I remember back when the summers used to mean something. I remember back when the kids from the neighborhood were still the kids from the neighborhood and yes, I remember the wild times and the bad times and, of course, I remember the troubled times.
I remember the wild nights and crazy days. Without question, I remember thinking that this was going to be my life—always.
I never thought time would step in, at least not like this.
Continue readingThis is from the heart of me. This is from the deepest south of my soul and from this point onward, I plan to offer myself in the most honest sense of the word. In the most truthful ways possible, I will detail the faults and flaws and the good and the bad and more, I will own up and atone. However, this is also to move beyond and improve.
Then again, this is the basis of all my journals. However, my journals are not for everyone. At the same time, none of this is written for everyone, or anyone else for that matter. No, this is just between us, as in you and me, and going forward, I am going to remove all of my decoration or the so-called coverings and the masks which I have hid behind for the last, say, 51.75 years.
I have spent years this way.
I have been on a search. I’ve been looking and waiting and wondering or hoping that, if at all, one day I would find my way.
I’ve often looked around and wondered how challenges to me seemed so simple to other people.
Is it me?
Have I done something wrong?
Was I out the day they taught us about the word tenacity?
Or am I like the underdog, cold-nosed and hungry, and able to endure pain or the neglect and the rejection from your common, everyday crowds?
More than anything, I just want to be. I want to belong. I want to fit.
I want this more than anything else. I want to be comfortable, as if to know that in my heart, this is exactly where I am supposed to be, and even if things go astray, or if the days are not kind or when life takes a turn, I want to know and understand that regardless of everything, deep down, I know that I’m okay.
I want to walk through my front door and open up to a place which I call home. I want to have this. All of this. And I want this to be complete with all my dreams and all my wishes which have at last, and finally all of my work has paid off. All of my troubles were obviously worthwhile because, through it all, I endured enough to make sure that my dreams were not just dreams. And at last, they have all come true.
Continue readingI want to go outside and feel the wind on my face. I want to watch the early sunrise or be like the great writers, like Kerouac , or the great ones to me, like Carroll. In some way, if I can, I’d like to reach the greatness of O’Hara and recite poetry, nearly half as well and, somehow, I want to find myself out in some new town or living in some new place, and like a lunch that I recall during one of my last visits to Los Angeles, I want to blend into a new scene and be a complete and total stranger. However, the comfort of my new anonymity offers me a familiar comfort, which is rare and old, like a lifelong friend who never turned away from me or strayed.
I want to try some new food. I want to eat something that I never heard of before and, maybe, there could be a walk, or a long stroll, or some trip on foot down Hollywood Boulevard.
I did this –
Rise . . .
Get up like the sun and rise. Today is a new day. Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow is just an egg that hasn’t hatched yet, but tomorrow is brewing and so are the plots and the ideas and the problems we assume will take place. But now is not the time for this.
Today is here, as in right now.
So, rise!
Continue readingI remember it was way after midnight, or at 2:00, maybe. But again, this was long ago in a lifetime that seems far away from me now.
I was on The Farm and the month of August was in mid-swing. The air was hot and the sky was scattered with trillions of stars. This was beautiful. Peaceful too.
The moon was full and the moonlight shone down across the fields.
The pasture was empty of its previous tenants, namely the cows. However, there was something beautiful about this moment. I was closing in on my 18th Birthday. I was sifting through the ideas of my former self and my future world, which is also known as adulthood.
I was facing a new and upcoming chapter of what I considered to be a so-called freedom which is not to say that I was jailed or imprisoned, at least not per se. Or at least, not really.
Continue readingWe are moving towards the end of another journal. This means another journal will begin soon enough. This means when one door closes, then another one opens. At least I hope so.
And there is a reason for all of this. I need to give myself something to look forward to. I need to feed my brain and let it chew on the meat of better concepts instead of eat the fat from some unhealthy thoughts which, in the end, do nothing else for me except leave me hungry.
I have more to say and more to do. At the same time, I have the need to keep moving.
I have to keep growing and if I am to grow, then I have to allow myself to move beyond this point. Otherwise, growth is limited, or stunted, or frozen into some immature mindset which never improves or adapts.
I admit that I am scared. I admit that I am intimidated and yes, I admit to the thoughts, which are not just about the “What now,” questions.
Instead, they sound more like, “What if?
What if I turned left instead of right?
What if I listened more?
What if I found a way to put my pain or fears and my worries to the side?
What if I did more instead of resisted more?
What if?
This is a both a great and painful question.
I see them often, young and crazy as ever. Defiant as ever too, and outraged, as if their youth is insulted by the rules and laws. To them, the powers that be and the authorities who rule over their life, from teachers to counselors, and from the law to parents, or anyone who opposes, I have seen the young ones and the crazy ones. I have seen them flare off like a rocket to explode or burn up and simply fizzle away.
I have sat with them and listened to them. I have listed their complaints and spoken with them about this, at great length.
I have often wondered if this was no different from me and my rebellion which, in fairness, nothing is ever the same thing.
The Written Addiction 