even more random thoughts, order not included

I hate people who lie. And I am the biggest liar I know.

So this presents a very serious issue for me, it is itself the root of all of my many problems. Problems ranging from my failure to grow up, which in turn is a result of my failure to desire to become something of an adult. Now I just feel like a bad test case for some shitty Peter Pan complex. I just have become adept at avoiding any and all responsibility for myself, and the worst part is (for me at least, now that I have really sat down and thought about it) I could probably keep this shit up forever. I don’t know if I should be sad or strangely satisfied in my capacity to game people and just roll with shit. I should be horrified, but not for the worlds ignorance, but my own in believing this to be viable. 

Sometimes I try to remember if I ever had ambitions and where in these last 10 years give or take did the wheels fall off. I remember I wanted to have money when I was a kid, I understood from a young age that money was the enabler to achieve any semblance of comfort. But after I left high school, I don’t remember ever wanting to do something with my life. But at least I partied, I got to travel a little (actually not enough for my taste, but I guess any person who has had the opportunity to travel will always feel they left something on the table), I tried my had at a few jobs, and when I finally discovered what I was actually, ok maybe not great but at least I enjoyed it, it was gone. 

While that one last job (we all have our own “ones that got away”, in more than one facet of our lives) was it for me, I wasn’t ready yet to realize what I had stumbled upon. It took making the one of the biggest mistakes (not that I regret it, for whatever reasons I choose not to share, it was worth it), losing my “ideal” career pushed me into a new field. And as the old adage gleefully reminds me, you only know what you want when you’ve lost it, I find myself craving a return to that place where I felt at home, where my one big regret was not making even more of that opportunity. 

So my 20’s crisis continued, aided by my own unwillingness to compromise with myself and poof, 10 years passed. While I don’t regret it, it does sadden me sometimes that I might have lost what could have been my creative apex. Worst, in an ever increasing quagmire of mistakes and opportunities not taken, my dream of writing was a perfect complement to my ideal career, a librarian. Because while teaching does afford me plenty of time to write (which I sadly don’t make the most of, yes I must constantly remind myself that even if I am to consider myself a work in progress, that is not an excuse to continue to waste time), and I do enjoy the opportunity to share one of my few talents (yes I can speak two languages, it has been very useful) with people who work hard and remind me that I also wanted that; the world of books just calls me. I am a bibliophile, and while some might misconstrue it, I love books (not in a sexual way, and yet I can’t lie and say that books don’t give me an almost orgasmic pleasure). And not just old tomes or younger ones, I get the same feeling of satisfaction from accessing a book online or just reading it from any e-reader.  Yes, it took many twists and turns to just realize what I could do with my so called life.

And yet I will always be a liar, because even if I am righting course, devising plans, and setting things into motion; I haven’t been honest with myself. While it may sound obvious, most men’s greatest fear is the fear of failure, which is also the stupidest in its own way since it prevents you from ever truly trying; I have yet to face it. But I have in part, just by tossing these entries, and yet it could almost be called a fool’s errand. Because I know no one will read them, and if they do, I am somewhat immune to any criticism by the very amateur nature of blogging. I must really toss these bottled messages farther if I ever hope to accomplish my dream, to be paid to do this. And I will, and I will return to read these entries and smile, maybe sadly, hopefully triumphant.

heart

How can I write without a heart?

How can I ever think about telling a story if I don’t even care for the end of mine. 

Today I got my heart broken, I just couldn’t do anything about it. And I saw it coming, and yet I went straight on, I believed I could do something about it. I guess I was wrong. Maybe love is nothing really. Maybe it’s just chance, I think that would be worst because you can always just think if you maybe changed one thing, it would have gone the way you wanted. But it’s not, it’s too random, it can’t be planned around or made happen.

I don’t know what to think. I guess I’ll just quit, she really was my reason for going. Now I have nothing.It probably wasn't even worth it, who really reads this shit.

people

People are strange enigmas, whose keys are hidden inside, becoming ultimately impossible to truly figure out. As a writer, I have to try to understand what drives people by observing their actions, try to assess their qualities from the outside without being privy to the mental part of the equation.  The actions and words seem to be in sync, but the mind can scream other things, and yet it all makes perfect sense.

Let’s start by talking about actions. When people feel alone, away from places or people they know, they will tend to find something to remind them of home or familiar people. Humans are selfish and will seek to comfort themselves using others to their own convenience. Some become exceptionally adept at this, and the best can even talk themselves into believing they haven’t done wrong. Being passive aggressive, letting things happen all the while telling people exactly what they want to hear to lead them down the road one chose to ones benefit, that’s an exceptional skill to master. This is especially easy when the mark is just going to be close for a limited amount of time, then the façade becomes even easier to build and maintain, since any holes or inconsistencies can be ignored by the very finite nature of time. You can call this hooking people, or better yet, programming. By repeating certain behaviors, reinforcing them with code words or particular phrases, even using prizes or punishment; something of an amateurs approach to behavioral psychology.  

But the details, that’s the difficult part of all of this, and here is where many amateurs lose their footing. See, people aren’t naturally dumb or willing to believe easily. We all have natural defenses that subconsciously prevent us from getting conned that easily. That is why this game tends to be a tip toe between playing the aware person, their conscious mind (I’m not exactly sure if this would be the correct term, but let’s go with it), and signals to the deeper recesses of the mind. 

It’s easy to know who would become a master of this art. Many people suffer difficult childhoods, enduring neglect or hardship. Most can just succumb to these troubles but the few who do rise; they tend to be made stronger in a way because of all of it. They will be driven to avoid going back figuratively back down. Because that’s one of the beautiful things of humans, the adaptability, the capacity to respond to adversity and to try to grow or overcome it; even if it’s still less than a fifty-fifty chance, it is truly amazing.  Something interesting about this, taking a quick overview of many successful or driven people, one thing more than a few do share, is having encountered hardship. No, I’m not saying every success story is a rag to riches tale, but wills forged under difficult situations can be harder to break in the face of greater adversity. 

It is also easy to identify what people consider important. We all have tells or certain little, sometimes unnoticeable quirks, that can show others how we work or what concerns us. Sometimes it’s as easy as looking at what people favor doing with their hands, what objects they consider important. From there and with a little asking around or figuring other idiosyncrasies out, you can create a picture, though not entirely accurate, but pretty close to the real thing. So maybe people are actually easy to figure out, but sometimes the problem is that we don’t want to figure them out. We love the mystery, the unknown; it drives us in strange ways. We don’t want to accept that most of the times, it just a simple con game, a little battle that cared little for casualties.

randomness 3

You know, I haven’t written any random thoughts in a few days. I’ve actually been pretty busy, and I’m really glad. Honestly, that bullshit of the idle hands, or in my case brain, are the devil’s playground does make sense. Though who am I kidding, I will always be one lazy mother fucker, but I’m trying, you might say it’s my process. At least I’m actually writing something, not just doing bullshit crap and just thinking up stuff and never really committing to do the work. 

So I just finished a story, I still have about 70 grammar exercises to correct and over 30 vocabulary homeworks. But I am glad that I finally got a group of students who aren’t just pretty good at English, the actually make me work freaking hard! Man, it is awesome to feel that you’re in a way, an important part of people’s lives, shit even if you just teach them one thing, fuck it’s almost like you’re passing something on, that they will in turn spread to the world. I’m enjoying the shit out of it. And it pays ok, and it gives me time to write. 

Changing subjects, gossip is fun; even if it can be shit if it’s you people are talking about. I’m probably lucky to be pretty anonymous, so nobody and I would bet a lot of money on this, probably talks shit about me. And that sucks sometimes, it almost feels like to few people care. Maybe, I guess I’m just being a whiner. But I don’t know, they say any publicity is good publicity, and let’s not forget, people are very fucking morbid. They love messed up shit ad problems, and people just getting their lives screwed up. 

But do I know any actual real and interesting, this last one is very important since gossip is only spread if interesting, do I know any? Well I guess I don’t, but I do have a few ideas for stories. Like the story of a man who, because of his work and position of power, has to be accompanied by very specialized security that also take care of his family. Imagine a torrid romance between the wife and a security guy, who also happens to be very close to the husband. Maybe he could also be his lover, now how’s that for a twist, huh? What if she becomes pregnant by this man? Now what the hell would happen to this guy? Would the cuckold have to exact revenge, of course due to his position, even if it means taking out a lover? 

Or how about a story telling the tale of a man with deep rooted hatred, who manages to con the world, well that’s any classical story, a tale as old as time. Not beauty and the beast, though his hatred could rival the latter. But sometimes that’s just life. I love the idea that fiction can never achieve the randomness of real life. That’s why I love fiction, it is eminently controllable, and I can always just start over and make things go the way I want them to. I also believe that’s the reason many choose to write, because while reading is a form of escapism, man writing, that’s the ultimate form of escaping. Sometimes I can go for hours not actually writing, but navigating the corridors of a story, going back and forth. Like a maze, but I got something better than twine, I can just move the walls. 

Christmas tree

It’s a very sad story you know, they seemed like the perfect family. The father and mother had been married for over 40 years. They had tried for years to have kids, for 20 years they tried; it was heartbreaking for them for a while. Eventually they had two kids, a boy and a girl, beautiful pair, very smart the girl, she’s a philosophy major, lives two states over now; and the son, well he was a scholarship athlete, an amazing catcher, city champ about 4 years ago and MVP to boot.

It all started small, these things always do, and I think it was a discussion about the father’s job situation. It was probably something about ambition or lack of it, maybe the wife was tired of just, you know, having to stretch pennies like we all do sometimes. It’s just the same old story, hell son, that’s middle class living right there. But it was still a very quiet thing, we lived next door to them for around 15 years, never heard anything like a serious fight from their home.  

I think I heard the mother and son had stayed up finishing the decorations, they had the tradition of getting all together when the kids got home from school and decorate the whole house. We used to drop by for a small neighborhood gathering the hosted for almost 10 years, usually around the 10^th or 11^th. They had an amazing Christmas tree; it was about 7 feet tall with very long branches and thick foliage. The wife, did I tell you her name? Well it was Pamela; she told me the used around a 1000 individual tiny blinking light bulbs. The branches were nestling very large orange crystal balls, almost the size of tennis balls, with long shreds of a see-through cloth draping down and around. Oh, it was also orange, and yes, Pamela usually had a theme for each room of the house. I’m not so sure what they were, but I do remember she used orange decorations in the room where the tree was, the living room if I’m not mistaken; the kitchen was always green, with the same big crystal balls only, you know, in green; and the dining room was red. It always bugged me, the implications of putting red in such a room.

But I’m going off tale, I really loved that house, almost bought but old Lantz beat me to it, the wooden finishes were exceptional. Yeah, just had to settle for this old thing. But yeah, I was also scared by the shots that rang at about 2 a.m. My wife screamed and I almost bashed my head against the back board of our four post bed. She grabbed her cell phone and called the police, of course we weren’t the first to call though. They arrived about 20 minutes later, pretty fast if you ask me. 

I ran down the stairs and practically leapt through my door and down the porch, only to see them taking the young son in handcuffs, past the snowman and the electric Santa Claus with 3 reindeer. And on their beautiful mahogany porch, hysterical young girl was screaming and crying. It was a sad sight, she was sitting there, and one of the officers was trying to console her, right there by the 4 piece band of Santa, Rudolph, Snowman, and an Elf. 

Yeah, this is just your typical neighborhood you know? If you ever want to hear a very strange story, ask me about the Johnson family over on Oak drive, now that was a real mess. That’s what you could call the bad part of the neighborhood, it was a real shame what Ted Johnson did, people still talk about it, you know?

Metro Daily News

December 2^nd

Last Thursday, the 30th at 2:05 a.m. John Joseph Lantz, 62 years old, an accountant for a local bank, shot and killed his wife of 41 years, Pamela. Early reports indicate the couple had a heated argument earlier in the evening, but had apparently settled it. In his statement to the police, the daughter, Elizabeth, claims her father remained calm even as her mother accosted him about financial and work matters. She added he left the room and went to bed at around 11 p.m. while she and her brother helped their mother. Her statement also adds she was awakened by the shots and her brothers’ screams to lock herself in the bathroom. When she came out, after the police arrived, she saw the same grizzly scene that welcomed the officers. In the master bedroom, the officers found the body of Pamela Lantz, shot two times to the chest from medium range, and laying in a pool of her own blood by the bathroom door. 

The police also released the following statement from the son, John Erick: 

John Erick Lantz was woken up by the ringing of 2 shots. He rose quickly and ran out of his room to see his father standing in the doorway of his own room, with a gun in his hand. Ducking into his room, he avoided a shoot and locked the door behind him. Screaming to his sister to lock herself up, he grabbed a baseball and a bat from his closet, and retreated to the bathroom. Screaming at the enraged assailant, he managed to lead him to where he was. The man broke the first door and shoot twice through the bathroom door trying to take out the young man. The son had dropped down and had his back against the wall, avoiding the shoots. As he kicked his way into the bathroom, the son dropped the ball into his feet making him fall. Then he proceeded to savagely beat him. He continued to beat him, until stopped by the officers who arrived to the scene. 

randomness 2

Some nights I just lay down on my bed, looking at the roof. I hug the pillow besides me, even though I know it’s not really you. Of course, who truly is that you? There’s a physical you, there always is, like that last girl you had fun fooling around with, or just had sex some time ago. There’s that you how will help me when I’m sick, and will badger me into taking care of myself when I’m out of shape. Then there’s also a you that pushes me to work, for me, for what I want to do in my life. But I’m on my own, I go to bed, it’s usually freezing. And when I wake up it still is.

 

Ok I had to go there, not a good idea but I was thinking about something else, and it got me kind of down. I’m really messed up, I guess you know this if you’ve read anything else here or know me. And so long tangent aside, I recently read an article “The War on Men” written by Suzanne Venker. It’s kind of particular in itself because I don’t really read about feminist stuff and it a FOX thing so it’s not really my thing. But one thing did seem pretty interesting:

 “ …But what if the dearth of good men, and ongoing battle of the sexes, is – hold on to your seats – women’s fault? ... After decades of browbeating the American male, men are tired. Tired of being told there’s something fundamentally wrong with them. Tired of being told that if women aren’t happy, it’s men’s fault.

    Contrary to what feminists like Hanna Rosin, author of The End of Men, say, the so-called rise of women has not threatened men. It has pissed them off. It has also undermined their ability to become self-sufficient in the hopes of someday supporting a family. Men want to love women, not compete with them. They want to provide for and protect their families – it’s in their DNA. But modern women won’t let them…”. 

And while as a man, I can find it comforting, I kind of think its bullshit. I can’t understand why gender battles are waged as if this was a zero sum game or something like that. Women have had important accomplishments and huge gains, but most men will think it’s just as simple as women taking shit from them. But going back to the article, there’s some assumption I don’t agree with. She says it’s encoded in us that men have a role. But what about women? It’s completely ok to say that women have fought and evolved out of that square space their genes pegged them in. But it’s crap to say that men haven’t changed, we have, just not really in a good way. 

Men shouldn’t define themselves because of their capability to care for a family, just as women shouldn’t be defined by their capabilities as wives for example. Gender battles can’t be reduced to “it’s your turn to take care of the kids and cook dinner forever”.  Because the economic reality is that a single income home is not really feasible. But more to the point, why don’t women really accept a complete change of the paradigm. Fuck it; I don’t think it’s wrong that a man could want to be a Mr. Mom. 

Let me try again, while it can be real easy to say, yes men are pissed at having to fight with women, it’s not true. I say that as a man, I could accept that if I ever marry my wife will probably earn more money than me. That’s not to belittle myself, but as an amateur writer, I’ll probably be lucky to make a living with it. I’ll most likely be a teacher or something, and just write to please myself. Yeah, I was raised that I would marry and provide for a family, but shit, sometimes it’s just not in the cards. As a man I what to think I could choose to love a woman because she loved me too. And it should be that we would both agree what do we want out of being together and how. If I have to take care of the kids, I will, and if she needs support because they make her feel like crap for putting her kids second, I’ll tell her she hasn’t, we just juggle things our own way.

Shit I have no idea where I’m going. I do know men aren’t equipped to deal with stuff. Women want change, and it will happen; fighting men be dammed. And yet maybe in a couple of generations things will make sense. But they don’t for me. Sometimes nothing does.