Wednesday, December 5, 2012

You Can't Handle The Truth!

The old line from a Nicholson movie.   Actually, I can't handle the truth.  My truth scares me, when I let it.

So, I rarely write about real life in my fog filled bubble.  It all seems so simple on paper---do this, do that, fix this fix that, get rid of all that clutter, this clutter, and clean up after it.  Find woman, drag to cave, make happy.

Every once in awhile, maybe three times per day, I see something or think of something and say, "Oh man, you really blew it.  You squandered one perfectly good life."

My goal is to change that before I die.  I think I want to fix it before it is all gone.

I think people are crazy in groups, and fear freedom and all that,  but then I wonder if I am wrong, considering how difficult I find the simplest of normal life tasks.   Is it possible that I am crazy and they are right?  Or maybe I am right, and crazy.  I believe the latter to be the most accurate assessment.

It is the holiday season, and I guess this time of year brings out the remembered pain of numerous heartbreaks, the horror of bad judgement and irresponsible actions of the past, and fear when I realize how empty a certain part of me is.

Where to go from that is not actually a mystery, but doing it appears to involve taking down a 4 foot thick concrete wall with a ball peen hammer.

In the mean time, I have to go by the house of some friends on Christmas.  Then I think I'll disappear for a few days to a campsite on the edge of the earth.

None of this should be a surprise.  I knew I had serious disconnect and lack of cultural understanding way back when people first started playing air guitar.  When they actually began staging public contests for this bizarre sport, I realized I may forever be lost in this world.   Then came disco, karoke on Beale St in Memphis (dubious blues capital of the Delta), and reality TV.   Clearly my best path is not one which involves understanding, promoting or keeping abreast of pop culture and its many mysterious twists and turns.

If I can't figure that stuff out, how can I be surprised at all the other crazy stuff?  Let's all hope to win powerball so we can be filthy rich, but let's carry on a cultural campaign so that the words "rich" and "evil" become synonymous in the minds of the people.  I want to win lotto and be rich, but for now I hate THE RICH because they are all meanies.

First we had that Bridge to the New Millennium to cross, now we are all going to be cast over THE FISCAL CLIFF.  I've yet to even see the bridge, which means I may not have made it across into the glorious 21st century.  Perhaps being tossed over The Cliff would be the kindest thing.


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Ballistic Mountain, CA, United States
Like spring on a summer's day


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