Every year i want to make the garden bigger until there is a farm there maybe and mountains instead of the neighbors hoovering houses. Besides the white dog there will suddenly be two big cows and you will teach me how to talk to them in cow language and how to milk them without stressing them out, I will have my first drink of hot foamy milk right out of the bucket. Chickens lay eggs and have to be killed one day to be put on the grill.
So Im never happy, i was told by a hater. im extremely content with a simple humble life and my real goal in life is to fall off the grid.
Maybe like an old friend of mine, (same age, same long ago HS school), i should have two houses, one at the beach, two pick up trucks, exotic antiques, two snowmobiles, a motorcycle, three jet skies, a sloppy sex affair, a son that secretly shoots heroin and a chocolate lab named sparky. ahhh yes. this is the true american life. maybe people will like me then.
Or the guy that abandoned his life in new jersey, googled his sons name twenty years later and got the boys obituary. i always wondered where this dude went. we were so close in our teens and twenties. we dropped acid, laid on our backs in carteret park and watched very low flying 747’s fly by directly overhead to land at newark airport. he comes back from missing after several decades and turns out he was having a fucking blast. the west coast baby. the sunsets. the chicks. the open air concerts. learning and working a new trade. converted a lesbian to have sex with him and getting her pregnant and abandoning them too. never a dime of child support and then another kid- getting some random chick preggo at Burning Man Festival in nevadas black rock dessert and oh yeah the methamphetamine. it brings the best of us down to our knees empty handed holding our dripping soul in our hands. where were you when your kids needed you out having fun going to concerts that i wanted to go to fucking all the chicks that i wanted to get pregnant and all the icy cold northern crabbing jobs that i wanted in alaska and cooking and smoking meth you lucky fuck. damn you. turns out-even if you’re a fucking dick they will have a parade for you when you come home
one late night this past summer, there were three of us jetting down lost highways somewhere in upstate new york. just coming back from an exercise in small theater, menopause the musical and there we were. i pulled the car over. there were no houses. no streetlights. no other cars on the road. we were sandwiched by two empty fields. i turned off the headlights. i turned off the car. i rolled down the windows. and there it was: the single most amazing moment of my summer (damn i miss summer) it was just blackness..and blazing stars. the cascade of crickets. and lightening bugs. yes the lightening bugs. hundreds flickering and i wanted to get out of the car. open the door. get out and look around and embrace the moment but i was talked out of it. (SAFETY???) and i understand that. kinda. i should have got out of the car. so now one day i will go back there before i die. whether i am alone or with someone…i will go back there and get out of the car. Only this time I will be driving the Lexus LFA Nurburgring.
truly people, how important is Consumerism and One-upsmanship when spirits of the past constantly whirl around you and moan “it means nothing you foooooool nothing. money shouldnt be your journey to happiness…” these bastards should know. been there done that they say and if you ever stop your Lexus LFA Nurburgring in the middle of nowhere just to listen to the crickets and star gaze then you will understand
in a very recent blog post i wrote of my fascination with my brothers Glenns earthly clean up. he had nothing. he had nothing and he was extremely miserable. so maybe im wrong about all this Buddhist horseshit. LIVE LIFE and go crazy. buy things. big expensive things. surround yourself with materialistic happiness. life is short. go for it. take as many vacations as you can. if you cant afford this, then charge it all on your credit cards. after all my brother Glenn lived this way with drugs. it made him happy and he couldnt charge the drugs so he begged borrowed and stole for forty years.
Actually the third sibling death in our family should have been ME! i am number three. third born first son.
We aren’t dying IN ORDER damn it so be very fucking careful
one day i would hope to come to this blog and type “dear readers…” but not one word of that would ever be true. laughing my ass off.
josh when you graduated high school im sorry couldn’t get you that laptop you wanted as a graduation gift
jonny i wish i could give you tuition to four years rutgers with on campus room books and a six pack (abs not beer)
layla remember the kites at the giant games tailgate windy parking lots. i wish could have done more for you but thank god for Buc. and ill find that canvas one day
ashley such a sweet girl my first daughter. remember that time i made you swim in the ocean?
anna there are times i really feel like your dad but i just want you to know this: if i was in Ikea with you when you were a little girl i would have purchased that play kitchen set you were crying for
mom empty your stinking ashtrays and open up the windows of imagination to your kids. remember when you gave us every shop rite food can in the kitchen, flipped over the wooden toy-box to make a counter so we could play “store”?? And that lasted for hours on that cold rainy day. if you use your imagination you can own anything. i never expected you to turn our back yard into a fake farm on our birthdays but you always made us feel special somehow. we all do the best that we can do with our kids. parental love is indescribable until we remember to be human
there will come that day when they don’t need you anymore. there will come that day when they don’t come home.
so now, so so so now …so now..we sit here with our empty arms out stretched waiting for something to fill them
) maybe grandkids?)
This post was fun. I really enjoy that loose carefree painfully honest kind of writing. I had a teacher in High School that taught me creative writing. We really clicked. He was a great teacher. A hippie hipster with a big mop of curly hair. He read every word I wrote and corrected every single grammar and spelling mistake.
One class he dimmed the lights and put some low music on. He gave us a piece of blank paper and told us to just write.
Don’t worry about spelling and punctuation. Don’t worry about a plot he said.
Just write he said.
Most students didn’t get it or just didn’t want to. It was like breaking the law. It was like swimming upstream. It went against everything we were taught about English and grammar and perfect sentences our whole life.
We turned our papers in and I remember I was on my third page while some students were half way or even no where close to filling one page.
The next day he took me aside and said
You did really good on this George
Even though everyone got an A+
You have something George
This was something no one ever told me. Not my dad. Not my mother.
What do I have? A rambling blur of words and letters with no real conclusion?
This happened to me again with a different teacher in High School. I was in a HUGE at least thirty kids English class seventh period with Brother Regis. Another passionate teacher that knew everyone’s first and last name by the first week! Well he “stole” some of my poems and had them published in the school literary magazine without me knowing.
These are things I always remembered about those crazy days of High School. My family life was totally falling apart yet I found moments of sanity with a few teachers and students in HS.
I never fit in with those kids at HS. I had many awkward moments and one truly horrifying ten minuets of public question in front of an entire class. While the teacher was present, no less. It wasn’t physical but verbal. I can tell you now that it doesn’t matter which type of bullying it is. They both leave deep black and blues. I understood real bullying after that. But back then in 1978 there was no such term. It was accepted in society back then. You either “man-up” or “shut-up”
I never did anything with my writing probably because of a collapsed self-esteem and a total loss of any kind of support system at home.
When a teacher can influence a child so greatly that they do a total transformation of intellect and personality it is the greatest teaching gift in the world. If you add just a bit of love and support from the family THE SKY IS THE LIMIT for that child. I know. I have seen this.
Stream of consciousness is a narrative device that attempts to give the written equivalent of the character’s thought processes, either in a loose interior monologue (see below), or in connection to his or her actions. Stream-of-consciousness writing is usually regarded as a special form of interior monologue and is characterized by associative leaps in thought and lack of some or all punctuation.[2] Stream of consciousness and interior monologue are distinguished from dramatic monologue and soliloquy, where the speaker is addressing an audience or a third person, which are chiefly used in poetry or drama. In stream of consciousness the speaker’s thought processes are more often depicted as overheard in the mind (or addressed to oneself); it is primarily a fictional device.
The term “Stream of Consciousness” was coined by philosopher and psychologist William James in The Principles of Psychology (1890):
consciousness, then, does not appear to itself as chopped up in bits … it is nothing joined; it flows. A ‘river’ or a ‘stream’ are the metaphors by which it is most naturally described. In talking of it hereafter, let’s call it the stream of thought, consciousness, or subjective life.[3]
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