Mandelbrot existence


Ω they marched away in lock-step first from them then from the others and again they divided til’ they all became one not together but alone as boolean gods howled in manic delight. ∆ a tiny few understood that they too had been infected the viral confirmation bias self-replicating eating away individuality saddling them less […]

on remembering doug fricks…


Friggy-my-Diggy… another Spring is roaring in… and lately I’ve been thinking about our friendship. your comfortable, confident kindness, unveiled by alert but caring eyes twinkling in the bright blue Carolina sunshine. flashing that affable, genuine smile, as always seemingly amused by life’s irony; and like me you seemed sorta’ OK with it. sure, we differed on […]

why write, an urge to purge?


mostdiggity For me, writing is cheaper psycho-therapy than seeing a shrink, and more expansive*(*pun alert) say, than my time spent mowing the yard e.g., row 1.turn. row 2.turn. The sun shines, the weeds grow thick and frontal lobe cells languish in repeat step repeat, and I’ll likely feel a pressing need to gnash keys, combine words, n’ spit […]

Entropy Road


t


entropy road

time slips from great to good, or from terrible to wors’ning
down that entropic road we pay our toll
paved hot toward cold never endings

that god, what god? the mirror asks, tone optimistic, while condescending
life’s urge to organize is quite strong
make amends, then share the booty’s blending

time slips from me to us, then “you and i” to loving
our valentine then seeks it’s mate
and on goes that prolific downward sending

that god, what god? the reflection quests, as the last winter snow’s still clinging
that Holonic symbol, our family crest
bears our family blood from each upbringing

the urge to mate is as strong to hate, to blend, then split the winnings
our Junior a mixed-sum of both
then adds each new moment’s vendings 

time drives us from then to now, our final destination reaching
tho’ next can never touch our lips
it’s law, Relativity speaking

that god, what god? the question begs, who should i tell him’s asking?
our urge to love and to proliferate…

life’s sentence, and time’s unmasking

 

-30-

2nd law of thermodynamics

A Critique by Jendi Reiter

I was lucky to have had this poem selected for review by The Winning Writers, a respected site for amatuer poets with top writers as owners who run the site. Jendi Reiter is an excellent and respected poet in her own right.

Critique by Jendi Reiter

The form of this month’s provocative poem, “Entropy Road”, embodies its theme of order struggling to remain distinct from chaos. The headlong rush of syllables in the longer lines and the fragmentary, zigzag presentation of the poem’s argument give the poem a restless energy. Meanwhile, the “-ing” rhymes repeating in the first and third lines of every stanza, the refrain “that god, what god?” and the semi-regular meter attempt to corral that energy within a poetic framework.

Making the rhyming words present participles (verb forms, or nouns derived from them, ending in “-ing”) was an inspired choice. These words describe action in progress. Just as the stability that the narrator seeks is always a moving target, the concepts on which he depends to convey this argument will not stay put. Each rhyming line also ends on an unstressed syllable, which gives the poem an open-ended, unfinished cadence.

Entropy, of course, refers to the Second Law of Thermodynamics, which basically states that the energy levels in an isolated system will tend toward equilibrium. Entropy has sometimes been described as a measurement of the disorder or randomness within a system. In the poem, as in popular usage, it symbolizes universal mortality and dissolution. If evolution drives organic life to ever-higher levels of self-organizing complexity, entropy is the opposite force, that which pulls down and breaks apart complex systems into nature’s simplest building blocks. It means that all material energy will ultimately spend itself and be unrecoverable.

As self-aware components of this dying system, how can we find the motivation to go on living, loving, procreating, and planning for the future? Which will win, our philosophical sense of futility or the inward compulsion to survive and create?

Perhaps no one wrote about entropy in this sense more powerfully than the 20th-century British poet Philip Larkin. A sample poem can be found here.

Larkin generally settles the question on the side of death, but Adams disagrees: “the urge to love is as strong to hate”. The life force has a fighting chance. Yet it is hampered by our inability to articulate a reason for hope. “that god, what god? the mirror asks, tone optimistic, while condescending”.Existentialist philosophers looked to the self to create meaning in a universe made absurd by death’s finality. The poem suggests that this answer is insufficient. The individual is merely part of the closed entropic system. He cannot inject it with new energy to reverse its decay.

There are positive, hopeful moments in “Entropy Road” but they come from outside philosophy and science. Whatever the intellect may say, instinct confirms that human connection and creativity are not futile. “time slips from me to us or, from you and i to loving/our valentine then seeks its mate/goes the prolific downward sending”. The opaque last phrase may have been chosen mainly to fit the rhyme scheme, but its vagueness felicitously makes it more symbolic than a specific description would have been. It called to my mind both the release of seed in copulation and the movement of the child through the birth canal, but other associations are possible, such as rains watering the earth to bring forth crops, or the descent of angels.

The birth of a child does seem like a miraculous creation ex nihilo, the opposite of entropy. First there were two, now there are three. “Holonic” is a word coined by 20th-century philosopher Arthur Koestler to express the observation that entities in biological and social systems are always interdependent, never completely self-sufficient units. This law of interconnection and symbiosis contrasts with entropy’s pull toward disconnection and stasis.

“our junior is the sum of both/but adds ‘new’ moment’s vendings”. Is “new” in quotes because the narrator’s intellectual side reminds him that this is not a real solution to the problem? On the human scale, parenthood may feel like a triumph over mortality, but on the level of the cosmos, it does not stave off the decay of the whole system, looked at in purely materialistic terms.

The poem ends by leaving the question open, a humility that rings true. Adams does not claim to decide whether the emotional or the scientific perspective on the human condition is correct. He suggests that it is really a question about the nature of the self, or perhaps its very existence. “that god, what god? the question begs, and who should i tell him’s asking?/an urge to love and proliferate…”

If pressed to define the self, Adams would emphasize the impulse to love and create, however blind that impulse is, over the scientific description of the individual as a collection of atoms arranged in a temporary order. He chooses the insider’s perspective over the outsider’s, life as it feels to us, rather than life as the scientists say it is. (After all, they too are part of the flawed system, not truly above it.) Yet the final line, “life’s sentence, and time’s unmasking”, expresses the fear that some trans-human perspective would prove us wrong; the joke of the universe is on us, after all. The dilemma brings us to the limits of reason, where some have found faith, and others merely the willpower to live without it.

‘Politically Correct’ or ‘Back-stab-ingly Pleasant’?


(with a nod to George Carlin) “Politically Correct” or ‘Back-Stab-ingly Pleasant’? Man, I’m really getting tired of all this negative name calling… I much prefer the soft landing civilized society (Progressives? nah) have embraced when it comes to labeling people or things. Especially if my being brutally honest might really pîss-off an overly-sensitive individual, forever damaging their […]

What NOW?


yinyang

what it is and what it isn’t

the gift of NOW, the tiny present

ineffably effervescent.

connecting causal to effectual

between the then and the eventual

it is where choice meets consequential.

it’s not what you wanted not what you did

the yin plus yang of what it is

it’s both the fizzle and the fizz.

not what it was not what it would be

not what you hear or what your eyes see

it is the nameless name… of the TAO-Chi.

-30-

Inspired by:

Composed around the 6th century BC by the sage Laozi (Lao Tzu),

the Tao Te Ching is the foundational text of Taoism and a major

influence on Confucianism and Chinese Buddhism.

My Dougly; catch you on the backside?


mofugly

Two months ago a very good friend suddenly left this plane, and though it had been some time since I last had heard his voice, I often wondered how he was doing. But now I think about him several times a day, though not in the blame filled guilt trip kinda way, just sadness, a sadness in that I never knew he was even sick. I’ve always joked (not joking) that I am the sanest person I know. With Doug though, if pressed I might have given him a slight edge on me. He had his shit together before I moved away from Greensboro, NC 13 years ago, when we ran hard and worked even harder, and then sometimes ran even faster again. Doug and I shared the work hard-play-hard life philosophy of “buy the ticket, take the ride”.

Now I feel sympathy for him and empathetic to his partner (Christina) and their son Noah, who is one year older than my 10-year old first-born son. I’m sorry that one of the finest persons I’ve been lucky enough to have called my friend found himself trapped inside one of the most vile twisted and horrible conditions in psychiatry today. And one that would eventually strike and unravel, deciding his fate. I know it must have been unbearable suffering, because the Doug I knew rarely lost at anything in life, his natural constitution was using his considerable talents to find a way to win. And a winner he was in every respect.

2dougnnoahIronically in 2007 we discussed some of these same issues that later haunted him, issues that from all accounts he later apparently struggled with mightily. He and I talked about it over a couple of long phone calls when my two-year old son’s mother died, ironically in the same out-of-the-blue mind-fuck way in which he later succumbed. It was only after some time that I was able to personally heal enough not to be mad at her when I looked at my son’s beautiful face, but I eventually researched it enough (with counseling) and studied the disease (manic bi-polar dis-order) enough to understand how she had been very sick, and her’s was not a selfish act… in some ways heroic. I admit to being mad at Doug too for those first couple of days as it is only a normal reaction. But, I hope that those who loved Doug will find it within themselves to forgive, and give Noah the love he will need going forward.

I’m now certain she (my son’s Mother) thought she was doing me and our son and maybe the world a favor. How could it happen only a few years later that Doug apparently didn’t recognize the symptoms he was experiencing as being eerily similar, and NOT seek immediate medical help?

Perhaps the greatest faculty our minds possess is the ability to cope with pain. Classic thinking teaches us of the four doors of the mind, which everyone moves through according to their need.

First is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks
passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind’s way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door.

Second is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying ‘time heals all wounds’ is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door.

Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.

Last is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told.

Patrick RothfussThe Name of the Wind

dougfricksOur friendship was special in many ways, and I never doubted it was one that was built to last despite wherever our individual paths would lead us. The few times we did talk in the last 3-4 years it seemed like yesterday that we were laughing, golfing, partying, or talking through long hours of a weekend night, building a unique bond of brotherhood. And, so times remain in memories too, and though we’ve duffed our last good times together on the front nine of this “good walk spoiled”… My Dougly, I’ll catch you on the backside.  

Doug will always seem near, and I doubt that feeling will ever yield, serving as testimony to all that we weathered together and how at one time we were bonded as if tethered. Time passed, and distance drew us further apart only in this physical realm, his life essence today as clear to me as anyone I’ve ever encountered who has passed my way..

In my minds eye I still see those bright sparkling sea blue eyes smiling that eternal grin, a slightly toothy and twisted grin that always uttered a quick shortish chuckle like a verbal wink, not a sneering snarkle.

I can still hear him saying…

“My Tommy-boy, what’s happen.n…in’…huh-huh-hnn” his standard opening line in modified uptalk.

“You, my brotha…  you’re happenin’. What might we do to make this sunny Friday good reason to call it a week? I make an air-golf-swing and give him an inquisitive look as if asking a question?

(Laughs out loud)” You’re on, but let me take care of a few things first. Let’s meet at Stoney Creek in an hour… they’ll squeeze us on. But, not before I buy you an ice-cold beer,” he offers, pulling one out of the small cooler in his tiny back office.

“Schweet, See ya’ at 12:45ish”, popping the top for a cool swig of cerveza.

The golf the excuse, the time spent laughing and chatting it up (and a few cold-uns) the real reasons we were playing. Of course, he almost always won, and I almost always got the tab later. Usually, he paid half anyway.

And so it was, that we sometimes were out late-ish. Closing time.

__________________________________________________________________________________

We sometimes but very rarely meet a person who shares a common natural vibe, manifesting itself as a subtle synchronous one-man-ship. Perhaps it is luck when two minds and hearts of like kind can instantly formulate and understand the other’s deepest thoughts and bind effortlessly in such a short time? True friendship, lastingly rare as it is, transcends the world we think we see and enters into a more sublime reality; where life and death are no different than time and distance, just a weird cohesive illusion. Maybe mind stays fresh for a time in the Consciousness of the Great  Immensity? People who have died that I knew well never do seem as far from me as those whom I am merely acquainted with. Then again, maybe its just a function of the brain’s electrical neurotransmitters and neural networks, and there’s no big truth to discover after death? For now, I’ll take what I can get.

With Christina,,Doug's partner and mother of Noah
With Christina,,Doug’s partner and mother of Noah

Neither of us a nihilist, and both always too real, we never disagreed about what is here and now, though we differed on the eternal spinning of the wheel. Doug, a religious believer, and me a skeptic… one never cared to convert the other, because we agreed that hey, “it is what it is”. Apparently Doug had one year earlier sold his restaurant, a business that started as a tiny cramped sandwich shop that he nurtured into a large, thriving, one-of-a-kind place to eat by the time Doug had hit 35. It was the epitome of the term “cash cow”. I often wonder if his having sold his life’s work recently and somewhat stumbling around free and without a solid plan for his next big move contributed to his fall from grace. “Idle hands are the Devils work”, they say, but then one must first also believe in the Devil. Doug did, not me. May be I’m just lucky? Lucky?

Well… curiously enough, I too “retired” from a successful career with the intent to take some “idle time” first before embarking on another big challenge at around the same age as Doug did (47). That was 12 years ago, and I’ve not worked at a job since then. But, don’t sleep on the fact that the years surrounding age 47 can be a difficult period for many men, as it is around the time we experience one of our greatest “changes of the seasons”. It is a time where questions outnumber answers, reason gives in to fantasy, and suppressed Jungian archetypes arrive unannounced to ring a gentle alarm, seemingly without an off button but a relentless snooze reminder.

For me, an avid reader from way back and a suction for knowledge of all things anything, I trust that this malady of Doug’s will stay at bay throughout my less-than-ideal projected number of remaining days. Smart and stubborn, when told in January ’06 I had “less than five years” to make my indelible mark on humanity, I simply refused to accept it, or believe it was a possibility.

After all, after 50 years of child-free living and loving it… I had become a father. I was a single father, and this wonderful life-giving “reason for reasons” became my duty bound refusal to leave as scheduled. I mean, to me it was as simple as, “No, I have a little boy to raise.”

Maybe in the twisted end we’ll all find that in sublime irony, “living is dying, and dying is living, or something a thousand times more weird. But, NOW is the only sure bet we have. It pays to have hope, reason, and expectation of a future… but we should never take our eye off the ball of NOW.

“The human being cannot live in a condition of emptiness for very long: if he is not growing toward something, he does not merely stagnate; the pent-up potentialities turn into morbidity and despair, and eventually into destructive activities.”

—  Rollo MayMan’s Search for Himself 

_________________________________________________

infinity

I admired a man named Douglas Fricks, an honest and loyal friend killed by one of (god’s) nastiest tricks. Smart and funny, happy and caring, humble, sharing, compassionate and never once was he over-bearing. Confident and cool, his actions were the example his employees didn’t learn in school. He didn’t worship money, he worshiped Noah and (sometimes) even his honey.

He spoke the truth and he knew its limits, but he never seem to pass on one more ice-cold beer… and I was right there, but we always usually sometimes held it together.  He was “My-Fugly-My-Dougly”, and my “Friggy-my Diggy”. And me, to him… just “Tommy-boy” (my habit of nicknaming and his return sally).

I hope you found your peace my brother, I’ll always be your biggest fan. You in the fairway and me the woods, your smooth swing had you dancing, and me hacking, whacking, hatchet thicket smacking… but you never let me know how far down I stood. I loved YOU for the you that was you… and you, My Dougly… I always will.

-30-

Tiger’s Woody!


A golf ball.

When you let your big stick do the talkin’
That “Parade of Porn”, with Paparazzi stalkin’
Snarly rough, traps-a-plenty; deep cut bunkers and nowhere to hide
When deciding to “lay up” was the riskier choice
If but for only that large amount of green and those swooshed titanium balls
would the World’s Greatest Scrambler survive a wretched 18 ho’s
Trading an extremely high handicap for a life of buried lies

Hardly checking which way the wind was blowing, knowing there are no mulligans
An egregious slice that wouldn’t fade, a train-wreck hacked so far out of bounds
You must have quit counting the lost strokes and calculating unplayable lies
Your balls dropped beyond the line of sight, but seemed ever further from home
Where money bets had long since been counted as lost in that first (wet) box
The truth is inside the ropes there’s plenty of trouble if you really want to hang yourself

Undulating backsides, luscious perky sloped tees, low cut cups waitin’ for loft and backspin
Manicured lovely, playin’ tight and long, and gorgeous to behold
Beautiful layouts you easily managed with your deft touch and artistic feel
Driving long and deep in middle of short Bentgrass, Bermuda soft, lush, and accessibly close
But, when instead of backing up, they began checking up, you started running fast and away
Ambien fueled Ambien fooled, once seeing a break, banging a sweet stroke… then nailing bottom of the ho’
The Ooohhs and aaahhs, moaning adoration, soon became belligerent bellows of, “Who’s Your Daddy!”

Stiill… YOU; lost deep in those woods but refused to take the normal penalty
Forsaking those easy birdies and model wife, with grim head held high you steadied your stance
Defiantly asking us to imagine that you were simply one more, ‘Par for the Course’
And so… pretty soon your Iconic magic grip you held over us loosened… until it vanished
As if you were raining bad behavior, your short game was turning into a slippery sloped Karmic wreck
Now cynical crowds yelling “Pussy Cat, knock it stiff”, or chanting “here cums Tiger’s Woody!
Perhaps an omen to us all… but for you Tiger… it signaled the Boogeyman had finally come… to stay.

what goes around comes around


Daddy-hood sort of caught me by the nape of my neck.   In the summer 2004 I was surprised to learn that… like it or not I was going to become a Father. Whoa!… after 50 years I had long decided against and avoided that (to me) unfortunate scenario. But, fate had chosen another route for […]

Lyrics and commentary 1111, Tiller Wills


Again and again, when confronted by the many serious problems with which humanity has been struggling since the First World War and is still facing, the almost despairing question is often asked, even in anthroposophical circles: ‘What can I do? What can the individual do about the machinations of these secret groups, if indeed they exist? It’s all too much for individuals.’ Rudolf Steiner’s answer in these lectures is bold and clear:  ‘The only defence against these things is knowing about them. If you know about them, you are protected … But you must not be idle about acquiring real knowledge of these things.’
Secret Brotherhoods  And the Mystery of the Human Double

It’s pretty ironic that the so-called ‘least advanced’ people are the ones taking the lead in trying to protect all of us, while the richest and most powerful among us are the ones who are trying to drive the society to destruction
― Noam Chomsky

He who is not angry when there is just cause for anger is immoral.  Why?  Because anger looks to the good of justice.  And if you can live amidst injustice without anger, you are immoral as well as unjust.
― St. Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274)

I would add; if you’re not enraged, concerned, indignated, or/and compassionate, etc. you are either sleeping or a human whose humanity is lost. THE FUTURE OF ALL depends upon YOUR awakening. And the lyrics in the song point to that awakening:

11:11

https://soundcloud.com/tiller_wills/08-11-11a
Tiller Wills is a Chicago based Hip-Hop artist. His debut LP 11:11 is available everywhere. Tiller’s lyrics hit hard and fast while covering a wide range of topics, ranging from summertime fun to government corruption

Don’t worry, most of the second half is ‘positive’ but the first ‘negative’ part is the most enlightened (because knowledge about the crucial topics in the lyrics are still being kept in the dark on the part of the majority. And conversely; the minority is therefore – in terms of knowledge, being more informed – more ‘enlightened’. And the lack of knowledge about the negative prevents the positive from flourishing fully which is why we need to be cognizant of the things mentioned in 11:11). I am not denigrating the expression and intention of love at all in the second part of 11:11 but tend to agree with the following statement:

“The first is to open our minds, start taking responsibility back, and remove this edifice of control and suppression of information which will allow the full flow of knowledge of who we are to flood into the public arena…Once people start to realize who they really are and the nature of life, thenwe can go into stage two which is the incredible consciousness shift that is going to happen, and is happening for many people already, but can happen for everybody if we open up to the knowledge of what’s going on and to do that the edifice of suppression has to go. And what I see so often in … what we call New Age movement is that they’re focusing on the second bit and they’re in denial about about the first. And the second is not going to happen for many people unless we remove the edifice of suppression cause most people are going to think what the heck’s going on and they’re going to go through this great change in a complete fog of what’s happening. …Two things to do here. One is to start focusing on how the world’s controlled, identify it and remove it. Secondly, then we can concentrate unhindered on the transformation spiritually that is unfolding ”
– David Icke


Analysis and commentary:
After some surveys and crowdsourcing I have now come to the conclusion that most people’s brains are so conditioned by the phonetic sound of the utterance ‘fuck’, that they are unable to listen to or understand the lyrics or read between the lines of the lyrics, while the already informed about the issues at stake are rejoicing big time! The great irony is that the people who think that the lyrics are ‘primitive’, ‘vulgar’, etc.  (because of the repeated word ‘fuck’) are missing the profound point which is; no other lyrics on any track in contemporary culture are so jampacked with very important suppressed censored key topics, which somewhat constitute a compendiary of key events, entities and concepts for the freedom/truth/justice/activist-movements all around the world.

The protest (fuck) is simply the morality/indignation of the lyrics, a very necessary Jeremiad considering the topics – and the word ‘fuck’ is only an expression of a protest against things which takes a vigilant mind to detect, especially when populations are confronted with massive censorship, manipulation, omission, and suppression of the topics in 11:11 by mainstream media, governments and institutions.

Tiller Wills describes some of the most significant but censored world  phenomena and dangers of our time, is versatile and apparently highly knowledgeable but one cannot see that if one isn’t in the know. 11:11 is a clarion call for freedom, justice, truth, inquiry, revision, empowerment – a reflection of a huge but imperative body of knowledge and enlightenment, key events and entities, which should be mandatory knowledge, understood, dealt with, not suppressed or ignored (what’s the alternative?). And it is a moral duty to say ‘fuck’ to most of the things in the lyrics (the first half). Actually, if people knew, they wouldn’t hesitate to declare themselves in very strong opposition to the things mentioned in the lyrics as a matter of life and death. That’s why the word ‘fuck’ is used as it’s the shortest and strongest exclamation of outcry – however banal – in our culture, etc. (apart from sex, and other few colloquial contexts). Whereas the word ‘fuck’ is being used in the context of callous inane rap music, 11:11 is using the word in its highest moral justification.

That’s why 11:11 is a real very rare underground rebel rap track in the age of the Internet Reformation  – thus it is a pioneering feat, regardless of much rap being accused of monotony, litany, etc. 11:11 is quite a different rant but you can’t see it if you are in the Matrix so to speak. Of course the ignorant cannot see what the words point to, only focusing on ‘fuck’ without meaning, dismissing the content out of hand because of this, unable to connect dots, many people being ignorant in their own decrepit dangerous illiteracy, and lost in space in regard to why the lyrics point to (mostly) highly significant phenomena in our time. And I don’t have the energy to insert +200 hyperlinks in the lyrics right now, but it would be a good idea if someone did (Update; I inserted links)

People blindly follow the path of useful idiocy and unwitting destruction, not knowing that they are – in varying degrees – controlled by the normalization of diseased socio-cultural entities, institutions and unacknowledged collective psychopathology, not to mention political masters of perception management: deep politics anddirected history defining much of their reality (perhaps the essence of the lyrics). It’s the most diehard hardcore enlightened lyrics so far because of the above-mentioned things by the way, not the word ‘fuck’….but it’s also deeply moral, if not spiritual, exactly because of the word ‘fuck’ in the context of what should be (mostly)‘fucked’ (anathema)…..if only more people knew…..

Fuck ignorance!

PS: And a commentary that encapsulates the mindset of millions within a growing global underground movement:

‘Those of you who are active members of the secret war are already aware of it. You’ve had no choice but to recognize your part in it. You may wonder why you have been targeted, and what you should do.

They are afraid of awareness, awareness is infectious and very powerful. Those of you who fully possess your spirit and mind have the ability to throw a wrench in the social machine. They don’t want you to know about your power. They would rather that you be afraid like everybody else. They will ambush, sabotage, assault, and confuse you until you no longer present a threat, or you are advanced enough to bypass their mental barrage. If you reach the level where you can no longer be controlled by fear, they will merely censor you entirely so you do not disrupt the power structure.

Whether you know it or not, we are at war. This isn’t a war that is spoken of, it concerns the human race, rather then respective countries or nations. As some of you know, it is a war of perception and information. As others of you know, it is a spiritual war, taking place on higher dimensions and reflected in physical form in global affairs, the media, and even the internet.

In essence, this is a war of control, and it is everywhere. The ultimate power is to take control of perception and eventually the mind and spirit. By controlling the media, TPTB can directly influence the ideas, hopes, dreams, and fears of the public. This control is not limited to mainstream media. It is at full scale even in the places you Might Least Expect.

Do not be fooled by public opinion. Let nobody dictate to you your reality. Not teachers, preachers, scripture, politicians. Train the only weapon that will be effective – the spirit and mind.

If you have been targeted by this game, remember that you are not alone, even if it sometimes seems as if you are.’
– anonymous

11:11 – Lyrics:
I guess there’s been some things on my mind so…

Fuck president Barack Obama, fuck his office, fuck his Cheshire cat grin, fuck his promise,
fuck all the politicians, fuck congress, fuck every senator that ever turn his back on us,
fuck Dianne Feinstein and fuck Max Baucus, fuck Harry Reid the senate leaders caucus,
but I fuckin loved when the stenographer started talking, I wish that bitch would run for office, for real,
fuck Jay-Z, fuck yeezus, this arrogant mother fucker actually thinks that he’s Jesus,
fuck Rockefeller, both the man and the label, fuck the deal that they made to put some gold on they table,
and fuck rain man, your inspiration is fake so, your nothing but a puppet for the devil to take yo,
and fuck Catholics, you gunna murder um Hove? fuck your bad back, mass whack, Lucifer flow,
and fuck the Luciferian imagery that you show, fuck your money and the scars on your souls,
fuck Ka$ha, fuck Katy Perry, fuck the dark horse that she rode, I see the owl on your album cover, Drake we know!
fuck Moloch, fuck Bohemian Grove, fuck your blood sacrifice rituals, fuck cults,
fuck the Bush’s and the Clinton’s, fuck Hillary most, fuck don Rahm Emanuel, and fuck George Soros,
fuck GMO‘s man, fuck Monsanto, fuck the chemtrails and the poisonous airflow,
fuck eating food that the transhumanists grow, and well, fuck you if you don’t know, so,
fuck HAARP and fuck weather warfare, fuck a 5 vortex tornado that Joplin had there,
fuck Sandy Hook, fuck the lies, fuck the crisis actors actin at the Boston finish line,
fuck Martial Law, fuck checkpoints shit, fuck illegal suspension of Posse Comitatus,
I guess just fuck everything that our founders taught us, fuck throwing guns in the garbage,
fuck your roundups, fuck your amendments to the 2nd amendment, fuck NDAA and your government prison,
fuck the Federal Reserve and the money they printin, fuck the monetary slave system, check it
fuck the FBI, Federal Bureau of lies, fuck the NSA, and fuck their spies,
fuck the Pentagon, fuck the CIA from behind, fuck everything that’s every been classified, yup!
fuck the IRS, fuck Lois Lerner, fuck Holder and the guns that he’s running over the boarder,
fuck drones, fuck torture, fuck waterboarding, fuck the American homeland security disorder,
fuck FEMA camps and the FEMA regional governance, fuck the guillotines they have in storage for us,
fuck BP and their oil exploding, fuck 9/11 and the stories they told us,
fuck building 7 implodin, fuck the militarization of all our police forces,
fuck warrantless door to door searches, fuck the system and fuck how they hurt us, it’s like we talking, but they never heard us,
fuck the New World Order, fuck the petrodollar, fuck the UN, fuck NATO, fuck all of it,
fuck the Trilateral Commission larsonists, fuck blaming Al-Qaeda when the West started um,
fuck false flags, fuck Gulf of Tonkin, what the fuck every happened to talking?
fuck flossin, fuck the superiority complex that we lost in, fuck Miley Cyrus, fuck abortion,
fuck FISA courts, and they closed doors and, fuck the Justice System, fuck lawyers,
fuck Bank of America, fuck J.P. Morgan, fuck Blackwater and their wanna-be soldiers,
fuck black ops, DARPA, and all of they programs, fuck Dick Cheney, and fuck Rumsfield too man,
fuck Chertoff, the TSA scanners and groping, fuck the police they growing here in the homeland,
fuck biochemical experimentation, in other words fuck vaccination!
fuck color of law, fuck implied consent, fuck wherever the Haitian earthquake money went,
fuck the EPA, fuck Fukushima, maybe Edgar Cayce was right, I guess we’ll see huh?
fuck Jon Corzine, fuck Wall Street, fuck CNN, Fox, fuck MSNBC,
I guess fuck ambassador Stevens and fuck his embassy, and fuck the Muslim Brotherhood beheading all their enemies,
fuck the American regime change policy, pardon me, I mean fuck our gift of democracy!
fuck order out of chaos, fuck the Freemasonry, fuck Skull and Bones, fuck your secret society,
fuck 322, and your 33 degree wizardry, fuck you for destroying what my ancestors give to me,
fuck a short beat, keep listening, fuck the hormones in the beef, pork and chicken,
fuck DNA manipulation, fuck leaving trillions in debt to our children,
fuck putting Fluoride in the water we drinkin, fuck the millions of homeless left freezing,
fuck any other option but to feed them! fuck the VA hospital budget restrictions,
fuck Homeowners Association evictions, fuck State and Federal for-profit prisons, fuck the Hollywood Bin-Laden mission,
fuck Madoff and his fuckin investments, fuck fuckin children off ad’s on the Craigslist!
fuck Credit Cards and fuck they interest, fuck Morgellons disease symptoms,
fuck the Saudi Arabians for the way they treat women, fuck the Sheiks and fuck they Kingdom,
fuck the deal Henry Kissinger gives them, fuck Henry Kissinger and fuck his wisdom,
fuck Zbigniew Brzezinski and his strategic vision, fuck one world religion, fuck Zionistic Globalism,
fuck the Illuminati, fuck they symbolism, fuck their pop culture mass hypnotism,
fuck Lil Wayne and fuck Cash Money, and fuck every single insurance company,
fuck marketing, fuck poverty, fuck the erosion of our National Sovereignty,
fuck humanities unnatural apathy, fuck Abercrombie, fuck Bircher Hathaway, and fuck you if your mad at me, yup!
fuck implantable RFID chips, fuck human trafficking, fuck sweat shop management,
fuck foxconn, fuck they suicide nets, and fuck Apple for their silent compliance in it,
fuck the suppression of human history, fuck the glaringly obvious contradictory imagery,
fuck NASA and fuck they secrecy, fuck Pfizer, fuck Merck, fuck Patent supremacy,
fuck the exclusion of natural remedies, and the same goes for Tesla’s technologies,
fuck the abuse and adolescent Psychology, fuck Ritalin, fuck Adderall, fuck Amphetamines,
fuck the over-prescribing in all of Psychiatry, fuck the paedophilic archdiocese,
fuck symptoms of acquired immune deficiency, fuck Cancer and fuck HIV, fuck me!
fuck the assassination of JFK, fuck anybody that ever got in the way,
fuck Richard M Nixon, and fuck his Watergate, fuck all the Bilderbergers and fuck the G8,
fuck Christine Lagarde, fuck her monetary funding, fuck never standing for something,
fuck abandoning your brethren, fuck Bel Air, fuck the Hamptons,
fuck what happened to Breitbart, fuck accidents happen! fuck burning Chris Dorner alive in the cabin,
fuck the Albuquerque police murdering people for Camden, and fuck the Albuquerque police captain for backin um,
and fuck his retraction, fuck his words, men speak with they actions!
fuck the corporations illegally purses, fuck feeling totally worthless,
fuck planned obsolescence with everything that you purchase, fuck empty wallets, and fuck empty purses
fuck no jobs in the cities for workers, fuck the local political circus, its not workin!
fuck Halliburton, fuck preferential Government contract distribution, and fuck ethical confusion, fuck that they know what they doin,
fuck class its cool to be stupid, fuck the Common Core Curriculum movement,
fuck budget cuts to arts and music, fuck not knowing words or how to use them,
fuck passively ignorant students, fuck parents to busy to tutor um,
fuck the collapse of the family unit, fuck the Aurora Colorado shooting,
fuck the Global Warming myth, fuck the Inconvenient Truth surrounding it, fuck the companies that positioned themselves to make money off of it,
fuck carbon offsets for profit, fuck Al Gores obnoxious, fuck the Matrix and fuck being lost in it,
fuck Heroine, fuck Oxycotton, fuck Dennis Rodman and fuck Michele Bachmann, fuck Google glass for always watchin,
fuck schemin and plottin, fuck dying old, alone and forgotten, bone growin mold in the coffin,
fuck being too hard or soft and, fuck being to cold to blossom,
fuck the Californication of Austin, and fuck the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman!
fuck what they did to Michael Jackson, fuck predatory Scientology brainwashing,
fuck being still over in Afghanistan, and fuck the UN Agenda 21 plan,
fuck not learning from our mistakes when we make um, fuck kicking the same damn can down the same road again,
fuck being cattle, fuck our controllers, fuck letting these mother fuckers control us, fuck dying young, but fuck getting older!

But there’s a lot to love …

But there’s a lot to love (Music Change)
But there’s a lot to love
But there’s a lot to love
But there’s a lot to love

I love the innocence in a newborns laugh
love the thought of being a newborns dad
love every baseball game I ever had
love the gravel and the grass
love the strawberry shasta that my grandmother had
I love the old cowboy hat on my gramps
I loved hearing him when I was at bat
I love the wrinkles on the back of his hands
And I love that I was there on the day that he passed
I love the freedom in women when women dance
I love optimistic romance
the magic it captures when you live in the moment
I love thanking the soldiers
welcoming them home again
I love the smell in the air when the rainstorm coming

love playing with my sister and her easy bake oven
I love shrinkie dinks, I love to color ’em
I love the tender touch of my mothers skin
I love that she stayed when my dad was a runner
love having a younger brother
love building forts out of leaver, out of lumber
love learning how to be men together
love the bond that we built forever
love playing the games on the Sega
but we were Super Mario Brothers when we got the nintendo
I love to think that we are still

I love stillness speaks by Echart Tolle
I love the way the pages made my eyes so open
I love the kindness of strangers when their hearts open
I love never stopping hoping
I love the thought of where we go when it’s over
I love honoring another’s culture
I love sponsoring the notion that there’s honor-in-culture
I love to make fun of Ann Coulter
I love lemongrass soup when the weather gets colder

I love the view of the lake from my porches
I love being okay that I don’t drive porsches
and I love that my baby also knows what’s important
See It’s important that I love and support her
and I love that-we-fell-in love when we were poor as a pauper
I mean we couldn’t be broker
no joke, and I love that it never broke her
I love that we still grow closer
and I thank God everyday for the opportunity he made for me to know her

I love music
I love the symphony that plays in your brain when you listen to it
I love the effect that it has on a Human
love that it heals us better then drugs do
love the rhythm a heartbeat beats to
I love being in audiences that Jeff Tweedy sings too
and I love Jack White without the raconteurs
I’d love to see Garth Brooks go back on tour
he’s been a friend when I’ve been in low places before
I love the thunder rolls but I love the river more
I love the architecture of the hollywood biltmore
I love buildings that were built back when we built more
I love waking up each day to find out what I’m still here for

I love the comedy in tragedy
and I love that when I point it out everybody gets mad at me
like I love wilford brimley before diabetes
but I hope his infomercials help him pay for his surgeries
I love getting harassed by the target security
I love that my jacket make them follow me
I love hearing my description on there walkie-talkies
I love letting them search me while the manager watches
I love hearing them say pardon me, please accept my apology
I love the vulnerability in Humanity honestly
I love using my TV to argue with sean hannity
I love fantasizing about back smacking him hard handedly

I love the blessing of the food in my pantry
I love finding a begging veteran and handing him twenty
I love that he was really ready to go die for my country
I love the feeling inside when he cried and he hugged me
I love the angels among me and I love that they love me
I love the conversations, I love the company
and especially
I love it when they come say whats up to me
I love Archangel Michael and I love what he’s done for me

I love doing theater in college (music start over)
I love the energy created in a building of knowledge
I love the lessons in the building of knowledge
I love that you could live forever and never know all of it
I love Halibut. I love smoked salmon fish
I love that people emphasize the L when they sounding it
I love hide and go seek and I love when I found it
I love when the Los Angeles police department had me surrounded
I love paying my bail with 10% and a promise
to appear before the Judge and be honest
let’s be honest, I forgot all about it
I love that I prioritize that shit way down at the bottom
I love smoking marijuana in autumn
I love Paramahansa Yogananda

I love to believe that we get to do this again
I love the Akashic Records, I’d love to read them
I love multidemtional theoretical theorems
I love redundancy I love redundancy
I love Los Angeles but I don’t love what she done to me
I love that I left and I don’t have a day of regret
It wasn’t meant to be but I love the memories yup
And I love my enemies don’t have my new Chicago address yet

I love the first amendment
I love the second
I love the third, fourth, fifth
I love the seventh
I love the sixth, eighth, ninth
I love the tehth-ith
I worship the church of the constitutional ten commandments
I love the rest of them too but they weren’t as dramatic
I love Minneapolis.
I love it.
I gotta have it.
I love Chicago too but its second on my love list
Aw, forget this
I love all the midwest
I love the tobacco smell when the splif lit
I love the music that second city audio machine did
I love nachos and cheese dip
I love knocking back a few double bottles of sharp cheddar cheese wiz

I love that its been 11 years since my last sip
I love that my sobriety’s lasted
I love that my old friends think that I am less of a bastard
now that I put down the Jack and put down the Captain
I love laughing
love that I was sober at my little sisters wedding
love that the details aren’t hard for me to remember
love the way the wind blew in from the harbor
I love that me and my brother proudly walked her up to the alter
I cant recall having ever felt such a swelling of honor
like the building of a chorus on the grandest piano
and I love that I felt sad for her father
I love that he didn’t come ever though we invited him and we tried to surprise her.

I love David Copperfield
I love magic
i love the mystery in the supernatural
I love the first bite of a crisp red apple
I love gatorade
I love snapple
I love when the test results say that its NOT cancer
I love the first breath of air right after
I love to often question the answer
I love my elementary pastor
he was responsible for me leaving the church faster

I love rocks and crystals
I love glock pistols
I love knock knock jokes
I love riddles
I love my wizard staff that I whittled
I love the first light of the sunrise when it crawls in my windows
I love going back to the dream world
I love leaving my body behind on my pillow
and flying over the top of a forrest of willows
I’m a master at astral-projecting. Love its potential.

I love exploring the metaphysical
Love the theories composing its principles
I love the subconscious and love the subliminal
I love the bible and I love that its biblical
I love to get analytical on whether its literal
or is its messages more metaphorically poetical
I love atheists
I love that they’re cynically critical
I love the right to think that what each other is thinking is pitiful
and I
I love to dance when nobody is watching
I love when my fiance dance. I love to watch it.
I love the soft skin on the side of her stomach (pause)
I love to love her and I love being lovers
I love pancakes smothered in butter
I love the last day of school and I love the first day of summer
I love that there is still so much more for all of us to discover
but the most important thing to love is love one another.

For real.

The Real Deal?


The REAL DEAL?

The REAL DEAL is fair…feeling not better or worse than anyone, but rather sees the world as a somewhat level playing field where balance rules a life of give and take.

The REAL DEAL is one who understands that everything must stem from and lead to equality; that his own perspective is but one of an infinite number of possible perspectives, all clouded by their own personal histories yet just as valid and important as his own. Being real is neither superior or inferior.

The REAL DEAL gains knowledge from others but earns wisdom from within. He does not expect to be given anything for free except the respect that he freely gives to everyone.

The REAL DEAL is one who understands that he is solely responsible for his own self-predicament in life, but also understands the complex and fickle nature of luck, timing, and pro-active behavior, which can all lead to his ultimate success or failure. In the end he accepts himself and takes any blame for his mistakes in life.

A man who doesn’t use material things as barometers for success and happiness, and instead sees them as unreliable measures which are at best self-indulgent ego-symbols; The REAL DEAL values close family and interpersonal relationships as a more meaningful predictor of feeling and finding true self-worth.

But The REAL DEAL understands how images are real and important and must be paid some attention. The REAL DEAL is more giver than taker, but feels equality is best served by a near equal exchange. He doesn’t keep the score, but instead senses it and honors others on his mental scorecard. In the end he never owes, but instead is always felt to be owed by many.

The REAL DEAL stands up to be counted in plain view, who does not coward from any situation or person, even those who may see him as an adversary. He does not cringe before any person, despite their size, title, or social status.

The REAL DEAL does not ever honor violence, but sees how nature supports it as one of her own children whom she still loves despite its sometimes abhorrent behavior. He would not intentionally hurt anyone, unless defending himself or those he loves, or meting out some deserved injustice.

The REAL DEAL is passionate about many things, who appreciates the natural beauty in all things. He is a part of and is made of parts as all things are. His is a “holonic” existence.

The REAL DEAL rarely apologizes as he understands how every action stems from a conscious motivation of fairness and goodness that he refuses to stray from.

The REAL DEAL looks everyone in the eye, never seeing through them or seeing his own reflection, but sees everyone as an amalgamation of a person who has experienced the good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly.

The REAL DEAL has an acute sense of awareness and feeling using a keen developed sense most humans have not developed, mainly due to their harried daily existence. This sense stems from a mental ,ability to do great mathematical calculations, without realizing he has done so.

The REAL DEAL does not deny nor accept the existence of God as fact, simply knowing that semantically speaking God can be many things to many people. He also understands how philosophy, art, and the sciences can provide a positive working framework for his existence, without the need for a God.

The REAL DEAL can forgive and forget, yet he never forgets those who are unrepentant. He might sometimes punish those whom he sincerely feels are purveyors of evil and destruction. This arises from his keen sense of equanimity, not hate.

The REAL DEAL is always… for real.

A letter to Dylan Thomas Adams-Brace


Dylan,

You wanted to know what it means to be The REAL DEAL?

Being REAL is acknowledging your mortality, but not succumbing to the negative vibe which we learn from others throughout our lives.

One cannot know anything about life unless one understands that by living, one accepts dying. Don’t deny- rather embrace that fact. Experience your subtle perceptions of pleasure and of pain as lessons in living. Examine your inner feelings, get to know yourself. Be who you are and want to be.

Any critique of anything you make is only as good as your understanding of how opposites need a counterpart for their own existence, their own survival. Thus any comment on good or great is dependent on your experience with bad and terrible. Lose the hate and embrace everything as your personal playground. Try to always feel yourself in the moment.

Being REAL is being thankful for your existence, whatever that is. Its all you’ve got. Learn to laugh about it. Enrich it with lasting love and friendships, and especially family. never forsake another person in need or seeking your help. Someday, you may reverse roles.

Awareness of self and of your own individual agenda as a human of good moral character is key. If you always stay true to the moral creed I’ve tried to instill, you will never have to remember what you say or how you act, as you’ll know that you have nothing to regret. No apologies will be needed. You are being you through and through, and that’s good. As my good buddy-man Tipster likes to say, “if you’re right, you can’t be wrong”.

Having and developing a keen sense of propriety, common decency and equality with everyone is important no matter what your or their station in life or social status. Or age, gender, creed, code, or religion… as it will serve you well throughout our life. You can’t read a book by it’s cover.

Being REAL is being ageless, and though you may comprehend the basic natural order of things, never succumb to pre-destined rules of order or mindset that needlessly limits openness, creativity, and love; yet neither should you worship youth as perfection. You are my greatest example of that premise since I was twice your mother’s age and look at what we produced together.

The entropic forces of time may affect physical beauty, but never assume this is related to better or worse. It is an entirely separate issue.

Your personal truth can only be found in your own personal life experiences, so cherish every moment and find your way on your own time… and make your own path if needed despite the brambles, bushes, and briars. You can follow or lead, or like me prefer to create your own path. The choices for you are all REAL and pertinent in your ever expanding journey through space/time.

Above all… Have fun and enjoy! That’s REAL.

DadFuture

Vida después de su muerte mi amigo


life after their gone my friend

Written a few years ago for a friend whose boyfriend was suddenly killed in a bike week motorcycle accident. I too was struggling through a recent sudden loss, making the moment even that more poignant… I thought I had lost the poem, but found (some of) it in a file drawer the other day.


life after their death, my friend

Sitting here by Kimberly’s grave
thoughts turn to you and Tony
life too short for both of them
our grief the testimony.

Who lives or not whose choice it be
or just the dice who say?
does God play poker, or is he the Joker
is it black and white, or grey?

And who am I that thinks of you
does a mirror speak the truth?
etching names in granite destroy the planet
isn’t uphill downhill too?

Does our narrow vibration on this playing field
prove that we “exist for real”, or only “sense” we do?
manifesting our love not by, “they’re dead and gone”
but “they live in our hearts and will see us through?”

And don’t we create our own version of real
realizing ourselves… in all our think, our say, and do?
Yes, we’re exactly who we think we are
and there’s part of Kimberly always alive in me…

and I think… always some Tony… in you.

my little man at 2.


P1100005

U asked me to draw U a picture;

first a truck, a garbage truck,

then a fire truck.

it looked kind of funny.

U said, “can U draw me a lamp? a house? a tree? but, i’m not good with dogs.”

then U asked me to tell U a story.

i told you about an old fire truck and a fire.

but before i was through U said U found some putty and made it into a gumball and a big bubble at sam’s club.

your hands were cold.

“what happened”, U asked?

U found a toy truck under the chair.

“why did the truck run into the big trailer? why daddy? tell me why did the truck crash into the big trailer?”

by then U decided to go swimming. i helped you with your floatees.

“the right one doesn’t fit too easy”, U said

you hugged me and you were happy… your smile lit up my day…

all i could say was

“I love you more than anything (even beer).”

No Method, No Guru, No Teacher…my Epiphany


…Or, my Quest For The Holy Grail, which I eventually did find by spending a life of studious observation, sometimes deep serendipitous thought, gawdy mis-informed and unabashedly arrogant fun, a dash of inordinate happenstance, and then… by the most fortunately-unfortunate of Accidents…

It’s no secret to those who know me well that I’ve learned life’s greatest lessons with a kind of “ridiculous oppositional defiance”; with that line of thinking having been one of my life’s greatest teachers. Though I now bow to it as my master of destiny, I cannot recommend this course of study to the faint of heart, weak of mind, or anyone who CANNOT become completely convicted of it’s arrogant, self-righteous path of expectorating the most resistance between any two points in the continuum.

In other words, if you have to be brought to your knees and dragged kicking and screaming before some of life’s simplest concepts, then… you may be considered a candidate for my school of thought. Admittedly, there ought to be a better means to attaining wisdom. But as has been for me; NOT.

Moi?

Self indulgent… yes. Self centered… definitely. Self defeating… mostly. Self aware… acutely. Self serving… without question. Selfish… morally bound by it, yet in a positive sense. Self-hatred… never and not even for an instant. Self-Actualized… I like to think so. Self motivated… once upon a time…

“WTF? Whoa… what happened Diggeratti? Why? I mean… your Dudeness, you kinda sound to me like you need to see a shrink. You don’t sound like the guy I once thought I knew.”

My retort?

“You know what? You’re absolutely right. I mean, about that last part, but if there’s one thing I DO KNOW FOR CERTAIN, IT’S THAT I DO NOT NEED A SHRINK. Got it?”

For all of my known life I’ve searched for “the secret” to it… (that being, the secret of life).

I have never divulged this story to anyone in it’s entirety, though perhaps I’ve shared small morsels to some close friends along the way; but only here and there and never enough for anyone to frame a complete picture of my personal Quest for that Holiest of Grails.

I can remember my fourth grade teacher calling my parents to request a parent-teacher conference because I was “the most argumentative boy she had ever had the displeasure of teaching.” She reasoned that I thought I knew more than she did, and that would just be the height of stupidity. Of course, she was right on all accounts.

Fourth graders HATE the idea of being told they’re wrong. And sometimes they are RIGHT, but they can’t say why.

But hey, did I let that stop me? “Uh-uhn. No sir, Not today Miss Smarty Pants. Not me. Nada. You can’t embarrass my little ole’ butt and expect to  get by with it.”

Fourth grade was a rough year for me.

Looking back, it was the year I framed the questions, and then demanded answers. Yet, no answers were forthcoming. But still I weathered on…

Having grown up on… let’s just say… not the bright side of the road (a lower middle class blue collar too many kids neighborhood), and being a tad small for my age group, I HAD to learn how to defend myself amongst the sea of bullies and general fuck-wads of Louisville’s South End, while keeping the blood flowing inside my nose.

I mastered the art of “holier than thou” with double-edged insult and crafty innuendo, tough guy talk (but not too tough as to result in fisticuffs), and then finally making friends with the biggest and toughest guys so as to keep the multitude of snapping sharks at bay. Still, I was not immune to an ill-advised attempt at busting some ass myself, which generally resulted in my own busted ass. Yet, I drunk it all in and I learned something new every day.

But not the reason for my existence.

Somehow god smiled on me around high school and I became a high school sports star (distance running), bringing glory and fame to my hood and school and earning exalted status amongst the good guys and neer-do-wells alike. Life, all of the sudden got a tad simpler for me.

I run. I win. They love. All good.

Now, I wasn’t an “A” student at any point in my young life, preferring to glide instead of propel. Though from my earliest days I can remember, too many times some school person informed my parents that it was a bit unusual that I did not make straight A’s given my way-above-the fray IQ. On standardized tests I invariably scored in the 98-99 percentile while dragging home C’s and B’s on my report cards.

My parents, who were more than all-too ready to indulge me in whatever it was I might happen to desire at any moment, were extremely smart uneducated folks. They used logic and reason (and pots and pans) to argue their many disagreements over the pettiest of issues. They were never bitten by the bug of glutinous consumerism, and were just happy enough to love their children immensely, while still not setting the bar too high for them; I assume to somehow insure our future dog-eat-dog worldly success. It worked.

The moral of that story has to do with familial LOVE in it’s most raw, unconditional sense.

So… anyway, I had devised my own little secret quest by around 7th grade. That not-so-small idea was: that I was going to find out for certain what our/my purpose was on this here little-ole spinning ball of dirt sitting way-too-far away from billions of way bigger balls as to be arrogantly considered of any significance by even the most unreasonable of minds in all of mice and men.

Having spent 10 years attending Catholic School I was absolutely certain that they (Roman Catholicism) were so full of shit that even a little fourth grader couldn’t buy into their baloney ass stories. I mean, by fourth grade I had already surmised that getting into heaven simply meant winning the genetic lottery. No god of any denomination could be that stupid, I figured.

My questions became arguments with seemingly (at the time) much smarter people early on, but I wasn’t about to shut up until they told me the truth. They never did. Nor did I ever STFU… and I realized far too soon to be considered healthy for any young mind that “they” (conventional wisdom) hadn’t the slightest fucking clue. To be sure, I wanted some REAL answers!

But, that little hate-show of mine disappeared once I became a high school sports star. I was too busy buying into the BIG LIE because it was fun, exciting, sexually conducive to my screaming testosterone, and material worldly attractive as a MO-FO to a guy who grew up thinking that a new pair of white high top Chuck Taylors was the ultimate gift in all of heaven-kind. Possibilities were becoming boundless and I was soaking in the poison and drinking it up like a lap dog with a new doggie bone.

Then came College. The Life. The Audacity! I had more fun than fourteen barrels of monkeys and forty-two barrels of single barrel malt Bourbon Whiskey, any Kentucky boy’s drink of choice and one-upmanship. And, it was the mid-seventies so pot was collegiately legal as well. It seemed that the world was here to become my personal oyster, and I had the munchies.

Or was it?

Post College. The BIG BUY-IN to THE BIG LIE. Now here’s where there are men, and there are boys on our puny little thin crust of oxygenated Garden of Once-Upon-A-Time Eden, soon-to-be Sodom and Gomorrah. (Why I do love me some Biblical quotation and/or reference!). Which one did I want to be? Take a guess. Go on, git’ you one. Oh, I’m all man… babeeey!

For sure, at this point in life’s roulette wheel of fortune one can either JOIN or NOT JOIN. Not Joining will surely NOT get you the keys to the best and finest of anything. Better to JOIN if you’re in the least enthralled with power, pussy, money, fame, highly limited material items, world travel, bad golf on the finest green lawned courses, or all other humanly delusions of grandeur. Boy, I liked ’em all. If there had been a Facebook Page for them I could prove it to you right now, and they just might wish to then, “like” me back.

But then, I digress…

Some folks who caught my flash thought/think they knew/know who I was/am. I played my part like a virtuoso for them all to see and marvel about. And, I might just add in a bit of total narcissistic self-immersion, I marveled at my damn-self a bit too. Deep down in me I felt a growl. Buried under my own self-image of worldly greatness there still lay that little unfinished business of a secret quest. But, it by then had had gathered much dust.

Truth be known, when I first learned of it, I denied its existence completely, blocked it from my intellect, refused its admittance into my panopoly of raging-life-parties. Yet, I somehow felt it was always standing just outside my door, peering in my windows day and night. But, it dared never knock at my door! Denial.

After all, I was by then a star of my own astronomical proportions. Call me space man. But, please call me so we can figure out what it is you can do for me, OK? And guess what? Me being all that I could possibly be, there was likely a shit load that I could do for you too. Mutual astronomical greatness we were! The vaunted “Win-Win” in the solar system cliché ridden parlance of the day.

Now, it can also be said that in most “core value” ways I have never changed one single iota, nor would I have ever considered it as worthy of my almighty damn-self to do so. After all I had eclipsed Mt. Olympus and now was considered by a small group of people (me, myself, and I) to be of the very essence of the gods.

Tru-dat. But alas, it was NOT to be.

I rumpled feathers every step of the way up the ladder of ascension to material worldliness and ironical self-absorption. If it reeked “the best” or “most expensive” I was all in. If they said “no”, I demanded “yes”. Good was no longer acceptable. For I was all about GREATNESS.

During those heady times the elusive answer which I did faithfully seek since childhood remained elusive, yet it began to slide uneasily to the forefront of my mind and studies, as I read hundreds of books containing both new and ancient wisdom from every perspective on every subject. (Crazy enough, I did all this  while driving many long hours almost every day in my profession for over 20 years).

I eventually came to the ultimate truth in an odd way; since not one book that I had read contained the answer (unless one considers “Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors” by Carl Sagan). That book stunned me to my core, and tied together various newer ideas in physics and philosophy. So then armed with Carl’s brainy wisdom, I eventually figured it all out for myself. But, still I wasn’t at all certain. It was just too simple.

Though it would be remiss of me not to mention that there had been a goddess driving my chariot during a near 20-year span of semi-marital bliss, it would also be imprudent and essentially wrong of me not to say that herein the first cracks began to show in my own majestic glorified godliness.

So… just when the gettin’ was gettin’ absolutely fabulous, the bottom sorta fell out. Plunge.

I had sunk to committing the most egregious crime most men seek out with an unworldly zestful appetite… adultery. Ungodly for sure. Un-Saintly, yes. Most un-Diggity, for certain.

On the surface infidelity may sound a bit trite to the accomplished reptile.

But here we had a man-god who had built his god-self-reputation out of all things pure unadulterated integrity. His own self-image was now rendered a literal a sham of the highest immoral degree. Having long since vanquished the various world religiosities as total and absolute frauds, I now had only to rely upon simple humanistic ethics.

Almost too sleazily human, I proffered.

Now un-deification of oneself requires a re-start of sorts, not to be confused with a do-over or a mulligan. Starting over from scratch. Ground fucking zero.

To further muddy my suddenly stormy world, I apparently was caught in the eye of a nasty hurri-karmic cyclical deluge of sorts. In fairly quick succession I weathered the deaths of my sweet (nonnie) grandmother, then my loving mother, and finally my always you-da-man dad. A personal tsunami of epic proportions. Fuck an el-Nino… this shit was bad. All wet and no place to hide.

And like a fine motor yacht that has been cut loose from its moors, I drifted out into a raging, foamy sea.

That world, the money-as-god-everything world from which I had laid the foundation for my existence, and then had built gold brick upon gold brick with my own golden sweat was nothing but a thinly veiled house of cards. It was THE BIG LIE.

The good news was that within these unfortunate events lay the definitive answer to my long sought after secret to my existence, which I immediately NOW understood all-too-well but all-too-late. I won’t say that I was elated, but I was way smarter and wiser than the fool I had left behind me.

Family…

That’s the secret. In the end your family is the most important reason for your living and being. Mine were now all dead, save my two “the real deal” better-than-me, wiser-older, childless sisters.

It seemed that almost every fool on the planet but me had known the simple secret, and all without knowing they knew it. It was just ALL TOO SIMPLE and all-too-humanistic.

But seriously, if one does consider science to be a revealing and enlightening subject, a cursory review of evolutionary history will belie my point over and over and over and over again. Read it and weep. Forget Deuteronomy. Learn the history of life.

Family. It’s what we live for, it’s what we die for, it’s what we strive for. Was I too little too late?

Suddenly, like some drunken riverboat gambler aimlessly pulling slots who haphazardly strikes THE BIG JACKPOT, I stumbled into an epiphanic episode of REAL TRUTH, that one which I had previously been loathe to avoid.

In fact, I was rather brought kicking and screaming into this ultimate reality bite (see above)… at almost fifty years of age; I was becoming a first time dad whether I liked it or not. At the time, I had rather not.

Oh my!

But then the very moment my newborn son was placed in my arms and our eyes connected I was forever lost then found by life’s highest order of it’s highest order of it’s highest order of all things sacred and TRUE and GOOD. Pure previously unfathomable, but now undeniable unconditional LOVE. I swooned. All of life’s past, present, and future shook me, rocked me to my very essence… oh my!

My purpose. My reason of reasons. Bang! Bow! Biff! Yeah! Oh yeah! YES. A primordial orgasm that gave its fiery commandments to me with my giddy consent… and like Moses I looked around for my tablet.  And lo’ Brother and Sister, I sayeth unto you; god-life hath honoredeth me with the highest joy ever beknownst unto all of mankind. The heavens were exalted!

My “family” secret. Solved.

Happy ending? I think so…

A Saint looks at 60…


Daylight erupts slowly through her curtained bedroom sliding glass doors today. Sandy’s (the Hurricane) early morning cloud casts its doubt about the day’s normal clear South Florida’s October sunshine; tiny slivers of light blink brightly across the canal’s warm waters as it’s rays reflect off the stainless steel of bobbing boats moored in their private slips.

 

Like a hard-drive spinning up to speed, her brain engages as quickly and surely as it has almost every morning for as long as she can remember. Chores to be done, obligations, and other activities spring optimistically forward; blending together as she momentarily but happily reviews her plans for the day. (While some of us require a Sludge-hammer to switch us on – that portion of coffee beans and water at the bottom of a coffee pot).

There are clothes to wash, summer clothes to pack up, a lingering promise to her husband to help him type and organize his over-sized computer song list (15,000 songs), Pilates class, prescriptions to fill, lunch and dinner to prepare (neighbors hinted that they might “drop by” so there are groceries to acquire just-in-case), and of course her one self-centered fulfillment; she promised herself a long hot bath using the new bath beads she had received as a gift from one of her many female friends. She had read about these particular bath beads and was anxious to give them a try… yet this was her first opportunity since she had received them back in July.

After all, she surmised…it was her 60th birthday today!

So goes the life of one who constantly, incessantly, unfailingly gives. She gives today like she gave yesterday and all of the other 219,300 days before. Yet her giving is natural and heartfelt, never begrudgingly. My sister Sylvia (much like our sister Kathy) is a GIVER, and very rarely if ever a taker. Perhaps her giving began as a counterweight to her only brother’s taking. Maybe my sisters gave and gave to simply balance my take and take when we were very small?

Whatever her reason, I sense that it is honest, sincere. She has never changed in that sense. Anyone who has ever had chance to encounter her I’m certain has benefited from this woman’s desire to give to those she loves and is positively acquainted with.

Sylvia has also benefited from a favorable genetic arrangement of her physical features. Since I can first remember, men (or boys) have practically swooned at her physical presence. My other older sister and I were not so fortunate. While we struggled through our lives to remain attractive, Sylvia non-chalantly  “sauntered” through her existence with drop-dead looks. She was always “the Cat’s meow”.

And today, at 60 without too much trying… the woman still turns heads with her looks. But to me, its what’s inside her that really carries the mail.

Rightfully she is happy, and she is loved by many, admired by many more I’m sure. And, to this lucky brother she is practically worshipped… though she would deny it and hasn’t the slightest clue.

So, to my Wonderful Sister Sylvia, one whom I LOVE and admire more than she can ever know…

Happy 60th Birthday!

Your brother T

 

Thoughts on the individual.


A poem.
THE MAN IN THE GLASS
When you get what you want in your struggle for self
And the world makes you king for a day
Just go to the mirror and look at yourself
And see what that man has to say.

For it isn’t your father, or mother, or wife
Whose judgment upon you must pass
The fellow whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the one staring back from the glass.

He’s the fellow to please – never mind all the rest
For he’s with you, clear to the end
And you’ve passed your most difficult, dangerous test
If the man in the glass is your friend.

You may fool the whole world down the pathway of years
And get pats on the back as you pass
But your final reward will be heartache and tears
If you’ve cheated the man in the glass.

Peter Dale Wimbrow Sr.

I love me some Demarcus Cousins!


I recently wrote a piece when DC was drafted, about how “lucky” The Kings were to land such a gifted, yet unrealized potential in one Demarcus Cousins. I posited that they were treating him like an indentured slave on their team, in their press, in their whiny-ass homes. I mean, I can read.

My post was met with derision, ridicule, hatred, and venom since I was apparently not one of the in-the-knows about all things Sactown. Even later, as the dice had spun and landed squarely on the Yo, few (none) of Sactown’s readers were apt to acknowledge that it was not me; it was they who had been wrong about the Big ole Boogie Man.

The Titanic took on water, but the man played on… Demarcus Cousins: Raw yes, unrefined for sure… but with a body and a basketball awareness that eventually only Dwight Howard will match. Yet, DC is arguably better than Dwight because he can run and pass, dribble and shoot, and forget it…rebound like a man possessed. Oh, and Dwight, yes he can and will DUNK at the slightest notion. Face.

He has used his supposed immaturity in such a mature manner. He proved to his detractors that it is they who are wrong and will continue to be wrong about his CHARACTER. The young man is NO THUG. He is as home-spun as the Alabama roots from which he came.

He is an All-Star anywhere but in the politicized public relations arena known as the NBA chatter-box. He doesn’t fit their Shane Battier mold. I’ve met Shane, and yeah he’s nice kid too. But, I like me some Demarcus Cousins. Think it… say it. Don’t pause, post. Sacramento? A smog-fest side show wih a Napolean complex.

Yet, they make the same money for playing the game of NBA basketball. Battier, a nice compliment to most any team is from Duke, that almighty drunk-fest in North Carolina. But Demarcus Cousins he is not! Some whiny poster lambasted me for posting “Demarcus…GTF out of Sactown” He reasoned DC is on a Rookie salary cap.

WTF? Are you serious little boy? You think I don’t understand that, you obvious retard? Sacramento is over the salary cap, BTW. The rules change bimbo! DC needs to ask, NO… DEMAND a trade to a town that not only understands the game, but understands what card they are holding with the ACE OF SPADES in Demarcus Cousins. Where the N word has been abolished.

After three well thought out, intelligently written posts on Sacramento’s little puny web-blog site, and being villified in much the same manner as they treat their real star player, I fired back with some witty observations about their fanbase that was less than kind. I was banned from the site. OH MY! Their Editor, showing his lack of understanding in all things Journalism, refused to explain the ban to me (as if I gave a rat fu*k). He just said we don’t need any assholes in our little “community”.

My response?

“Well….I didn’t call anybody an asshole, YOU ASSHOLE!”

Demarcus is his own man, and being that is not bound by the straightjacket imposed by the marketing genius/idiots currently employed by the league. I wonder, are there any free-thinkers left in Sacramento?
DC makes 9 times less than Kobe Bryant, 6 times less than Zack Randolph, 3 times less than Emika Okafor, just to name a scant few. My GOD, he makes almost 7 times less than a player in Orlando that does not start! So, if that’s gonna be the case, why not play where bigotry is not the order of the day?

If the Kings are smart, and only god knows why that should that change anytime soon… they will begin to show some love for the man who can bring them home a ring in the not-so-distant future, and show him the appreciation he only wants and loves, and needs from the rest of humanity’s ill-advised, headline only reading public.

Cousins isn’t the problem, he’s the solution. Give him some LOVE soon or Sactown basketball will be like Sacramento after the California Gold Rush. Empty and without future prospects.

-30-

FATHERS DAY


Woke up one morning after an ill-conceived fatty
Now instead of being his Father, they called me his baby-daddy.
And If life is like golf, they might as well called me her caddie.

She had the queen, I just held the jack
I played the joker and she played her rack.
AND, thats how the light gets in; it finds a SMALL crack.

As I was stiffin her, she was stiffin me
But when I first saw his face, it turned to… an Epiphany.
A whole life I’D spent…searching for my role, then I suddenly looked down… I was standing on the goal.

She got dealt some bad cards, QUICKLY folded her hand and left the table
But I kept the prize, and she’s now JUST a fable
Now I’m a seven year-old’s Daddy, and there’s no LOVE more willing or ABLE.

So here’s to being a Father,
All it took was a screw
I like it so much… NOW I’m a Daddy for two.

 

“What Will Come and What May”


-Written for a Special friend and mother (Stefanie) of a beautiful two year old (Jayden) on Mothers Day 2008.

They had spent the last week or two living with us due to an ex-boyfriend gone mad, and the changing dynamics had left an indelible mark on all our psyches. Our parenting styles were vastly different and we were both frustrated and confused…not to mention how the arrangement affected our TWO beautiful reasons to live, OUR SONS Jayden and Dylan.

While they went to Cocoa to enjoy the beach, and Dylan (my son) went to his grandma’s house for Mother’s Day, i had a few moments, (finally) alone to relax, reflect  and write this sing-songy poem…

You say i know nothing and nothing i might.

But to jump on conclusions would be a dark ride at night,

With scars healed by daylight and bones who’ve felt  bite

I must take you and your screaming to the woodshed of light

There once lived a young maiden, in a land far away

Spent 20 years of bailing yet making no hay

Her mind was confused keeping demons at bay.

THOUGH she was sharp, strong and able, somehow that didn’t pay,

She was searching for answers, but figured “what will come and what may”

Meanwhile, back at the office of crisis and crowd

The vortex had summoned my life SO clear and SO loud.

I was forced to eat porrage of love and deceit,

Then i woke up in heaven, and whom did i greet?

A line of old men who all looked like my dad

Their clothes matched each other’s, not yellow or red,

They were the color of ‘old wisdom’, they were gray flannel dead.

I was happy to see them, i think they were me, (i thought they were me?)

But then i was certain when they all stood to pee

My limelight soon over, their focus turned off of me,

Just behind my left shoulder sat (my son) in our Tree.

The branches were spindly, they all shook when he smiled,

My love was enormous but our chances looked vile.

I figured…  no need to worry, ”what will come and what may”

Then I watched  you with (Jayden), at Cocoa Beach… yesterday?

I grabbed my son Dylan, ran and waved while  I held back my tears

My dads all said goodbye, but  that I might not see them  see them for years

Between the dead and the living, it’s only us with the fears

But  I felt  this profound implication in loving our peers.

When I saw you again, I was no longer mad nor was I sad

I knew that our friendship was too important to let it go like some fad.

Your lovely smile lit my soul and I was thrilled you came my way

It was the day our lives intersected at the corner of  ”what will come and what may”

-30-

Introducing the babyDaddy Safety Seat


FAQ

No way a child can climb out or fall out of the seat which is securely fastened to your bike.

What is it?

Simply put, its a motorcycle passenger seat designed for riders aged 12 months – 48 months with their safety and comfort in mind, without taking any of the driver’s attention away from normal road conditions and traffic.

 Why ride children on motorcycles at all? Isn’t it dangerous?

Of course, motorcycle riding can be dangerous with or without using proper safety measures; and sometimes by events that are beyond the driver’s control. Yet, despite the obvious safety hazards, motorcycling is a hobby safely enjoyed by millions of people worldwide today.  Small children are typically not able to remain safely seated as passengers on most motorcycles, therefore they should not ride under those conditions. The choice of whether to allow a child to ride falls to the child’s parent or responsible guardian, who should take responsible precautions to insure the child’s safety. The babyDaddy safety seat is designed with small children in mind, so that they cannot fall from the motorcycle, or hinder the driver during normal motorcycle operation.

There’s nothing like it anywhere and yet the demand is overwhelming.babydaddy

 Is it legal?

Each US State has its own safety regulations with regards to the operation and safe riding of motorcycles. After a thorough investigationof each State’s unique laws and regulations, it is apparent that our seat is legal in all 50 US States and Territories.

Which bikes are best suited for use of this apparatus?

The babyDaddy safety seat has been designed to adjust and fit to most manufacturer’s regular motorcycle’s passenger seat, where it can be safely mounted and fastened to disallow any movement in the seat during normal motorcycle operation. Also, the seat is designed to adjust to each child’s leg length and seat capacity, further insuring a comfortable and safe ride with a responsible driver. Reinforced steel underpinnings make the seat stronger than the motorcycle it is attached to, while steel cross guards insure that a child cannot climb out of the seat without assistance.

My original seat was tested almost daily  with a child who grew from six months to almost five years of age, always utilizing the same seat. During that time there were zero accidents, as most car drivers took extra precaution when they noticed a child aboard my 1995 Heritage Softail, and I am an especially safe driver myself.

 What do others think of the device?

 Over that four year period, hundreds if not thousands of people saw and approved of the seat by their positve comments everywhere we traveled (I did not want to travel long distances with my son… the longest trip was about 50 miles each way.). People young and old realized how safe and happy we were as traveling partners, and enthusiastically endorsed my decision to create a way for my young son to bond even closer to his single parent; In this case his dad. In four years I never heard one negative comment about riding with my child.

 At least 20-30 people stopped me to ask where they might be able to buy one, or if I might make one for them personally (which I always declined). I was stopped at traffic lights, in restuarants, and at ball games by individuals who wanted to acquire a seat for riding their own child. The demand is high for providing  a safe way to ride small children on their parent’s motorcycle.

 A personal message from the Inventor/Designer:

At 49 and childless, I had long since decided against parenthood. To me at the time, children were loud, unruly, and would be disruptive of the peaceful life I had lived, and planned to continue to live in that vein. One careless afternoon with an ex-girlfriend changed that plan and my life inexoribly and forever, when I found out that she was pregnant with my child and had every intention of making me a first time Father.

Some things in life we cannot change, so I decided to take full and total responsibility, and buy into this new chapter about to begin in my life. I figured that if I was going to be a dad, I was going to be a great dad and have my son 50% of the time legally allowed to parents in Florida who are not living together.

 In my past life I had been a motorcycle enthusiast to that same fervant degree.

Every summer for 20 straight years I had taken at least a one month motorcycle trip to somewhere. I had traveled in 15 countries and across this country more than once,  throughout some States 10-20 times, always enjoying the freedom and pleasure of motorcycling. I rode almost every day after moving to Florida in 2003, and nothing was going to stop me from continuing my love for riding.

 Yet, on January 30, 2005 I found that there is a greater LOVE than motorcycling, when my new baby son, Dylan was born. Call it a Peak Experience, an epiphany, or a paradigm shift in my thinking and being… or call it unconditional LOVE. All the sudden life was no longer meaningful or enjoyable without my best friend Dylan at my side.

 Unfortunately, a tragic accident in October 2006 took the life of Dylan’s mother, and I was left to raise him alone. I had already designed a number of useful things from from scraps of junk metal and other materials in my spare time. Now I NEEDED to design something special; for me it would be for the most precious cargo on the planet.

Hence:

The babyDaddy safety seat

 My point in this is that contrary to any naysayer or negative thinker, this seat was built from LOVE, with LOVE. People can second guess what they might or might not have done in my situation, but the truth is my reality can only be observed from my unique perspective. No one else has a valid perspective.  As a long time follower of AYN RAND and the philosophy of objectivity, I’ve made it my business not to interfere in other people’s lives, while I demand they show me the same respect.

The truth is that a baby seat for your child is only appropriate or NOT coming from your own viewpoint. If your son or daughter is anything like my seven year old Dylan, they will thank you for allowing them so many special times spent with you. Dylan and I have the greatest bond between any child and father possible. I know this for sure: The one thing that made that possible was having The babyDaddy safety seat.

 Safe Riding!

-thom adams

 thom adams@hotmail.com

2337 worthington rd

maitland, florida 32751

321-356-7040

check me out on LinkedIn.com

 Out.

Buddy Fuck or Buddy Love?


Romantic love and real friendship are as vital to the human soul as basic nutrition is to our bodies.

We spend our lives affecting and becoming infected not just by the many interpersonal relationships we initiate, develop and sustain, but also those that for various reasons we let slide into the immensity of no return. though we might notice an occassional mistake in judgement and adjust, sometimes it’s too late. it pays us to take careful heed of the precarious nature of love and friendship as we move through our lives if happiness is our ultimate goal..

Our hearts can somehow sense what is intrinsically good or bad in relationships despite conflicting advice sometimes being shouted at our inner-self by our rational mind; then it attempts to sublimely guide our actions, while our rational mind factors in real issues and pressures that are exerted from the outside world. our inner-self does the math and our conscience agenda is set.

With love the truth always eventually rises to the surface.

Love chooses us, not the other way around. it is somewhat preordained as to whom we are attracted to and those we find unsuitable and reject. sometimes, to our brains our heart’s choice doesn’t make good sense. at this stage of my life (53), when it comes to love, my heart rules over my brain in a close one.

But it wasn’t always that way, and in fact not for most of my life. our lives are lived in segments, which stitch together as one in the end. our loves lives can seem incongrous to us because of the inner battle between heart and mind can sometimes become unbalanced.

Youth is impetuous and idealistic; the perfect stage for a heart in firm control over the brain. young people are notorious for their poor decisions when it comes to love.

as we enter our 20’s the balance changes and so too do our needs and wants in a mate. as life gets tougher and our responsibilities grow, we begin to be more practical. our expectations in love relationships become more grounded as we project how love will look in the future instead of seeing only the immediate benefits of a love interest we weigh and project a forecast for the future. does it show promise of providing us an easier life(style)? more loving and secure family? is it a friendly partnership? physical attraction is still important but becoming less weighted.

here is also where the brain can trick us into thinking that love can be bought and sold like any commodity. our heart takes a back seat while the rational mind does most of the driving during these formative years. after all the brain counts the money, not the heart.

later on goals adjust again and the heart begins to demand attention once again. we see that true happiness IS a matter of the heart, a concept our brain would just as soon we had forgotten. if we’re too impulsive, we may make life altering decisions that we will regret later, when the mind regains it’s footing and begins to assert it’s valuable wisdom. like every thing else in life, a good balance is what we’re after.

and then again, sometimes we’re just lucky and we meet a special person that satisfies our brain and our heart equally, and as much as we satisfy theirs. that’s true love and it usually lasts.

so when you meet someone and begin to form a relationship with them be careful not to make rash judgements that you may regret later. keep in mind (and heart) who your true friends are likely to be later on. in life. Love can become friendship and vice-versa. i know because both have happened to me.