Far Away Storms
Everyone who comes to visit me seems to comment on just how beautiful this town is. I’m glad, because I keep forgetting. All of my life I’ve been a little—shall we say—particular; so even though I live in a town that is known throughout Orange County to have the ‘best climate in the whole state year round’ as many natives have told me—repeatedly, I can’t seem to let it sink in. You see I’m a forest lover, and a thunderstorm aficionado, so I can be inclined to gloss over the perfect weather, clean temperate air, beautiful ocean, and just generally tranquil and uplifting vibe this town has to offer, because well, I miss the rain. I miss the precipitation and the mystery; what will the sky offer up today? Will it be hail? A storm? Fog? In Connecticut sometimes you get all three in the same day! And you never know what’s coming next. By contrast in Cali, the answer is always the same: it’s going to be perfect, and blue and just down right paintable! So after awhile, for someone like me, who is used to setting his internal clock by the four changing seasons of the year on the east coast, the perfect southern California climate starts to feel like an extended director’s cut of Groundhog Day. But the only aspect to keep repeating itself is the weather. That smug, relentless, perfect weather. I’m sitting in the bright tropical, sunny southern CA weather of San Clemente and wishing I was in a rainstorm in CT. My brother-in-law and my mom are sitting on my sister’s front porch. They sent me videos and I can hear the large rain droplets pelting their metal porch like so many meteors showering down upon us. It’s magnificent. But it also just happens to be a reflection of an ‘issue’ I’ve been working…living more in the present moment; enjoying the here and now; being where I am, etc. etc. So I’m grateful that all my visitors continue to be captivated; that the beauty here, however much I may at times overlook it, continues to take their breath away. It reminds me to wipe the wishes and dust from my eyes, and be thankful for my present moment. The sky may not open as much out here as I’d like it to. But there are worse things to endure than perpetual perfection and glorious Southern California beauty. So the lesson here is that I can control how I perceive things. As all my friends point out, I can notice the quite apparent beauty. Or I can wish for far away storms. Bottom line, I am choosing to feel gratitude from now on, and I’m doing that, rain or shine.
Mind Hijacking: The Power of Self-Hypnosis
As I continue to self-hypnotize I am discovering that it is like meditation on steroids. It’s not just the power of positive thinking, it’s the superpower of positive thinking. My eating habits have been completely overhauled without the permission or consent or my will from under 10 sessions over 30 days. I have not had to make the hard choice to eat healthy since beginning hypnosis. That’s the whole point; the choice has become easy. The hypnotic suggestions are fast-tracked by the technique and go directly to my subconscious mind. That is the exact same part of the mind one is trying to calm, soothe, or access in meditation, but it just takes way longer. So I’ve moved on from hypnotizing myself in regards to my eating habits; now onto things like “more self-confidence” and “stop procrastinating”. In fact I’ve only done one session so far with the script to stop procrastinating, and since then I can’t seem to stop posting my content on my blog. I actually want to post it, which is different for me! Hypnosis is like your consciousness gets kidnapped and says “hey, where are you taking me?” Then over time it develops Stockholm Syndrome and just bends to the will of your hypnotic suggestions, no questions asked…and even against its better judgement. The war inside stops, and all parts of myself begin to align. I wouldn’t really want to be kidnapped so let me just say this: self-hypnosis is the most powerful self-improvement tool I’ve ever used, and I’m not holding that secret for ransom.
Live Like a Rockstar, Because You Might Have Been a Rock or a Star in a Past Life.
I read a book a while back aptly called ‘The Convoluted Universe’ written by a past life regression therapist named Dolores Claiborne who reports to have taken people back to all manner of adventurous lives, both here on earth, and on other planets and realms at the far reaches of the universe. She claims to have met folks who died on the titanic, others who were the teachers of Jesus, and still others who, in previous incarnations, would traverse space and time. Amidst all of this intrigue there was one type of past life I found most fascinating of all – the life of rocks. Yep, that’s right, rocks! And not just rocks, but trees, bodies of water, stars or any inanimate thing you can imagine. In her book she recounts many case studies of clients who lived lives as stones, or the weather, or even once, a robot. So I’m sitting in my Shangri-La (that’s what I’ve named my cozy outdoor patio) today resting from a long yesterday at an art, glass and marijuana exhibition called Chalice Festival. I’m smoking a freshly rolled joint of some amazing bud I picked up there and quieting my mind. As the ash grows long on the end of my smoking J I absent-mindedly tap it off on the tip of a dead flower stalk leaning toward me. I tried to wipe the ash off right after and it just smudged. The plant is going to be like that forever now, I thought to myself, and there is nothing it can do about it. Then I remember that book where people have been rocks and flowers in past lives and I’m thinking that must have been quite a challenge. Does this flower stalk have a soul in there with an opinion about what I just did? Does it feel helpless to be the master of its own destiny? If circumstance decides to smudge you, you can’t even wipe it off. As with a rock pin-balling its way down a riverbed, you have no choice but to go with the flow, to surrender. I imagine myself picking up a rock I notice nearby and throwing it; wondering what the rock would be thinking? Would it be horrified, helpless and scared as it careens through the air toward its destiny on the other side of the yard? Or would it be blessed? Would that rock be grateful to have been chosen, to have been picked up at all, and sent, by destiny, to parts unknown? I realize what I am to the rock is what the Universe is to me, it is fractal. I, and the winds and the river are destiny in the making for the rocks. Their destiny is shaped by our forces. When they go with with the flow, castles are built and art is made. The same is true for us, when we yield to the ever-communicating energy of the universe, when we just let go and go with the flow, our castle is built and our happiness is found there. It is a blessing to realize you are not in control of anything but your own reaction to life. So just enjoy what comes, go with the flow. When we start to react differently our whole reality will start to act differently in return. Maybe it’s just me, but I think that rocks!
Fractal Consciousness
I read a book a while back aptly called ‘The Convoluted Universe’ written by a past life regression therapist named Dolores Claiborne who reports to have taken people back to all manner of adventurous lives, both here on earth, and on other planets and realms at the far reaches of the universe. She claims to have met folks who died on the titanic, others who were the teachers of Jesus, and still others who, in previous incarnations, would traverse space and time. Amidst all of this intrigue there was one type of past life I found most fascinating of all – the life of rocks. Yep, that’s right, rocks! And not just rocks, but trees, bodies of water, stars or any inanimate thing you can imagine. In her book she recounts many case studies of clients who lived lives as stones, or the weather, or even once, a robot. So I’m sitting in my Shangri-La (that’s what I’ve named my cozy outdoor patio) today resting from a long yesterday at an art, glass and marijuana exhibition called Chalice Festival. I’m smoking a freshly rolled joint of some amazing bud I picked up there and quieting my mind. As the ash grows long on the end of my smoking J I absent-mindedly tap it off on the tip of a dead flower stalk leaning toward me. I tried to wipe the ash off right after and it just smudged. The plant is going to be like that forever now, I thought to myself, and there is nothing it can do about it. Then I remember that book where people have been rocks and flowers in past lives and I’m thinking that must have been quite a challenge. Does this flower stalk have a soul in there with an opinion about what I just did? Does it feel helpless to be the master of its own destiny? If circumstance decides to smudge you, you can’t even wipe it off. As with a rock pin-balling its way down a riverbed, you have no choice but to go with the flow, to surrender. I imagine myself picking up a rock I notice nearby and throwing it; wondering what the rock would be thinking? Would it be horrified, helpless and scared as it careens through the air toward its destiny on the other side of the yard? Or would it be blessed? Would that rock be grateful to have been chosen, to have been picked up at all, and sent, by destiny, to parts unknown? I realize what I am to the rock is what the Universe is to me, it is fractal. I, and the winds and the river are destiny in the making for the rocks. Their destiny is shaped by our forces. When they go with with the flow, castles are built and art is made. The same is true for us, when we yield to the ever-communicating energy of the universe, when we just let go and go with the flow, our castle is built and our happiness is found there. It is a blessing to realize you are not in control of anything but your own reaction to life. So just enjoy what comes, go with the flow. When we start to react differently our whole reality will start to act differently in return. Maybe it’s just me, but I think that rocks!
My Life is My Story
As a writer, a blogger, I live life exposed; so I don’t have the luxury of regretting any of my choices. Hopefully, in the din of my dramas and delusions, I tell myself, I can transform my latest blunder into a blog post; my latest lapse in judgement into lasting impact for someone else. So, instead of regretting when things go bad, or lamenting when I finish last, I just write it down. Since Half Year’s Day just happened (July 1, Half Year’s Eve being June 30th) I have been revisiting some rusted old resolutions I’d made six months ago and been polishing them up this week. I haven’t had a sip of soda, and I’ve actually been eating cut up fruit for snacks…yes, I mean fresh organic fruit that I cut up myself. Yes, really! July is the new January so I’m posting this small triumph here in the hopes that writing it down, and exposing it here makes me less prone to backslide into fatty late night snacks. I’m using my blog as a self-help tool so no offense, but I guess if you’re reading this, I’m kinda using you too. Thanks for your help! Now when I screw up royally I don’t get all worked up about it. I just think, damn, this is gonna make one hell of a good story.
Cages
I sit here shackled, enslaved in my cages Some I can snort Some I can chow on I made them myself And I’ll live here from now on I need them, they help me to contain all my rages So be a good sport So be a good brother Don’t rattle my cages Why don’t you go save another I’m fine and yet longing for the turning of pages With no day in court With no way of escape The cage door swings open My feet frozen, my mouth hangs agape Will I find my peace at last, sitting with sages? Is that a dream of some sort Or will enlightenment come? Or is the place where I’m going Just back to the dust where I’m from? But that’s not the lesson we’ve learned through the ages I have a report I have some good news Life is our ally Come on, there’ve been so many clues. Humanity barrels toward the next stages So you might retort That it’s just getting worse But have faith as your doctor And know hope as your nurse
Meme What You Say: Culture is Cracking Under the Weight of its Own Insignificance
As I rejoin the world of social media, one things sticks out at me — the adoption of the word meme to describe any old post we decide to broadcast to our various audiences around the world. Memes hold as much significance and sway as our genes do in shaping cultures, over generations, and yet I hear people saying things like “check out this meme of a cat eating pizza” or “my buddy sent me a meme about Prince’s death”. I’m sorry folks, those are not memes, they are simply our mind chatter being immortalized in cyberspace through our fingertips instead of our mouths. I’m not saying those kinds of things aren’t creative or even at times captivating and clever, they are. Social media is neutral, neither good nor bad. It is a tool. It can be used to waste time in frivolity and fluff; it can be used to express the depths of ones creativity; it can be used to inform, impress, and interconnect. It’s the very avenue by which this article has made it to your brain after all. However, social media has only been around for 20 years in its current form and that is simply not enough time to create even one single meme. Meme comes from the latin root to mimic and is described by Dictionary.com as a part of our culture that has been formed through repetition by being passed down from generation to generation. The fact that humanity now eats cooked meat and uses utensils is a meme. Through repetition over generations, as in a widespread generational mimic, new cultural trends and behaviors are created and adopted. Flossing is a meme, because it was not created genetically, but memetically, meaning it was born from mimicking, over time, not from being re-tweeted. We call our social media posts memes to give significance to what does’t much rise above the level of banter or chit chat. Meme’s change cultural trends over generations, not over news cycles. Richard Dawkins, in his 1976 work The Selfish Gene likes to take credit for the coining of the word, despite it self-admittedly being from the french meme which means same, alike, or oneself. The word meme has been in our cultural genetic make up, or should I say memetic make up, since before Richard Dawkins was born. We can co-opt it, like we did with the other French words “rendezvous” and “hors d’oeuvre” because we are too lazy to come up with our own english word for “clandestine meeting” and “small finger food,” but that doesn’t mean that meme means what we think meme means. Oxford English Dictionary and now even Webster’s online Dictionary have added a second definition for the word meme, so we can continue using the word in this manner that hyperbolizes our individual impact on our culture through social media. Or we can come back down to reality and start calling all those memes what the really are – cyber small talk. Not everything we post on our social media accounts is as memeingful as we might like to believe. Showing me a picture of a monkey snuggling with a cat is an ice-breaker at best, not a culture shaker. Twitter probably comes from the latin root for “Twit” after all, hardly a culture bending force. Shaping pop culture for a week and effecting cultural trends over lifetimes is like comparing a paint ball gun to a bazooka and saying they have the same basic effect. I meme, come on people.
Unclehood: The Chronicles of a Brand New Uncle
Unclehood (unk-al-hud): 1. (n) All the fun of parenthood, with none of the parenting. 2. (n) A second childhood when you’re all grown up. Technically speaking you could say I became an uncle 569 days ago when Charlie was born. But I didn’t feel anything. My sister did though, as she was basically ripped in half for 17 hours; but for me, becoming an uncle was as easy as becoming 37 this year…I didn’t feel a thing. You could say that I became an uncle 553 days ago when Charlie and I first met. She was pretty tiny, being born two weeks early and all, so by the time I held her on June 21st or so, it was pretty much her actual due date. But I like to say that I’m becoming an uncle. I’ve never been one before and I’m not really sure what it all means just yet. One thing I’m sure about though is that I get to be there for all the fun parts, and even create some of them, but I don’t have to change nearly as many poop-filled diapers as mom and dad will. That much I know for sure. Christmas gives way to Springtime and little Charlie is 22 months old now. I live in California and she lives in Connecticut so I’m in and out of town often, and each time I come back home I am meeting a brand new girl that it feels like I’ve know for lifetimes. She’s got more inches, more words, more expressions; things I’ve never seen before but know are somehow a part of me. This must be what parenthood feels like, I think, but with less fatigue and shit. A few poop-filled diapers and many plane tickets later and this mound of cells and drool has become a person; a full personality with opinions and preferences, like me, but not a bitch like me. Oh, and she has mastered the art of saying the word “uncle”, which has melted my heart all over again every single time I hear it. And she knows phrases now too, like “Uncle Brian”. Sometimes it sounds like “Opey Bye”, sometimes it sounds like “Unn-al Bine” but I don’t care. When those piercing and vibrant eyes look at me, right at me, and she says my name it’s as if all things made of matter cease to matter at all. I didn’t realize it at the time, but my whole world changed when Charlie was born. She came into this world 839 days ago, and I’ve been becoming an uncle ever since. If she ever gets tired of me she can go ahead and cry uncle, but just hearing that word is going to melt my heart. You’re stuck with me kid; I’m becoming an uncle, and I’ve fallen in love.
Last Snow Fall
Too much information TMI Just stop talking When I asked how things were going I didn’t mean it keep on walking I hope you’re not offended it’s just late please stop gawking If you make me get a TRO I’ll do it cuz this is stalking
Beat Up, Top Down
BEAT UP I beat the record for the person most wrecked I beat myself up and re-fill my cup I beat off and toke and cough then I wake up beat sweat on the sheet with tasks to complete but instead I recover and dream of my lover and pull tight the covers I waste another day wasted on yay until the price becomes too steep to pay but that’s not today. TOP DOWN surrounded by the life I’ve been living without ever giving myself a break to reflect and take stock of my progress goals or dreams their fruition always seems so far so I hop in my car top down drive around crank that sound to drown out the voice that says I’m dying It’s lying because I don’t stop trying as time passes I count my trespasses but hey, at least I’m not one of those deadbeat jackasses
