time alone, time alone

My kingdom for some time alone!

Uninterrupted time, without interruption or distraction, without someone else’s crisis or drama to deal with, without someone talking in my ear, asking questions, telling me stories I don’t give a fuck about.

Music in my headphones. No TV. No obnoxious voice on the radio. No phone. No texts. No fucking nothing.

Just me, my laptop and SOME GODDAMN SILENCE.

If you’re out there, and someone who seems overwhelmed in your life looks like maybe they need some space, for fuck’s sakes, give it to them. It’s the best gift you could ever give. LEAVE THEM THE FUCK ALONE.

Target: 400 words
Written: 2344 words, novella: The Mungk

future thoughts

Sometimes, I think about how I will be remembered, and I romanticize it a little, like I’m some bodhisattva that figured it all out. I’m remembered and celebrated as a kind man, a generous man, a loving man who promoted understanding and presence, connection and community, self and selflessness, all in one.

Other times, it’s a little darker. I didn’t make it. People talk about how I was always searching for peace, for happiness, for some kind of reason in the universe that would make it all make sense. That all I wanted was love and connection, to be myself with others without judgment or condemnation. To be able to withstand with a guiltless smile any judgment or condemnation that came my way. To be able to turn it all around and sway people to a greater understanding, a greater kindness, a greater love.

And of course, I never found it, and that was the primary cause of all the strife and frustration in my life. My unhappiness was driven by my inability to find my way to that peace.

That requires people paying attention, and I think the saddest commentary on my life as it is, is that I don’t know if that’s true. I don’t know that anyone understands this. I’m just another guy. Another asshole. Another feckless, insignificant loser.

That’s sort of the reasoning behind keeping this blog/journal public. Maybe when I’m gone, someone will find it, read it and understand.

I just wanted to be good. To be happy. To be surrounded by good, happy people. Easy people. Loving people. People who understand.

Target: 400 words
Written: 267 words, novella: The Mungk

it never stops

The relentlessness of the requests upon my life is seriously disturbing my ability to do what I need to do in order to get my head straight and start moving forward.

All is forward, yes, but more and more, I feel like I need to follow Ghandi’s lead and when someone says I’m too busy to have another hour to myself to meditate, I should say, “I must need two then.”

Of course, I’m not Ghandi. Nobody’s sponsoring my life and no one else is paying the bills.

All this extra better result in higher pay at least. At least then, not achieving my goals and not having time to focus on being a better person might not result in destitution.

Target: 400 words
Written: 733 words, novella: The Mungk

get back again

I think every creator has that work of art that they made that they just kind of hate. Like, they know it’s beneath them, that it doesn’t reflect who they are or what they believe, what they’re feeling.

And, I’m not talking about stuff that years down the road, they no longer recognize the work in themselves, because they’ve changed as people and they no longer relate to the idea or feelings behind a piece of art that once meant everything to them.

Like Pearl Jam stating they wanted to do something more positive rather than saying, “everything sucks” all the time (around the time of Yield). Ten is still a brilliant album, but I get why once you’re past the angst of youth, why Jeremy or Black might not reflect who you are anymore (although Black will remain one of the greatest songs ever written).

Or someone who was ultra liberal, filling their works with peace and love, sex positivity and anarchistic tendencies finding that in their later works, they condemn sex outside of marriage and promote hateful, fascistic views, having been beaten down by life and rendered bitter by cocaine addition or friendships with Donald Trump.

I’m not sure that Get Back Again is that work for me, but it’s there. I understand the intent behind it, the idea inspired by a song that I’m absolutely certain was not considered one of the Hip’s favourites (attested to by the fact that it never made it onto any albums). It’s a meditation on regret, on wanting to go back to a previous time when things seemed better, and understanding that maybe the person you want to go back to is actually better off without you.

Still, we lie to ourselves and make excuses, deriding the reality of the thing you wish you had, denigrating it so it no longer considered appears quite so sweet. Regret for the past turning to bitterness, anger and self-deceit.

Sounded like a perfect replication of the regressive conservative mindset, which was an oddity in the Hip catalogue. That made me think about the other person, the good one that moved on without them. The one who realized it was okay to be “lost in the light”.

That inspired my story, which then perverted to be told from the viewpoint I don’t take and don’t endorse. It made me ask, what if the lefties actually held the right wingers accountable? That’s clearly not happening these days and it’s emboldened these fucks. What would they do? Would we even miss them if they were suddenly gone?

What would they think?

Hence, the ghost and his point of view. The woman got rid of him, and moved on, happily. He has no way back to her. What does he do? What does he think? Is there accountability in the void? Introspection? Does it work? How far does the ability to self-deceive extend?

These are important questions for our time.

And still. It’s not my best work. I know it. I had difficulty feeling it. There’s a dissonance there that unsettles me, like the thing is unfinished and maybe the totally wrong idea. But still. There it is.

I pray every time I review it that it doesn’t read as a right wing manifesto. God knows these assholes need no more encouragement.

And I sure as hell don’t want to be the one giving it to them.

Target: 400 words
Written: 146 words, novella: The Mungk

radical acceptance

I’ve just started reading this book. I like the idea, but I have questions about the application. Life often doesn’t stop long enough to allow me a pause. It’s nice to say take a time out and breathe, get in touch with whatever you are feeling at the moment as you work through it, but if your boss is breathing down your neck, family needs are piling up and the stress of not getting to your own shit is burying you, how?

How to stand still and silent in the midst of a cacophony, all aimed directly at you?

I am trying to be positive, but how?

Target: 400 words
Written: 227 words, novella: The Mungk