZ, CA, CO, TX... anywhere but NY. It's just... I had no reason to truly leave... I had a good life... and what happened the night before I was to give it all up, hell-fire on an already doomed man...
All of it came down to the fact that at 24 I still hadn't been able to break the family-umbilical cord... as independent and self-aware as I was, felt I was, my family had enormous power over me still. The part that made it so vital was the sincere concern... the problem was they we're me. And the simple fact they couldn't get over the idea of me cleaning toilets, made it tragedy. Cleaning toilets was a minor part of my job... and a humbling one. You'd think a Christian could accept a job where cleaning toilets was okay.
I hadn't said much to my parents about my leaving for AZ. But they were pretty curious. My father remember, he really was interested in my ideas, though some even he found odd. It was my mother with the rule-book to the "shortest road".
The night before I was to leave with my friend Earl for AZ... I phoned my parents from an office in the ARTS building where I worked, where so many memories were around... very good memories. I spoke to my father briefly, then he handed the phone to my mother. I told her, "well, just calling to say I'm on my way tomorrow... off to AZ".
It was a long-shot... a subtle good-bye... it didn't work.
"You haven't told me anything about where you're going or where you're living".
Fair enough... "Flagstaff, mom, and I'm going to be living with a good friend who moved there a year ago and is very well settled, a friend from college."
"What friend", my mother asked?
I have to pause here to explain, during the past 5 years, since I moved away from home at 18, my mother hardly ever approved of my friends... and we'r talking white, middle class people... too bad I got to know so few minorities, but in the 70's, minorities were still feared. And apparently so were my friends... and it happened the friend I was going to stay with was a woman who I adored, but had never had sex with, and we accepted that. Friends, End of story.
Well, back to my mother... she insisted on knowing who I was going to stay wit... you'd think it simple to just tell her; truth is, I should have hung up the phone. But I didn't.
"Mom, I'm going to stay with Michelle for awhile". I said.
I don't know how many people out there can understand why what happened next was so traumatic to me... but it was.
A simple phone call the night before a move in life I really didn't want to make... but the town was too small for me to stay, and everyone was "going west" back then. Or so it seemed.
My mother, upon realizing I was going to live with yet another (#2) woman, short-circuited - she damned me to hell, cursed me and told me that happiness would never me in my future, etc...it was pretty sick. But you know... I know now it wasn't as much her, as the culture believed in. It would take many years to understand that. The immediate effect was one of total defeat - instantaneous childhood regression...
I had a job interview and the University of Northern Arizona, I had written to them, got a reply based on my submitted resume, and encouraged to meet with them...
I had two close friends in neighboring Phoenix, AZ, that if things required, I could move down there.
But I never made it to the job interview... although I did visit my friends in Phoenix; never made it to the Grand Canyon, though I was in Flagstaff a month... my friend Michelle had a boyfriend by then, and we got along fine. My cat Pyramus liked it there. Everything I owned was then, dropped off by my friend Earl who I'd lived with most of my early 20's... while he continued a western adventure in his Ford 250... years of preparation...
It evaporated in a cloud of chaos...
Within the month I'd boarded a Grey-hound bus, leaving much behind... including Pryamus since he wasn't allowed on a bus or plane. I'd begged my parents to let me come home. I needed money. And I went home. I lived there with my parents a few months... they felt they'd been "right", about many things they had no idea about... I was 25 by then an had lived on my own almost 7 years... what happened was a catastrophic clash of parent/child boundaries. A year or so later i wrote a letter describing the whole issue. I was told by my father "the letter would be destroyed and forgotten". Ironically, I have the letter - it was in his belongings after he passed away. I haven't had the nerve to read it. Suffice it to say, I moved out as quickly as I could. At 26, I had a lot of personal power, but a huge personal weight.
What followed were years using the energy to find myself again... this time in Boston, MA.
Next time... never make plans!
As I previously mentioned, I got sick with a virus Sat. night, a week ago. The sore throat was brief, the coughing, congestion, fatigue, quite serious. I did call the doc on wed... the nurse there said it sounded like "a virus that was going around". "Let it run it's course", the nurse said.
It's just as well... it gave me time to ponder the mysteries of life... especially my own life. It also gave me a good reason to rest, and do nothing but think. The whole reason I have a blog is to share my life with others. I want to share because somehow I got caught up in the era of "Who Am I"? And I took it to heart.
For those new to my blog there were three major influences to who I became... by age 24.
1) A conservative, conventional, middle-class, Depression era aware, post WW ll, family, who believed in the "one road" through life, theory, which I challenged. To make things a bit more confusing, my father was a atheist, my mother devout Christian. I grew up going to Sunday school, then confirmation studies that were two or three summers, and eventually I said "no" to organized religion, and decided to find my own truth in life. It was the 1970's... and although to my family it was still the 1950's, I somehow managed to flourish during the 1970's, and education, sex, and self-awareness were my mantras.
2) None of this would have been possible without my introduction to cannabis, though I don't remember the exact year it happened, it was after I'd graduated HS.I was over 18, and a virgin too. I'd nearly died at age 16 experimenting with alcohol... never could hold my drink, until I turned 50. Cannabis brought my mind into focus... in a way that's nearly impossible to explain. I can simply say I became aware of myself.
3) Books. Need I say more? I was a voracious reader most of my life... sci-fi, mysteries, true-crime, fantasy... but the book that really did me in was a book I have listed in my "Media List", Ray Bradbury's, "Frost and Fire". The story perhaps should be obliterated from our society, as well as others that give us the means to become self-aware. One of my other most influential writers was Henry Miller, whom you may know from the "Tropic of Cancer" novel. Well, he wrote a lot more novels than that, and if I was to nominate the best writer to represent America, it would be Henry Miller!
***
May 1979... I quit my job as the custodian at the college where I worked. I was 24 years old. My plan from the beginning, around 1971 when I got the job was to do it for 3 years. In hindsight it was my first BIG mistake. And I realized my motivation was influenced by my family and expectations. It was a great job. Good pay, great benefits, great environment... in fact, a friend at the time who really envied me, got my job, got married, had over 6 kids, and as far as I last knew, lived a happy life, retired with a great pension and is still a good life. But in my family, the job was - lets just spell it out - a DISGRACE.
So I had the plan... yeah, a plan... that got completely scrambled, with a crescendo the night before I was off on my "new life in Arizona". It wasn't odd, that part... many friends were going west, to AZ, CA, CO, TX... anywhere but NY. It's just... I had no reason to truly leave... I had a good life... and what happened the night before I was to give it all up, hell-fire on an already doomed man...
All of it came down to the fact that at 24 I still hadn't been able to break the family-umbilical cord... as independent and self-aware as I was, felt I was, my family had enormous power over me still. The part that made it so vital was the sincere concern... the problem was they we're me. And the simple fact they couldn't get over the idea of me cleaning toilets, made it tragedy. Cleaning toilets was a minor part of my job... and a humbling one. You'd think a Christian could accept a job where cleaning toilets was okay.
I hadn't said much to my parents about my leaving for AZ. But they were pretty curious. My father remember, he really was interested in my ideas, though some even he found odd. It was my mother with the rule-book to the "shortest road".
The night before I was to leave with my friend Earl for AZ... I phoned my parents from an office in the ARTS building where I worked, where so many memories were around... very good memories. I spoke to my father briefly, then he handed the phone to my mother. I told her, "well, just calling to say I'm on my way tomorrow... off to AZ".
It was a long-shot... a subtle good-bye... it didn't work.
"You haven't told me anything about where you're going or where you're living".
Fair enough... "Flagstaff, mom, and I'm going to be living with a good friend who moved there a year ago and is very well settled, a friend from college."
"What friend", my mother asked?
I have to pause here to explain, during the past 5 years, since I moved away from home at 18, my mother hardly ever approved of my friends... and we'r talking white, middle class people... too bad I got to know so few minorities, but in the 70's, minorities were still feared. And apparently so were my friends... and it happened the friend I was going to stay with was a woman who I adored, but had never had sex with, and we accepted that. Friends, End of story.
Well, back to my mother... she insisted on knowing who I was going to stay wit... you'd think it simple to just tell her; truth is, I should have hung up the phone. But I didn't.
"Mom, I'm going to stay with Michelle for awhile". I said.
I don't know how many people out there can understand why what happened next was so traumatic to me... but it was.
A simple phone call the night before a move in life I really didn't want to make... but the town was too small for me to stay, and everyone was "going west" back then. Or so it seemed.
My mother, upon realizing I was going to live with yet another (#2) woman, short-circuited - she damned me to hell, cursed me and told me that happiness would never me in my future, etc...it was pretty sick. But you know... I know now it wasn't as much her, as the culture believed in. It would take many years to understand that. The immediate effect was one of total defeat - instantaneous childhood regression...
I had a job interview and the University of Northern Arizona, I had written to them, got a reply based on my submitted resume, and encouraged to meet with them...
I had two close friends in neighboring Phoenix, AZ, that if things required, I could move down there.
But I never made it to the job interview... although I did visit my friends in Phoenix; never made it to the Grand Canyon, though I was in Flagstaff a month... my friend Michelle had a boyfriend by then, and we got along fine. My cat Pyramus liked it there. Everything I owned was then, dropped off by my friend Earl who I'd lived with most of my early 20's... while he continued a western adventure in his Ford 250... years of preparation...
It evaporated in a cloud of chaos...
Within the month I'd boarded a Grey-hound bus, leaving much behind... including Pryamus since he wasn't allowed on a bus or plane. I'd begged my parents to let me come home. I needed money. And I went home. I lived there with my parents a few months... they felt they'd been "right", about many things they had no idea about... I was 25 by then an had lived on my own almost 7 years... what happened was a catastrophic clash of parent/child boundaries. A year or so later i wrote a letter describing the whole issue. I was told by my father "the letter would be destroyed and forgotten". Ironically, I have the letter - it was in his belongings after he passed away. I haven't had the nerve to read it. Suffice it to say, I moved out as quickly as I could. At 26, I had a lot of personal power, but a huge personal weight.
What followed were years using the energy to find myself again... this time in Boston, MA.
Next time... never make plans!
May 26, 2010
UNDER THE RUG... My Summer Vacation - "The Desert Island"
Greetings on Wednesday, May 26, 2010...
Feeling better... had a virus and the doctor recommended a sea-voyage... he cautioned against the Gulf of Mexico - there were issues, like illegal drugs, ie, marijuana and such... oh, and a minor oil spill...
So I headed to - ah, sorry, my GPS is malfunctional... but I'm out here on the open ocean, taking in the fresh sea air... I'm on a sale-boat... I meant sail-boat, lol!
Oh, Oh... pirates...
Strayed too close to somewhere... the captain can't explain it...
We're captured... the good news... tons of cannabis on board; the bad news, I'm American, and my captives think I'm working for the DEA. I attempt, am attempting to explain I don't... "read my blog", I plead...
Next up... while my fate is being decided, a transport ship is sighted... the pirates quickly overtake it... it's full of Turkish tobacco!
I'm being held in the bowels of the ship - a wooden vessel I figure is a ghost ship from the 1600's. I've been here six hours now... been fed some gruel I don't dare ask what it is, and am awaiting my interrogation.
I don't have to wait long... the commandant of the pirates comes down to meet with me personally... I swear she looks like Daryl Hannah, the "Kill Bill" movie star... eye-patch and all...
She tells me I read your "BLOG"... but points a Desert eagle, 50 c pistol at me, nonetheless... she asks: "Why should I trust you?"
I say: " because I'm on vacation and I'm really not feeling very well... and as a matter of fact, death here and now would be better then next Tuesday when I have to go back to work!"
She stares at me with her one beautiful eye... "admit it, you work for the DEA?"
"No, no", I say... just out here on doctors orders...
She says "prove it".
I don't know how... instead I simply ask "if I'm going to die, could I at least have some of the cannabis on-board?"
"That all you want", she asks?
"And you... sorry, yeah, a joint would be great... then you can kill me".
She says... "you're clear"... "It's obvious you're not DEA... I'll see you tonight in my captains quarters,"... and she left.
Well, I never saw her later... the ship was attacked by drones... hell-fire missiles... the ship is sinking... the attack opens my cage... I go on deck and see a ton of ganja and a ton of tobacco... and my sail-boat... no one else is around... all smoke and dead... I have moments to act... and my GPS starts working again and I see I'm in the middle of the Atlantic ocean... and there's an uncharted island off about a mile away...
Being as I'm on a ship about to sink... what do I do???
Next time, on BobKat's Island... doing the best thing when expecting to be Robinson Caruso for the next 30 years...
Feeling better... had a virus and the doctor recommended a sea-voyage... he cautioned against the Gulf of Mexico - there were issues, like illegal drugs, ie, marijuana and such... oh, and a minor oil spill...
So I headed to - ah, sorry, my GPS is malfunctional... but I'm out here on the open ocean, taking in the fresh sea air... I'm on a sale-boat... I meant sail-boat, lol!
Oh, Oh... pirates...
Strayed too close to somewhere... the captain can't explain it...
We're captured... the good news... tons of cannabis on board; the bad news, I'm American, and my captives think I'm working for the DEA. I attempt, am attempting to explain I don't... "read my blog", I plead...
Next up... while my fate is being decided, a transport ship is sighted... the pirates quickly overtake it... it's full of Turkish tobacco!
I'm being held in the bowels of the ship - a wooden vessel I figure is a ghost ship from the 1600's. I've been here six hours now... been fed some gruel I don't dare ask what it is, and am awaiting my interrogation.
I don't have to wait long... the commandant of the pirates comes down to meet with me personally... I swear she looks like Daryl Hannah, the "Kill Bill" movie star... eye-patch and all...
She tells me I read your "BLOG"... but points a Desert eagle, 50 c pistol at me, nonetheless... she asks: "Why should I trust you?"
I say: " because I'm on vacation and I'm really not feeling very well... and as a matter of fact, death here and now would be better then next Tuesday when I have to go back to work!"
She stares at me with her one beautiful eye... "admit it, you work for the DEA?"
"No, no", I say... just out here on doctors orders...
She says "prove it".
I don't know how... instead I simply ask "if I'm going to die, could I at least have some of the cannabis on-board?"
"That all you want", she asks?
"And you... sorry, yeah, a joint would be great... then you can kill me".
She says... "you're clear"... "It's obvious you're not DEA... I'll see you tonight in my captains quarters,"... and she left.
Well, I never saw her later... the ship was attacked by drones... hell-fire missiles... the ship is sinking... the attack opens my cage... I go on deck and see a ton of ganja and a ton of tobacco... and my sail-boat... no one else is around... all smoke and dead... I have moments to act... and my GPS starts working again and I see I'm in the middle of the Atlantic ocean... and there's an uncharted island off about a mile away...
Being as I'm on a ship about to sink... what do I do???
Next time, on BobKat's Island... doing the best thing when expecting to be Robinson Caruso for the next 30 years...
May 25, 2010
UNDER THE RUG... My Summer Vacation - by BobKat
No one seems to write about their summer vacations anymore. Or maybe it's that we're not in high school anymore? problem with that idea, is I'm reminded often how adults need to act according to as if they were children. For example:
1) At my job review I was told my performance should be seen like I'm in HS... if given assignments, even those outside of my job reqs, I need to jump, fast!
2) I'm not suppose to use ganja... sure it's safer than alcohol or tobacco, but according to my previously posted link to or current federal drug czar (what's his name? How'd you like that job - real popular with the women, or is it the girls?)... fact is ganja use is based on a what-if scenario that a person under 21 should get access to it. #1, it's illegal, thank god, it's SO dangerous. Better that under ageling get a hold of alcohol or tobacco - they're legal for adults, and so, abuse is greatly diminished.
This is government science... like the science I suggested is involved in containing the mass destructive oil gusher in the Gulf of Mexico... Company BP had no plan to deal with such a spill, but that's okay... it's legal to drill a mile beneath the ocean's surface. There are risks, but according to science, the likelihood of a catastrophic disaster is near zero... similar to a kid faced with a choice of alcohol or ganja: If he chooses alcohol, he's only breaking one law. If he chooses ganja, he's breaking two laws, or is it one? Under 21, both are illegal... but I guess the point is... one is far worst for you than the other...
As for adults and my vacation...?
I got sick Sunday with a bad virus... terrible cough, congestion, fever... the good news? I didn't have to call in sick Monday morning. I get to try and sleep, and rest... and I quit smoking tobacco again, cold turkey, I have been so sick.
Sure would be nice to have a flying squirrel fly by and drop a few purple daze buds... in these parts we have flying squirrels like that. Occasionally F&G shoots them as they fly around the forest... but they breed pretty quickly...
Ah, yep... enjoying my vacation - first 10 days off in 4 years. Let go of the 8 hour day, the 3 and 1/2 hour commute! The car that has 220,000 miles on it and i can't afford a new car especially as no raise this year.
I'm drinking a beer, 4PM... hope all at work miss me, but then we could so easily be reassigned to India... if only... and only Tuesday... time to rest... write, play poker, and enjoy the only retirement I will ever know - my ten day retirement in the year 2010.
I'll meditate on the governments fact that the "reason cannabis is safer than alcohol is it's illegal"... that and those "empty swimming pool ads" back in the 80" were "very effective"... to screw adults and explain to children: "you've got three choices in life when it comes to drugs... 1) either prescribed by a doctor, or none at all; 2) alcohol (when 21) 3) tobacco (age 18)... the latter, it'll kill you, but not as quickly as a bullet to the head, but it will kill you. But hey, think of the taxes we get from tobacco??? Sure marijuana is safer, but it's too safe... there needs to be risk, of a hang-over at the least, cancer at best.
Two days off the tobacco... watching for flying squirrels...
Could write more... simply exhausted and sick, and fed up with government undersight and oversight.
Maybe Mr. President Obama will listen to me, and use every means at his disposal to bring the bleeding artery of oil in the Gulf to an end, and stop harassing ganja users... cannabis IS safer- even if legal, despite your "science", which is flawed!!!
In 1977 I believe it was cannabis was legal for one day, signed into law along with the legal right to brew home wine and beer. President Jimmy Carter felt strongly as American Citizens we had the right to use those organic substances. Too bad, we still believe in "Reefer Madness"... what a waste of minds!!!
1) At my job review I was told my performance should be seen like I'm in HS... if given assignments, even those outside of my job reqs, I need to jump, fast!
2) I'm not suppose to use ganja... sure it's safer than alcohol or tobacco, but according to my previously posted link to or current federal drug czar (what's his name? How'd you like that job - real popular with the women, or is it the girls?)... fact is ganja use is based on a what-if scenario that a person under 21 should get access to it. #1, it's illegal, thank god, it's SO dangerous. Better that under ageling get a hold of alcohol or tobacco - they're legal for adults, and so, abuse is greatly diminished.
This is government science... like the science I suggested is involved in containing the mass destructive oil gusher in the Gulf of Mexico... Company BP had no plan to deal with such a spill, but that's okay... it's legal to drill a mile beneath the ocean's surface. There are risks, but according to science, the likelihood of a catastrophic disaster is near zero... similar to a kid faced with a choice of alcohol or ganja: If he chooses alcohol, he's only breaking one law. If he chooses ganja, he's breaking two laws, or is it one? Under 21, both are illegal... but I guess the point is... one is far worst for you than the other...
As for adults and my vacation...?
I got sick Sunday with a bad virus... terrible cough, congestion, fever... the good news? I didn't have to call in sick Monday morning. I get to try and sleep, and rest... and I quit smoking tobacco again, cold turkey, I have been so sick.
Sure would be nice to have a flying squirrel fly by and drop a few purple daze buds... in these parts we have flying squirrels like that. Occasionally F&G shoots them as they fly around the forest... but they breed pretty quickly...
Ah, yep... enjoying my vacation - first 10 days off in 4 years. Let go of the 8 hour day, the 3 and 1/2 hour commute! The car that has 220,000 miles on it and i can't afford a new car especially as no raise this year.
I'm drinking a beer, 4PM... hope all at work miss me, but then we could so easily be reassigned to India... if only... and only Tuesday... time to rest... write, play poker, and enjoy the only retirement I will ever know - my ten day retirement in the year 2010.
I'll meditate on the governments fact that the "reason cannabis is safer than alcohol is it's illegal"... that and those "empty swimming pool ads" back in the 80" were "very effective"... to screw adults and explain to children: "you've got three choices in life when it comes to drugs... 1) either prescribed by a doctor, or none at all; 2) alcohol (when 21) 3) tobacco (age 18)... the latter, it'll kill you, but not as quickly as a bullet to the head, but it will kill you. But hey, think of the taxes we get from tobacco??? Sure marijuana is safer, but it's too safe... there needs to be risk, of a hang-over at the least, cancer at best.
Two days off the tobacco... watching for flying squirrels...
Could write more... simply exhausted and sick, and fed up with government undersight and oversight.
Maybe Mr. President Obama will listen to me, and use every means at his disposal to bring the bleeding artery of oil in the Gulf to an end, and stop harassing ganja users... cannabis IS safer- even if legal, despite your "science", which is flawed!!!
In 1977 I believe it was cannabis was legal for one day, signed into law along with the legal right to brew home wine and beer. President Jimmy Carter felt strongly as American Citizens we had the right to use those organic substances. Too bad, we still believe in "Reefer Madness"... what a waste of minds!!!
May 23, 2010
UNDER THE RUG... by BobKat - Introduction
This isn't the first post in this blog-topic... but it'll bring you up to speed. The whole idea behind BobKat's Lair is as an individual... I have experiences... knowledge, and a great education. An "education" not simply composed of conventional education, but rather, exploitation of the conventional, and a whole personal degree of exploration into knowledge that is out there - by being unconventional in my early 20's, I learned things that would carry forwards way into my future... things I often wonder if "ignorance" wouldn't have been a better option?
Well, "no"... not a better option. Unfortunately, what I discovered "Under The Rug"... changed my life; in varying degrees others have discovered similar things... and what makes life interesting is when we share these things...
So let's see what's ... Under the rug...
Ah, a dime.
Yeah, money... it's the first thing we tend to see... doesn't matter the amount... could be only a penny.
Plenty more under the rug. And how do I know that? Years of being a "skilled laborer"... a custodian at colleges, universities and public schools... kinda scary, knowing that a self-aware individual such as myself, had inside access to the real goings ons of public education, and in addition, I have three college degrees... a BA in English tops them out... so i wasn't just your "typical" toilet cleaner...
But I learned a lot about "cleaning up a mess".
We can start with the Mass Destruction" caused by BP in the Gulf of Mexico, a subject "experts" have "under control"... nothing to wory about - other than mass destruction. This given the scientific knowledge we are taught to believe will protect us! Such as the federal, shoot us in the foot laws, making cannabis illegal, and anyone suspected of possession of such a deadly drug are subject to a myriad of attacks... such as the following YOUTUBE video: (Caution - Contains Extreme Graphic Violence): Police Raid: Target: Small Quanity of Marijuana! showing a family being raided, their dogs shot and killed, a 7 year old traumatized...
... and all for a grinder, and a couple of joints! Gosh, I feel so safe!!!
People simply don't die using cannabis... and yes the same can be true with use of alcohol. The difference is one is legal, the other is not, and the one that is legal has a much higher propensity towards abuse, one that does often lead to death. Compared to the one that is illegal, this is the fox in the hen-house. To compare alcohol to cannabis is like comparing a dog to a cat...
To add to the problem, tobacco, and it's legal industry contributes another drug that is not only highly addictive, and quite deadly, but readily available - and key to a government's tax base. A "conflict of interest", might you not agree?
An up-coming vote in California might very well make us cannabinoid vampires legal, with 54% of CA in favor of legalization.
I might also point out - the recent law in Arizona re: immigration, the illegal kind. Apparently 2/3rds of those in AZ approve of the law, that is expected to promote racial prejudice and racial profiling. The law is in great part to a lack of a solution on the federal government's level... which shouldn't come as a surprise. The last time this was a huge issue was in the early 1930's... the era of the Great Depression.
Southern states back then were pleading with the federal government for a solution to the illegal immigration of Mexicans. And due in great part to the industrious efforts of a few very wealthy sponsors, Reefer Madness was born, ala... Mexicans had it... so restrict them because of it... and so they convinced Washington to outlaw cannabis to control the influx of Mexicans. It's all on the DVD in my Media List at the bottom of my blog... "Illegal Drugs - How they Got that Way..." by the History channel/A&E.
Trouble is, despite President Obama's pledge for "Change in America", it appears to be more of the same... which since i voted for him, and believed in his truth, I now have to accept, it's more of the same.
On a recent CNN interview with the current drug czar, and the original guy - William Bennett, it was obvious that rational thinking isn't going to prevail in Washington. The following link is from the current drug czar as he addresses LE in Calif. He make's it clear legalization of cannabis is a "no-starter". They plan on more anti-drug advertisements... and although he admits alcohol is more dangerous than cannabis, he quickly states it's because cannabis is illegal, and contained.
Too bad the "oil spill" in the Gulf couldn't also be contained... but hey... the US is all about big business, especially those that can't fail. The DEA included... legalize cannabis and the "war in Mexico" ends, and the DEA has to lay off 100,000 operatives. And the US needs to figure out what to do with several million suddenly legal individuals that pay a tax for legal ganja... oh my god... what to do about the alcohol and tobacco lobby when they aren't included in this new development???
In a TWO PARTY SYSTEM there is only room for this or that... Americans need to be content with two choices, no more, no less...
Please, read our current drug czar's speech to LE in Calif:
http://i.cdn.turner.com/cnn/2010/images/05/11/030410.chief.pdf
BobKat
Well, "no"... not a better option. Unfortunately, what I discovered "Under The Rug"... changed my life; in varying degrees others have discovered similar things... and what makes life interesting is when we share these things...
So let's see what's ... Under the rug...
Ah, a dime.
Yeah, money... it's the first thing we tend to see... doesn't matter the amount... could be only a penny.
Plenty more under the rug. And how do I know that? Years of being a "skilled laborer"... a custodian at colleges, universities and public schools... kinda scary, knowing that a self-aware individual such as myself, had inside access to the real goings ons of public education, and in addition, I have three college degrees... a BA in English tops them out... so i wasn't just your "typical" toilet cleaner...
But I learned a lot about "cleaning up a mess".
We can start with the Mass Destruction" caused by BP in the Gulf of Mexico, a subject "experts" have "under control"... nothing to wory about - other than mass destruction. This given the scientific knowledge we are taught to believe will protect us! Such as the federal, shoot us in the foot laws, making cannabis illegal, and anyone suspected of possession of such a deadly drug are subject to a myriad of attacks... such as the following YOUTUBE video: (Caution - Contains Extreme Graphic Violence): Police Raid: Target: Small Quanity of Marijuana! showing a family being raided, their dogs shot and killed, a 7 year old traumatized...
... and all for a grinder, and a couple of joints! Gosh, I feel so safe!!!
People simply don't die using cannabis... and yes the same can be true with use of alcohol. The difference is one is legal, the other is not, and the one that is legal has a much higher propensity towards abuse, one that does often lead to death. Compared to the one that is illegal, this is the fox in the hen-house. To compare alcohol to cannabis is like comparing a dog to a cat...
To add to the problem, tobacco, and it's legal industry contributes another drug that is not only highly addictive, and quite deadly, but readily available - and key to a government's tax base. A "conflict of interest", might you not agree?
An up-coming vote in California might very well make us cannabinoid vampires legal, with 54% of CA in favor of legalization.
I might also point out - the recent law in Arizona re: immigration, the illegal kind. Apparently 2/3rds of those in AZ approve of the law, that is expected to promote racial prejudice and racial profiling. The law is in great part to a lack of a solution on the federal government's level... which shouldn't come as a surprise. The last time this was a huge issue was in the early 1930's... the era of the Great Depression.
Southern states back then were pleading with the federal government for a solution to the illegal immigration of Mexicans. And due in great part to the industrious efforts of a few very wealthy sponsors, Reefer Madness was born, ala... Mexicans had it... so restrict them because of it... and so they convinced Washington to outlaw cannabis to control the influx of Mexicans. It's all on the DVD in my Media List at the bottom of my blog... "Illegal Drugs - How they Got that Way..." by the History channel/A&E.
Trouble is, despite President Obama's pledge for "Change in America", it appears to be more of the same... which since i voted for him, and believed in his truth, I now have to accept, it's more of the same.
On a recent CNN interview with the current drug czar, and the original guy - William Bennett, it was obvious that rational thinking isn't going to prevail in Washington. The following link is from the current drug czar as he addresses LE in Calif. He make's it clear legalization of cannabis is a "no-starter". They plan on more anti-drug advertisements... and although he admits alcohol is more dangerous than cannabis, he quickly states it's because cannabis is illegal, and contained.
Too bad the "oil spill" in the Gulf couldn't also be contained... but hey... the US is all about big business, especially those that can't fail. The DEA included... legalize cannabis and the "war in Mexico" ends, and the DEA has to lay off 100,000 operatives. And the US needs to figure out what to do with several million suddenly legal individuals that pay a tax for legal ganja... oh my god... what to do about the alcohol and tobacco lobby when they aren't included in this new development???
In a TWO PARTY SYSTEM there is only room for this or that... Americans need to be content with two choices, no more, no less...
Please, read our current drug czar's speech to LE in Calif:
http://i.cdn.turner.com/cnn/2010/images/05/11/030410.chief.pdf
BobKat
UNDER THE RUG... by BobKat - Update...
Lots of "talk" of the chaos coming... revolution, mass destruction... and one need only look at the catastrophe taking place in the Gulf of Mexico, the "oil spill"... to see how dysfunctional our society, government and our common sensibilities are...? And it doesn't produce a picture that would hold up to what should be expected in the greatest country the world has ever witnessed. In fact, we're doing a pretty poor job of living up to our name, the reason being, we don't get along... simple, childish things... a two party political system, for example. A "right" and a "left", liberals/conservatives, moral/immoral, for/against, legal/illegal... my point? Black and White... no Gray!
One of the first things I learned in my prime during my early 20's was that there are always more than two alternatives... that the mind thinks in either/or, maybe by nature, but in reality, the human mind is capable of thinking outside the box... to three or more ideas, possibilities, truths...
The whole basis for my "Under the Rug" topic is that in practical terms, we think in B&W... either/or... everything else gets swept under the rug.
My life got swept under the rug... many years ago... and that's where I truly live, seeking a way out...
I'm having my first real vacation in 4 years... 10 days off...
There is a lot involved that makes this an extraordinary event... coming up is a close up review of what's going on, what's been and is being swept under the rug.
Unlike some of my friend's blogs, I simply cannot post regular topics. This is an opportunistic blog.... to my friends and readers, thank-you for your patience.
One of the first things I learned in my prime during my early 20's was that there are always more than two alternatives... that the mind thinks in either/or, maybe by nature, but in reality, the human mind is capable of thinking outside the box... to three or more ideas, possibilities, truths...
The whole basis for my "Under the Rug" topic is that in practical terms, we think in B&W... either/or... everything else gets swept under the rug.
My life got swept under the rug... many years ago... and that's where I truly live, seeking a way out...
I'm having my first real vacation in 4 years... 10 days off...
There is a lot involved that makes this an extraordinary event... coming up is a close up review of what's going on, what's been and is being swept under the rug.
Unlike some of my friend's blogs, I simply cannot post regular topics. This is an opportunistic blog.... to my friends and readers, thank-you for your patience.
May 11, 2010
UNDER THE RUG... by BobKat - Part One
My life... swept under the rug.
Truthfully, that's where you'd find me.
In the mid to late 70's a story formed in my mind - one with a title inspired by my mentor at the time, Professor Doug. The title of this "epic" novel would be "A View From Behind the Mop". My mentor suggested writing it from the third person perspective... but my heart wanted to do it first person, autobiography - fictional to give me creative liberties, much as the author who so inspired me during those years - Henry Miller.
With my John Miller multi-post series I tried the third person approach. To me it was a flop. Provided information and details, about the early days, but I couldn't break free. I found myself stuck in mud. In a purgatory of sorts where i could neither stay where I was, nor go on. Yet i can't give up.
You won't read the whole story here... this is an "open-house" where you'll get to meet the "family and friends". The historic ones.
My goal is truth, and an interesting story, of a young man who found everything he'd ever dreamed of, and found he had a real life, a down to earth life... one backed by sciences, by the educational establishment, by fate.
Tonight driving home, I was listening to NPR... the topic I forget, but something the guest said I didn't... he was raised in a family where he was - let's say, accepted, and what struck me was something his mother said to him when he expressed concerns about a career change... the guy was up there, successful... his mother said - "I'd love you just as much even if you were a garbage man."
That choked me up... as that seems right, that's unconditional love. It choked me up even more as my family professed the same... yet, when I discovered an early miracle had occurred in my early 20's that would turn my life around, the opposite was the reality. Painful... I became a college custodian, and my mother turned on me, disgraced and shamed... which would turn on me, making my chance in life into an ultimate nightmare... but painful as it is, I must tell the story.
One of my readers told me what he liked about my blog. My "honesty". Yes, I am that. And so, maybe I don't write often as other bloggers, but I hope when i do i write interesting posts. What will follow under this title, will be my life, a part of it that if I took peoples advice and "let it go", it would be like tearing my heart out - so I wouldn't get far after that!
This is the intro... what follows... much of what you've guessed about the 70's but didn't ask... from an insider...
My life under the rug.
Truthfully, that's where you'd find me.
In the mid to late 70's a story formed in my mind - one with a title inspired by my mentor at the time, Professor Doug. The title of this "epic" novel would be "A View From Behind the Mop". My mentor suggested writing it from the third person perspective... but my heart wanted to do it first person, autobiography - fictional to give me creative liberties, much as the author who so inspired me during those years - Henry Miller.
With my John Miller multi-post series I tried the third person approach. To me it was a flop. Provided information and details, about the early days, but I couldn't break free. I found myself stuck in mud. In a purgatory of sorts where i could neither stay where I was, nor go on. Yet i can't give up.
You won't read the whole story here... this is an "open-house" where you'll get to meet the "family and friends". The historic ones.
My goal is truth, and an interesting story, of a young man who found everything he'd ever dreamed of, and found he had a real life, a down to earth life... one backed by sciences, by the educational establishment, by fate.
Tonight driving home, I was listening to NPR... the topic I forget, but something the guest said I didn't... he was raised in a family where he was - let's say, accepted, and what struck me was something his mother said to him when he expressed concerns about a career change... the guy was up there, successful... his mother said - "I'd love you just as much even if you were a garbage man."
That choked me up... as that seems right, that's unconditional love. It choked me up even more as my family professed the same... yet, when I discovered an early miracle had occurred in my early 20's that would turn my life around, the opposite was the reality. Painful... I became a college custodian, and my mother turned on me, disgraced and shamed... which would turn on me, making my chance in life into an ultimate nightmare... but painful as it is, I must tell the story.
One of my readers told me what he liked about my blog. My "honesty". Yes, I am that. And so, maybe I don't write often as other bloggers, but I hope when i do i write interesting posts. What will follow under this title, will be my life, a part of it that if I took peoples advice and "let it go", it would be like tearing my heart out - so I wouldn't get far after that!
This is the intro... what follows... much of what you've guessed about the 70's but didn't ask... from an insider...
My life under the rug.
May 08, 2010
THE BULL IN THE GARDEN - J. MILLER FICTION - PART 2
In Part 1 I was contemplating "Domestic Violence". I provided what to me were a few examples, and introduced a fictional, John Miller story, that may or may not be based on a true story.
There's a lot of domestic style violence or abuse that goes on. It's something generally considered a personalissue. Words, phrases, verbatim directed towards another with the intend to degrade, lower self-esteem, attack character or personal integrity, are all just as painful as a fist in one's face. Some events such as these become public, and result in legal intervention... much goes unnoticed, except by those involved. Case in point, John Miller - The Bull in the Garden".
He comes to me wincing from pain on his left side... feels like broken ribs, but probably just bruised. He's got a cut on his head, bleeding but scabbed over. So I ask him, "John, what happened?"
"It was tax-time"... two days before the federal tax deadline. The Bull had waited until the last minute to do his taxes. He'd been pretty much unemployed that whole previous year, being a carpenter, few people were looking for his skills. He'd had a few jobs, so had to file."
"He decided to do it online. I think the one the IRS provides for free."
"What you need to understand is dial-up internet is what we have, and a server distributes the connection, something called ICS (Internet Connection Sharing). Dial-up is slow enough, but when three computers share the same connection, it's frustrating. What has to happen is the other two computers need to be idle if someone is working on something like taxes."
"Exactly what I was doing in my room - I wasn't using the internet, i was watching a movie on my computer. From Bulls direction I heard cussing and complaints. Eventually I paused the movie and went over to talk to him."
"His response - 'are you *ucking with the internet? I keep getting disconnected, lose stuff'... he was angry, frustrated. I assured him i wasn't on the internet, I was watching a movie, it was the dial-up, not me". He wasn't buying it. I went back to my room to resume watching the movie."
"Didn't last long... Bulls irritation was growing by the minute... I paused the movie and again went out to see if I could help."
"Another thing you would need to know. Bull has a short fuse. He grew up with a father that would slam him against the wall, punch and hit him. Overall bull is a great guy... but he's got this 'dark-side' one has to be wary of. For me, that night, after 4 beers, not wary enough"
"Bull launched himself at me... tackled me, and being almost twice my weight, had me pinned to the floor, his knee across my throat, the other knee over my ribcage. I wedged my right arm under the knee across my throat, as he spewed and threatened, and held his fist in a way to hold back, but consider a punch... his mind was reliving his past... he was his father."
"Long story short, the Farmer's wife pulled him off of me, but then I was so frustrated I grabbed my throat and mimed my being choked, which freaked out the Farmer's wife, and prompted a new scuffle between bull and I. The Farmer's wife called her brother, who said to call 911, which is what she did. In the meantime Bull has dragged me down the stairs trying to toss me out. As I wiry guy no way could he get me out that door - short of injuring me to the point that resistance is futile. I think I kicked him in the groin, which is what he remembers."
The police arrived, I was in my room. I got the knock on the door and had to talk to the police chief. And another officer. Somehow, the call was that I was trying to strangle myself... so I was asked if I am suicidal? I laugh, but quickly explain, No, I was pissed and I pretended to strangle myself out of frustration. It was a mime. The Farmer's wife and the Bull are downstairs. Or Bull is sequestered outside - don't know as I was upstairs. Six cops altogether, 3 cruisers. Bull tells the story I attacked him. I tell how Bull attacked me. The Farmer's wife recalls I tried to strangle myself. The chief ultimately tells me no one's charged with anything, but that it is routine to take someone away from the scene to lock-down for the night in domestic calls such as this... and since I'd had four beers, that would be me... BUT! Under the circumstances, given the story that unfolded"... if you promise to go into your room, shut the door and stay there I make clear to the other two you are not to be bothered the rest of the night."
"Ah... thank-you chief... and off I was to my room. To contemplate".
End of Story
John Miller's story is fiction, of course... as is much in a person's everyday life. By that I mean many of us create our own reality - a fact of life! Some may have a tough time with that truth... and all I can say is, no matter how much we want it otherwise, Reality is Subjective. Given that truth, there are still tremendous influences put on individuals... by parents, laws, rules, etc.
In contemplating the story John was fortunate the chief was considerate. Technically, in a domestic situation, someone is taken away. To those on the outside of the domestic situation, ie, law enforcement, they get the facts from witnesses, evidence. John has a cut on his head, redness to his throat... Bull is happy and shooting the shit with the cops outside, from the way his story goes.
In John's case, rarely does he scuffle with Bull... they argue sometimes, and have stand-offs, the , macho version of "king rooster', but they often work together. Besides, John has his own problems that occupy his time.
The story as it was told to the police highlights how the story can be so different, especially based on the individual backgrounds. Bull with his abusive father and intense military background. The Farmer's wife, as a child watching her father beat up her mother, and shoot not only her pet dog, but the puppies it's given birth to - which was why her father shot the dogs - they couldn't feed their own family of 5.
The point I want to make is how difficult it can be to interpret domestic abuse and violence. How do substances play into the situations. How do past experiences? What lesson is there in interpreting other cases... witness testimony is proven to be unreliable. And John's story describes why that can be. In a situation truly serious, it would have been to John's benefit to go to lock-down. The problem with that if there are charges... which then involves court, so it's no wonder 911 isn't called more often.
John and Bull are like grown-up brothers, as he describes it. As John puts it, "I never had the kind of brother where we had scuffles like that. Aside from the pain, they connected as he feels they were both frustrated to the point the scuffle was a positive event." As long as it's a rare occurrence I tend to agree.
There's a lot of domestic style violence or abuse that goes on. It's something generally considered a personalissue. Words, phrases, verbatim directed towards another with the intend to degrade, lower self-esteem, attack character or personal integrity, are all just as painful as a fist in one's face. Some events such as these become public, and result in legal intervention... much goes unnoticed, except by those involved. Case in point, John Miller - The Bull in the Garden".
He comes to me wincing from pain on his left side... feels like broken ribs, but probably just bruised. He's got a cut on his head, bleeding but scabbed over. So I ask him, "John, what happened?"
"It was tax-time"... two days before the federal tax deadline. The Bull had waited until the last minute to do his taxes. He'd been pretty much unemployed that whole previous year, being a carpenter, few people were looking for his skills. He'd had a few jobs, so had to file."
"He decided to do it online. I think the one the IRS provides for free."
"What you need to understand is dial-up internet is what we have, and a server distributes the connection, something called ICS (Internet Connection Sharing). Dial-up is slow enough, but when three computers share the same connection, it's frustrating. What has to happen is the other two computers need to be idle if someone is working on something like taxes."
"Exactly what I was doing in my room - I wasn't using the internet, i was watching a movie on my computer. From Bulls direction I heard cussing and complaints. Eventually I paused the movie and went over to talk to him."
"His response - 'are you *ucking with the internet? I keep getting disconnected, lose stuff'... he was angry, frustrated. I assured him i wasn't on the internet, I was watching a movie, it was the dial-up, not me". He wasn't buying it. I went back to my room to resume watching the movie."
"Didn't last long... Bulls irritation was growing by the minute... I paused the movie and again went out to see if I could help."
"Another thing you would need to know. Bull has a short fuse. He grew up with a father that would slam him against the wall, punch and hit him. Overall bull is a great guy... but he's got this 'dark-side' one has to be wary of. For me, that night, after 4 beers, not wary enough"
"Bull launched himself at me... tackled me, and being almost twice my weight, had me pinned to the floor, his knee across my throat, the other knee over my ribcage. I wedged my right arm under the knee across my throat, as he spewed and threatened, and held his fist in a way to hold back, but consider a punch... his mind was reliving his past... he was his father."
"Long story short, the Farmer's wife pulled him off of me, but then I was so frustrated I grabbed my throat and mimed my being choked, which freaked out the Farmer's wife, and prompted a new scuffle between bull and I. The Farmer's wife called her brother, who said to call 911, which is what she did. In the meantime Bull has dragged me down the stairs trying to toss me out. As I wiry guy no way could he get me out that door - short of injuring me to the point that resistance is futile. I think I kicked him in the groin, which is what he remembers."
The police arrived, I was in my room. I got the knock on the door and had to talk to the police chief. And another officer. Somehow, the call was that I was trying to strangle myself... so I was asked if I am suicidal? I laugh, but quickly explain, No, I was pissed and I pretended to strangle myself out of frustration. It was a mime. The Farmer's wife and the Bull are downstairs. Or Bull is sequestered outside - don't know as I was upstairs. Six cops altogether, 3 cruisers. Bull tells the story I attacked him. I tell how Bull attacked me. The Farmer's wife recalls I tried to strangle myself. The chief ultimately tells me no one's charged with anything, but that it is routine to take someone away from the scene to lock-down for the night in domestic calls such as this... and since I'd had four beers, that would be me... BUT! Under the circumstances, given the story that unfolded"... if you promise to go into your room, shut the door and stay there I make clear to the other two you are not to be bothered the rest of the night."
"Ah... thank-you chief... and off I was to my room. To contemplate".
End of Story
John Miller's story is fiction, of course... as is much in a person's everyday life. By that I mean many of us create our own reality - a fact of life! Some may have a tough time with that truth... and all I can say is, no matter how much we want it otherwise, Reality is Subjective. Given that truth, there are still tremendous influences put on individuals... by parents, laws, rules, etc.
In contemplating the story John was fortunate the chief was considerate. Technically, in a domestic situation, someone is taken away. To those on the outside of the domestic situation, ie, law enforcement, they get the facts from witnesses, evidence. John has a cut on his head, redness to his throat... Bull is happy and shooting the shit with the cops outside, from the way his story goes.
In John's case, rarely does he scuffle with Bull... they argue sometimes, and have stand-offs, the , macho version of "king rooster', but they often work together. Besides, John has his own problems that occupy his time.
The story as it was told to the police highlights how the story can be so different, especially based on the individual backgrounds. Bull with his abusive father and intense military background. The Farmer's wife, as a child watching her father beat up her mother, and shoot not only her pet dog, but the puppies it's given birth to - which was why her father shot the dogs - they couldn't feed their own family of 5.
The point I want to make is how difficult it can be to interpret domestic abuse and violence. How do substances play into the situations. How do past experiences? What lesson is there in interpreting other cases... witness testimony is proven to be unreliable. And John's story describes why that can be. In a situation truly serious, it would have been to John's benefit to go to lock-down. The problem with that if there are charges... which then involves court, so it's no wonder 911 isn't called more often.
John and Bull are like grown-up brothers, as he describes it. As John puts it, "I never had the kind of brother where we had scuffles like that. Aside from the pain, they connected as he feels they were both frustrated to the point the scuffle was a positive event." As long as it's a rare occurrence I tend to agree.
May 04, 2010
THE BULL IN THE GARDEN - J. MILLER FICTION - PART 1
I had been thinking about violence, domestic violence, and a correlation between it and stressful financial times. But unlike my experiences with those who use cannabis, or the general population and college communities in general, domestic abuse, which sometimes leads to victim death, i can't recall much memorable experience. There's plenty though - it's simply I mentally block such memories if I can.
There was my friend Deb from 15 years ago... got her nose almost torn off when her boyfriend smashed it. She was a co-worker at the time and we became friends. He, her "boyfriend", did disappear after that - locked up for a time and then onto greener pastures , where no doubt he would repeat his aggressive behavior.
Their was Maria, a girl-friend I knew back in the 70's... her mother seemed similar to mine; at around 2AM one morning while in bed with Maria her phone rang... which was in the other room. Maria had to answer it at that hour, could be an emergency... myself in bed, from across the hall I could hear Maria talking to her mother. I could hear her mother's voice as she (correctly) claimed Maria had a man in her bed, but she then screamed at Maria what a whore she was, etc...
There were the HS dances, that despite my geeky nature, I attended occasionally, usually with friends, but sometimes alone... how often they ended in some male or males confronting me, and threatening me. I have looked at a knife more than once. Alcohol was always involved.
There was the night I was at a good college friend's house for a party... the end of my first year at college... my friend and I had spent hours and days and weeks studying over the phone (in the 1970's) for homework and tests in our physics class... he also was a co-worker at the dept. store I worked at. We had a party at his house one Friday night. All the hot ladies from work were there, and in spite of my fear of dancing... since no woman ever accepted a invitation for a dance at one of those past mentioned dances, I was delighted that at this party, I danced up a storm. Life was good. Until, my friends brother, took a dislike to me, and while we passed in the hallway he suddenly started beating the crap out of me; until others, including my friend pulled him off of me.
Score one for a major turning point in my life... a downturn.
Those are snippets of my past... all leading to a discussion about Domestic Violence", and it's many forms.
I'm not a fighter... though if I had to I am a wiry guy, and I'm sure I could defend myself. The fact is, I don't wish to hurt anyone... I would prefer talk, use patience until things cool. If it came down to imminent death, I wouldn't hesitate to use deadly force in return. The question is, how does one know when that moment is at hand?
Enter John Miller and an experience he'd like to share.
It's a cliff hanger, as the story is pretty involved, intense...
It was the deadline for this past federal taxes... the farmer's wife, divorced, was due home after a week in Florida. John had gotten home from work and the Bull was fretting the farmer's wife's return... his girlfriend, sure, but he depended on her as since the housing bubble burst, he's been out of work. Plenty of work where he lived. But that put him in a girlfriend/laborer role. Meanwhile, John got home and talked to the Bull awhile, trying to lend a ear, and it turned out the Bull HAD NOT filed his tax return yet. And the next day was the deadline. He was bullish, to say the least!!!
The Bull could use a computer, but wasn't comfortable with them. He was a carpenter. So John not only built a computer for him to use, since we can hardly get by without one these days, but he provided whatever help he could for Bull. What he couldn't provide was a broadband connection, and the process of downloading the necessary tax forms from the IRS, via dial-up internet, filling them out, was torture. The internet connection kept freezing... and the cursing began.
Next time... Bull snaps... BobKat gets a inside view of how domestic violence can yield so many different "facts..."
There was my friend Deb from 15 years ago... got her nose almost torn off when her boyfriend smashed it. She was a co-worker at the time and we became friends. He, her "boyfriend", did disappear after that - locked up for a time and then onto greener pastures , where no doubt he would repeat his aggressive behavior.
Their was Maria, a girl-friend I knew back in the 70's... her mother seemed similar to mine; at around 2AM one morning while in bed with Maria her phone rang... which was in the other room. Maria had to answer it at that hour, could be an emergency... myself in bed, from across the hall I could hear Maria talking to her mother. I could hear her mother's voice as she (correctly) claimed Maria had a man in her bed, but she then screamed at Maria what a whore she was, etc...
There were the HS dances, that despite my geeky nature, I attended occasionally, usually with friends, but sometimes alone... how often they ended in some male or males confronting me, and threatening me. I have looked at a knife more than once. Alcohol was always involved.
There was the night I was at a good college friend's house for a party... the end of my first year at college... my friend and I had spent hours and days and weeks studying over the phone (in the 1970's) for homework and tests in our physics class... he also was a co-worker at the dept. store I worked at. We had a party at his house one Friday night. All the hot ladies from work were there, and in spite of my fear of dancing... since no woman ever accepted a invitation for a dance at one of those past mentioned dances, I was delighted that at this party, I danced up a storm. Life was good. Until, my friends brother, took a dislike to me, and while we passed in the hallway he suddenly started beating the crap out of me; until others, including my friend pulled him off of me.
Score one for a major turning point in my life... a downturn.
Those are snippets of my past... all leading to a discussion about Domestic Violence", and it's many forms.
I'm not a fighter... though if I had to I am a wiry guy, and I'm sure I could defend myself. The fact is, I don't wish to hurt anyone... I would prefer talk, use patience until things cool. If it came down to imminent death, I wouldn't hesitate to use deadly force in return. The question is, how does one know when that moment is at hand?
Enter John Miller and an experience he'd like to share.
It's a cliff hanger, as the story is pretty involved, intense...
It was the deadline for this past federal taxes... the farmer's wife, divorced, was due home after a week in Florida. John had gotten home from work and the Bull was fretting the farmer's wife's return... his girlfriend, sure, but he depended on her as since the housing bubble burst, he's been out of work. Plenty of work where he lived. But that put him in a girlfriend/laborer role. Meanwhile, John got home and talked to the Bull awhile, trying to lend a ear, and it turned out the Bull HAD NOT filed his tax return yet. And the next day was the deadline. He was bullish, to say the least!!!
The Bull could use a computer, but wasn't comfortable with them. He was a carpenter. So John not only built a computer for him to use, since we can hardly get by without one these days, but he provided whatever help he could for Bull. What he couldn't provide was a broadband connection, and the process of downloading the necessary tax forms from the IRS, via dial-up internet, filling them out, was torture. The internet connection kept freezing... and the cursing began.
Next time... Bull snaps... BobKat gets a inside view of how domestic violence can yield so many different "facts..."
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