Head In The Clouds

The phrase “man with head in the clouds” refers to someone who lacks practicality and is often lost in their own thoughts or imagination. Fair enough, but this is not necessarily a bad thing. Creative minds are often what lead to innovation and progress in various fields. But too much time in the proverbial clouds can lead to neglecting important responsibilities or opportunities, leaving you with not much security to hold on to. It’s a precarious existence.

A man with his head in the clouds is someone who is constantly daydreaming and visualizing different possibilities. He wants out of the present moment by living in imaginary spaces. He may have a great imagination and come up with amazing ideas, but without taking action on them, the ideas remain just that: ideas that fade away like clouds. This is an unfortunate aspect of being a man with his head in the clouds.

Furthermore, a man with his head in the clouds may be seen as unrealistic or impractical by others. They may view him as ungrounded, lazy, irresponsible or too idealistic. This can lead to him being dismissed or overlooked, especially in more structured or traditional environments where practicality and responsibility are valued over creativity. This is why a man with his head in the clouds is often drowning in creditors and irrelevance.

Having one’s head in the clouds can also be seen as a virtue. It is these kinds of people who dream up new inventions, create art, solve problems and make big changes in the world. They see things from a different perspective, generating new ways of thinking and problem-solving. They may also be more attuned to their intuition and emotions, which can lead to greater empathy and understanding of others. Unfortunately, it can also lead to greater levels of depression and despair while living in a society that does not value men who have their head in the clouds.

Being a man with his head in the clouds may have its downsides, but it can also be a source of inspiration and innovation. While it is important to remain grounded and practical at times, we should also value and encourage creativity and imagination. After all, without individuals who dare to have their head in the clouds, everything would just be all the same.

How To Escape A Drama-Filled Society

Living in a drama-filled society can be exhausting and draining for anyone. It’s no secret that drama often causes unnecessary stress, anxiety, confusion, distraction and it can be difficult to escape. But not impossible. There are a few steps you can take to remove yourself from the morass of drama and create a more peaceful, stress-free life.

1. Identify the sources of drama:
   The first step in escaping the drama of your society is to identify its sources. It may be certain friends, family members, or co-workers who create drama. Alternatively, it could be social media or news outlets that stir up emotions and create angst. When you identify the causes of drama, it’s easier to avoid them.
2. Limit your exposure to drama:
   Now that you’ve identified the sources of drama, take steps to limit your exposure to them. For example, if you have a mentally unstable sister who constantly involves herself in your drama thus creating even more drama for yourself, you may need to distance yourself from her or set solid boundaries. Similarly, if social media causes negative emotions or triggers drama, delete the app or take a few days off.
3. Surround yourself with positivity:
   To counteract the negativity and drama of your society, focus on surrounding yourself with positive people who bring you joy and make you feel good about yourself. I realize that positive people can be superficial and dull. This may mean eliminating friends who don’t share your values and interests or making time for self-care activities that lift your mood and counteract all the soul-destroying drama.
4. Practice mindfulness and self-care:
   Mindfulness practices such as meditation and deep breathing can be helpful in reducing stress and anxiety. Self-care activities like taking a hot bath, reading a book, journaling, stretching, cleaning, listening to music, being naked with another human, hanging-out/doing nothing or going for a ponderous walk can also help reduce the impact of deadening drama on your life.
5. Focus on what you can control:
   Finally, remember that while you can’t control the drama in your society, you can control your reactions to it. You may feel like being distracted from everything but focus on the things you can control, such as how much time and energy you devote to drama, and let go of things you cannot control. By taking ownership of your own life, you’ll reduce the impact of drama and create a more peaceful and interesting existence.

Escaping the drama of society takes effort, diligence and discipline but it’s worth it to create a more fulfilling and stress-free existence. By identifying the sources of drama, limiting your exposure to them, surrounding yourself with positivity (that is not superficial or dull), practicing mindfulness and self-care, and focusing on what you can control, you can escape the drama and create a more relaxed living situation for yourself.

The Virtues Of Sitting On A Roof

Sitting on a roof is a simple pleasure that is often overlooked in our fast-paced world. However, it is a practice that offers a variety of benefits that can enhance one’s overall well-being. Here are a few virtues of sitting on a roof that I have been considering.

Firstly, sitting on a roof offers a perspective that is not easily found on the ground. Being elevated allows one to see their surroundings from a different angle, providing a new appreciation for the world around them. One can watch the sun set, gaze at the stars, look at people or simply take in the view of other rooftops. By offering a different perspective, sitting on a roof can help to break the monotony of everyday life and encourage creativity and original thinking.

Secondly, sitting on a roof is a great way to get away from the noise and distractions of modern life. With technology constantly at our fingertips, it can be difficult to escape from the constant buzz of notifications and updates. Sitting on a roof offers a solitary space that allows one to disconnect from these distractions and simply be present in the moment. This can help to reduce stress and increase focus and productivity.

Thirdly, sitting on a roof can encourage social interaction and community. If one lives in a densely populated area or in close proximity to neighbors, it is possible to enjoy the view and company of others from the comfort of the roof. Sitting on a roof can provide an opportunity to connect with others and build a sense of community and shared experience. I have met many passerbys while sitting on a roof.

In addition, sitting on a roof can have physical health benefits. Being in the fresh air and sunshine can boost mood and provide essential vitamin D. Getting on to the roof is also a form of low-impact exercise that can improve cardiovascular health and strengthen the core muscles.

As you can see, sitting on a roof is a simple and enjoyable practice that offers many virtues. The perspective, peace, social connection, and physical health benefits that come with it make it an activity that is worth exploring. It is time to ditch the screens and hustle and take a moment to sit back, relax, and sit on your roof.

A Story of Desecration and Exploration

Coming sometime soon I hope.

Interview With Myself

My interview with myself is taking place on Monday morning at 8:43am in my kitchen. I am sitting at my round kitchen table, which looks out into my backyard where there is a large lawn and an even larger Mulberry tree. My German shepherd, who is obsessed with the frenetic squirrels running around in the trees, is currently hyper-focused upon one squirrel in particular and cannot stop chasing it around. I am feeling rather annoyed that my dog cannot just sit still, relax and enjoy the morning. There is an empty bowl of brown rice cereal on the kitchen table with the spoon still resting inside the bowl. There is also an empty mug, sitting besides the bowl, which earlier was filled with green tea. My hair is not brushed and I am still wearing the same clothes that I slept in.

 

Interviewer: Good morning Randall. Thank you for meeting with me at such an early time. I know that you are not a morning person.

Randall: Good morning. Not a problem. It is true that I am not much of a morning person but it is a pleasure to be here. I am sorry that I am not more dressed up for our interview but since it is taking place in our home I did not think you would mind.

Interviewer: No I do not mind at all. Is there anything that you need before we begin this interview?

Randall: Actually a little bit more green tea would be nice and if it is at all possible to get our dog to stop running around outside that would be helpful also.

Interviewer: Well let me see what I can do.

[Interviewer and Randall take a five-minute or so break to boil some more hot water and to try and get the dog to relax. Randall suggests that I feed the dog since Randall has not done that yet.]

Interviewer: Ok, so I have given our dog a raw hide to chew on which seems to have calmed her down. Is the green tea to your liking?

Randall: Yes it is is. Thanks for taking care of these things.

Interviewer: Not a problem. So should we begin the interview?

Randall: Why not.

Interviewer: I guess my first question for us is why did you want to conduct an interview with yourself? Some people might see this as a very strange, unstable and even selfish thing to do.

Randall: Well first off, if people chose to view my interviewing myself as strange, selfish, unstable or even ridiculous that is ok with me. I have always encouraged people to think for themselves and I welcome adversity or negative criticism. I think that divergent points of view are important for intelligent and interesting discourse. If I needed everyone to think like I do, or to agree with me- what a bore. As far as wanting to interview myself- why not? I have lived for 41 years now and have been waiting for someone to want to interview me. No one has come along wanting to do so, so I have decided to hell with it, why not just go ahead and interview myself. Plus I am tired of watching other people being interviewed. I wanted to see what it is like being the one being interviewed.

Interviewer: Well you make a good point. One can wait an entire lifetime for a person to come along who wants to interview them- for most people that person never comes. I think that every human on the planet should be interviewed at least once in his or her lifetime, since it is my belief that every person has a unique and captivating life story to tell. If you had to summarize what your unique and captivating life story would be what would you say?

Randall: Hmmmm. That is a good question Randall. I guess I would say that it would be how I developed into the man that I am today. As you know it has been a bizarre journey. We have been many different people in our lifetime and I find it interesting to have ended up where we have. I grew up in a rather economically privileged situation. I was raised in a country club where my worst fear was getting hit in the head with a golf ball. That is not actually true but I think it is funny to say. Even though I grew up in a seemingly safe and privileged home I feared many things. Probably more things than I should have. I wanted to be a professional tennis player but that did not work out. I almost did not graduate high school. I went to a very expensive private college where I was totally disinterred in school and obsessed with fitting in, women and partying. When I got out of college I was lost and managed to spend my graduation gift of $10,000 dollars in less than three or four months. Thus began a decade and a half of living in what I consider to be hand to mouth conditions and working at odd minimum wage jobs. I worked as a mortician’s assistant, a shoe salesman, a waiter, a bartender, a suitcase salesman, a supermarket checker, a physical therapists assistant and eventually a high school teacher. During this time I wanted to be an artist and a writer but the problem was that I spent more time reading and hanging out than I did making actual work (even though I did make a good deal of work). At one point I was obsessed with wanting to be my generations greatest writer and painter but now I think it is fair to state that I was very misguided, confused and often intoxicated.

Interviewer: Who do you blame for putting these strange and romantic literary and artistic ideals and expectations into our head?

Randall: I mainly blame Jack Kerouac, Henry Miller and Charles Burkowski.

Interviewer: How about Franz Kafka, Rimbaud and Artaud?

Randall: Yes them also.

Interview: So is it fair to say that our life story is one of from riches to rags?

Randall: Maybe not rags but definitely used clothes and cheap food (if you do not count the nice meals we ate with my parents and the occasional and generous shopping sprees that my father would take me on). I would also add that it is a story of from riches to rags but also back again to maybe not riches but a kind of comfortability and dignity.

Interviewer: I know this is not often discussed but is it true that when you were 28 and just a few months away from finishing your master’s degree in English Literature you dropped out?

Randall: It is true. I lost interest. Jane Austen, Virginia Woolf, Robert Browning, E.M. Forester and other English writers burned me out. Even though I excelled in the graduate program, when it was time for me to write my thesis I realized I did not want the degree anymore. I thought it was too pretentious for me to call myself a master of anything and as a young, idealistic man who had big dreams of worldwide literary recognition- a master’s degree seemed futile and too conventional.  So I just stopped working on my thesis and went on with my life.

Interviewer: Do you regret not finishing?

Randall: I do. I suppose that is the main reason why I went back to graduate school much later in life to get my masters degree in Psychology. I no longer consider myself to be much of an idealist and my dreams of worldwide literary recognition have faded away thus allowing me the room within which to pursue other things.

Interviewer: More normal, real world things?

Randall: I suppose so.

[The dog has finished her raw hide and is now pacing around on the deck. Randall seems to be a bit distracted by the dog]

Randall: I just do not understand why she cannot sit down and relax. I love our dog but she paces and paces around all day long. It drives me nuts.

Interviewer: You understand that she is not even a year old yet right?

Randall: I do but still it drives me nuts.

Interviewer: Why?

Randall: I don’t know.

Interviewer: Is it fair to say that you are a person who spends a lot of his time in a relaxed state, that you have figured out the art of relaxation and when others cannot relax it annoys you?

Randall: Are you suggesting that I get annoyed with others, dogs and humans, when they are not more like me?

Interviewer: I guess that is what I am getting at. If other people do not behave as you would want them to behave, or even behave like you behave then you are annoyed with them. They drive you nuts?

Randall: I am sure there is some truth to that. What you are suggesting is that I am not a tolerant person.

Interviewer: No, I think you are a very tolerant person- just a bit intolerant towards behavior that is different from your own.

Randall: Hmmmm. Well I would like to think that this is not true but I suppose that there is some truth to it.

Interviewer: Have you had people in your life who have not been tolerant of your behavior? Who have gotten annoyed or angry at you because you have behaved differently than they wanted you to behave?

Randall: I have.

Interview: Well maybe that is where you have learned not to not be tolerant of other people’s behavior that is different from your own.

Randall: You are probably right. Did you come here to interview me or to psychoanalyze me?

Interviewer: I am sorry. I suppose that I am just interested in the kind of person that we are.

Randall: I think that to find out “who we are” is biting off much too much of a subject matter for this short interview.

Interviewer: I suppose you are correct. Lets move on. I know that recently you moved to LA, moved into a new home, got married and began your internship working as a therapist in private practice. How do you feel about all of these big life transitions?

Randall: Well to be honest I am someone who has struggled for a long time. I have had a few really difficult relationships in my life, had serious financial concerns and have suffered from a chronic anxiety condition. For the first time in as long as I can remember, maybe even the first time in my life I can actually say with a firm conviction that my life is blessed. Things are really, really good. My relationships all feel healthy, my marriage is remarkable in every way and moving to LA feels like what it must feel like for someone who has been in jail for 41 years to finally get released. As you know, I moved from the area in which we grew up. I really did not think I was ever going to get out.

Interviewer: Well that is great. I am really happy for us that things are going so well.

Randall: They are and I am happy for us to. I am aware that the flip side of the coin is always there. Things can go horribly wrong horribly at any moment. This is why I am enjoying my life right now, drinking it in so to speak since for most of my life I feel like I was on the other side of the coin. I imagine that one of the greatest feelings in life is to end up in a place that you always wanted to be, but never imagined was possible. I’m enjoying this feeling at the moment.

Interviewer: How is our health holding up?

Randall: Well I must say that it is better than it has been in a long time. Years of struggle and anxiety have certainly weakened me but my Zen meditation practice and the love and support that I receive from my wife has without a doubt saved my life. She waters me with so much love that my roots have become stronger. My anxiety and worry is much less than it has ever been and all in all I feel good. I still struggle with breathing difficulties, restless leg syndrome and occasional obsessive frightening thoughts but things are not nearly as bad as when I lived up north.

Interviewer: I agree with you. I have noticed this as well. I think our wife is some kind of divine intervention. A miracle.

Randall: True. I am grateful for her existence in our life. Where would we be without her?

Interviewer: In a very different place. Probably still anxious and stuck up north.

Randall: Yeah.

Interviewer: Well I suppose that it is probably time for us to wrap up this interview. We need to take a shower, get dressed and get on with our day. I have a few final question for you before I go.

Randall: Ask away.

Interviewer: Do you have any big projects in the works? Anything that you are working on for the future?

Randall: You know for so many years I worked on things for the sake of bettering my future. I painted and wrote with future hopes, dreams and expectations in mind. Day after day I worried about how I was going to survive economically and what I was going to do with my life. It was torture. Now I am at a place in my life where I am really taking it one day at a time. I am not as driven to be a successful writer and/or painter as I was two or three years ago. I am now just taking it one day at a time. Today I want to read, work in my garden and go for a walk with my dog. Tomorrow I may decide to write an essay, work on a novel or make a painting. Or maybe not. I am no longer as tortured by the expectations of others and my own expectations. I don’t worry about what I am going to do with my life because I am doing my life right now.

Interviewer: Are you still as worried about money as you once were?

Randall: Maybe a bit but not as much. I may run out of money tomorrow. Ten years ago I would have had tremendous anxiety about this. Now I try to budget my money the best I can and leave the rest up to fate. I am doing my part to create a situation for myself where I have the potential to make a good income. I am just not worrying about the future as much as I used to because I am much more in the moment of my life and for the first time in a long time- I feel that it is the place I deserve to be.

Interviewer: Do you still suffer from feeling like a failure, as you once did?

Randall: Not so much. It is really interesting to me how life evolves, how we change as human beings. Sure I wish that today I was an accomplished writer and artists who was able to pay his bills and be economically comfortable as a result of his art. But I no longer feel like a failure because I have not attained this status. Sometimes when I watch a musician or artist being interviewed I get jealous. I feel envious that they have been able to create a life for themselves, which is a result of doing their art. Just the other day I was watching an interview with my generation’s most successful writer and I felt envious. It must be nice owning a home and eating food that you earned from doing your art. But this is not how my life has worked out and I think I am in the process of making peace with this. It is a tough one though.

Interviewer: Do you still think about writing and making art as much as you used to?

Randall: I thought you said that you only had a few more questions?

Interviewer: I did but as you know we can be very impulsive and when things come up in our mind we usually have to go with it.

Randall: This is true. Yes I think about art and painting all the time. If ideas for stories and paintings were dollar bills I would be a very rich man. Fortunately I have no shortage of ideas. I suppose what I lack most is the motivation to turn these ideas into things. Most days I would rather hang out with my wife, work in the garden, play with my dog, meditate and/or read a book.

Interviewer: I think you give yourself a tough time. You have created a lot of great things and it is ok that you may not be as motivated to make art or write at the moment. You may become motivated again at some point but now is your time to enjoy things as they are in your life and cultivate your next chapter. I actually much prefer your life now to when you were continually worried about what you were going to do with your life.

Randall: I like how you think.

Interviewer: Thank you Randall. I like how you think also.

Randall: Well I suppose we should put away the pen and paper and go get dressed now.

Interviewer: Sounds good.

My 89 New Year’s Resolutions

1) eat more walnuts and pistachios

2) impregnate wife (with her consent, of course)

3) work on overcoming anxiety

4) buy new underwear

5) recycle and compost most of my waste

6) recite a daily mantra

7) build something

8. spend more time with birds

9) spend less time on-line

10) drink less booze

11) be a better lover

12) leave less facebook status updates

13) have sex more

14) cultivate a daily meditation practice

15) make a new friend

16) get rid of a few old friends

17) contemplate the real meaning of freedom

18) be free

19) work as a Teacher

20) read more poetry

21) learn to enjoy doing the dishes

22) listen to my heart more than to my head

23) row a boat at least once a month

24) read everything Richard Brautigan has written

25) read everything John Fante has written

26) get a dog

27) become financially independent

28) remain healthy

29) continue to pursue dreams and do not be discouraged by those who have given up on their dreams

30) pay off credit card

31) grow vegetables

32) consider finding a mistress (with wife’s consent, of course)

33) spend less time alone

34) write more poetry

35) self publish a novel or book of short stories

36) practice compassion and gratitude

37) eat more (organic) hot dogs

38) bring my own shopping bags to the market

39) use less plastic

40) grow hair long (n0 haircuts)

41) ride a horse

42) participate in a protest march

43) save $2,000

44) be honest even when you feel like lying

45) publish a few poems

46) figure out where all my lost socks go

47) start feeding cat more regularly

48) sleep less

49) visit a farm

50) dance more

51) smile more

52) laugh more

53) stop listening to voices in my head

54) stop talking with the voices in my head when in public

55) surrender all need for control

56) listen deeply

57) socialize more with people even though I do not enjoy socializing

58) play board games with wife

59) volunteer someplace

60) buy more socks

61) find true self

62) hug and climb trees

63) accept my life fully without needing anything to be different

64) love

65) help others when I can, but do not sacrifice myself for others who want to get out of me whatever they can (for their own gain)

66) plant a tree

67) stop eating so much cheese

68) learn how to fix bicycles

69) cultivate a relationship with someone over the age of 75

70) buy myself a gift once a month

71) drink more herbal tea

72) plant a garden that grows dollar bills

73) embrace growing older without fear

74) go on a meditation retreat

75) iron clothes more often

76) eat less white flour

77) swim

78) let go of the future and the past, simplify

79) work towards being able to bend over from waist and touch fingers to feet

80) visit a dentist

81) get a foot massage

82) be comfortable with being weird

83) build up arm muscles (preferably, the result of having more sex)

84) work on improving my marriage

85) buy a kitchen table

86) drink more water

87) spend time with a river

88) keep fresh flowers in my home at all times

89) do not get upset with myself if I do not accomplish all these resolutions, instead remember that I did the best I can

The Bank Teller

Let me tell you somethings. Did you know that every time we inhale, we absorb oxygen expelled into the atmosphere as a waste product by the earths plant life? Every time we exhale, we expel carbon dioxide as a waste product into the atmosphere where it can eventually be absorbed by the same plant life? Did you know this? Let me also tell you that no matter where you live upon our beautiful earth you are breathing in trace amounts of depleted uranium from the bombs that the U.S are using in Iraq. Did you know that over twenty thousand children die a day from starvation? How about the fact that a plane never went into the Pentagon? Did you know that 9-11 and the war in Iraq (which has terminated the lives of over one million Iraqis) are a result of what is called War Games? Let me also tell you that Lao Tzu, the Chinese mystic believed that if we can somehow expand our narrow image of ourselves and live from our wholeness, then many of our problems will simply disappear on their own.

This is why I took the job as a Bank Teller. It allows me the opportunity to tell strangers things that they would otherwise never know. Costumers come into the bank where I work and think that they are only coming in to deposit or withdraw money. They are usually impatient and in a hurry- stuck in what Lao Tzu would call “Narrowness.” Rather than just taking their money or giving them their money I like to tell them things- expand their consciousness. It is one way that I can make an active contribution to my community and to the human race as a whole. Did you know that writing poetry and reading poetry helps you maintain dignity, it will help you to be better suited to defend yourself in the world? I said this to a middle aged women the other day who seemed aggravated and in a hurry. I could tell that her life had become a collection of material pursuits and failed dreams and I could see the frustration in her eyes. “I have always wanted to read poetry but I never have the time,” she said to me with a glimmer of hope between her eyes. “Well, you might want to make time.” Today she returned to the bank with a book of T.S Elliot poems in her hands and she seemed refreshed. “I am making the time,” she said to me with a smile as I withdrew cash for her.

Often times people come into my bank to find out about bank balances, interests rates, mortgage payments, and fees. I give them the information they want but I usually prefice it with information that I want to tell. I have a sense of urgency within me that drives me to say something. Did you know that Spirulina, dried prunes, beef liver and beer are excellent sources of copper? I said to one man who looked to me to be suffering from a copper deficiency. Because of global warming and soil erosion, human beings are no longer getting a proper amount of this valuable mineral in their diets. The lack of copper in our diets may be responsible for the majority of contemporary diseases. The next day this man came back to the bank to show me the bottle of copper supplements he bought. It is by demanding dignity and respect that you gain it, I told another costumer who was being passive aggressive with me and refused to tell me how she was really feeling. Something was triggered in her when I said this and she straightened up her posture and left my bank looking more confident.

The managers at my bank are on my back. They have accused me of spending to much time with my costumers and not moving the line at a quick enough speed. Did you know that capitalism is used to exploit workers by making them maximize profits in the quickest amount of time? “I did not,” one of the managers said to me with a look of stupefaction upon his white collard face. Yes, capitalism exhausts the worker for the betterment of the organization that they work for. This is what drives capitalism. Use the worker to maximize profits for the company. When the worker gets worn out or dies- just fill the vacancy with another worker. There will always be workers because in capitalistic societies only the very few get to enjoy the wealth of other peoples labor, I explained. “Look, you are one of our best Bank Tellers but you need to stop spending so much time chatting with your costumers so that we can maintain our banks reputation for giving expedient service.” Then he walked away without waiting for my reply.

Did you know that I am going to get fired from my position as a Bank Teller? I am expecting it any day now. At the staff meeting yesterday the bank handed out a list of strategies for normalizing behavior in bank employees. One of these strategies was to replace words with a smile to speed up the line. “Smile more and speak less.” I am not a very good employee because I do not like bosses. I don’t like being subjected to their expectations. Did you know that a real culture functions to limit greed. Our culture functions to increase it , because we are repeatedly told, it’s profitable to do so, though the majority of profits go only to a few people, I said to every one present at the meeting. People who go to work for corporations essentially abandon their integrity as individuals in order to serve the corporation, I added to the consternation of the managers. “Okay that is enough just keep smiling and maximizing profits and that is all,” the head manager said and then ended our staff meeting. If you have lost the capacity to be outraged by what is outrageous, you’re dead. Somebody ought to come and haul you off, I said on our way out from the meeting. Like I said, I have a sense of urgency- I have to say something.

Did you know that we pity Muslim women for wearing veils, yet almost every face in this country is veiled by suspicion and fear? You can’t walk down a city street an get anybody to look at you. People’s countenances are undercover operations in America. Oh, and let me also tell you the most important thing I tell costumers at my bank. That love is not abstract and cannot lead to abstract action. Love is the catalyst for concrete action, which is taking responsibility for what we do here and now. Love is not just a feeling. It’s an instruction: love one another. That’s hard to do. It does not mean to sit at home and have fond feelings. You’ve got to treat people as if you love them , whether you do or not. I know that I am holding up the line, and that I am going to loose my job as a Bank Teller- but I have to tell these things……….

A Meditation And A Hallucination.

True Love Waits?

Before the age of twelve I was already sticking my small penis inside various objects with holes in them. Toilet paper rolls, hoses, wine bottles, ketchup bottles and the onion bagels my mother would bring home every Sunday morning. I fashioned my own holes out of hamburger meat from the freezer, potatoes and the watermelons that my father grew in our backyard. By the age of fifteen I was a fiend who utilized everything that I could get my hands on for sexual gratification. I gave myself blow jobs with my sisters hair dryer. I stole my mothers diaphragm and stuck it up my rear end. I masturbated habitually to my fathers pornography magazines and I wondered when the time would come that I would have the opportunity to act out my fantasies on a member of the opposite sex.

When I was sixteen I tried to sneak into strip clubs with a fake ID but was rejected every time. I tried to convince a prostitute to let me stick my penis in her for fifteen dollars but she refused because she did not want to live with the guilt that she had corrupted a minor. I continued to have sex with holes and even found a way to place my penis inside of my bathroom sink drain. Desperation is the mother of all ingenuity.

When I was seventeen I had a babysitter who dressed me up like Tarzan. She stripped me down naked and tied one of my fathers belts around my waist. She then covered my crotch with a small kitchen cloth and my butt was covered with one of my fathers dress socks- both hanging from the belt. I wore my mothers tennis head band over my long hair and put my sisters red lipstick on. She would then chase me all over the house until she would tackle me on the ground and order me to “scream like the little jungle pervert you are” over and over as she tickled me relentlessly. Sometimes the cloth that covered my crotch would come off and reveal the erection that I would get when she was sitting on top of me. Her only response to this natural human phenomena was “look.. little Tarzan’s pee pee wants to say hi.” I was humiliated and immediately covered myself back up. She was never sexual with me but was rather what I would call a tease. After we were finished with our games I would sit outside on the front door steps with her and watch her smoke and blow smoke rings with big holes. I always fantasized about sticking my penis inside one of those hole but I never was able to ask her if I could.

It was not until I was eighteen that I was finally able to stick my penis inside a member of the opposite sex. I remember my mother lecturing me upon the virtues of waiting for true love until I gave away my virginity. In fact a lot of people that I knew at that time were talking about waiting until they found true love, the person that they were going to marry before they had sex. I never judged them for this decision that they seemed committed to upholding but for me the idea was insane. I was not concerned about true love, nor did I care about giving away my virginity. I wanted to fuck and if I did not do so soon I was going to be a danger to myself, my family and society. I had already started contemplating ways to stick my penis inside the beautiful white horse that lived down the street from my house. I contemplated having sex with cats and cows. When I orgasmed my semen shot ten feet into the distance because of all the pent up pressure. No, I was not concerned with true love, I needed to get laid. Like I said to my mother on my way out the front door the night that I would have sex for the first time….”mom, true love can wait.”

Breasts Not Bombs

I happen to be a lover of breasts. I am also adamantly against bombs. This morning when I was on a walk and dealing with various thoughts of impending doom- I had an idea. Why not start a non-profit organization called Breasts Not Bombs? The value of the idea was greatest in its ability to get my mind off of obsessive thoughts of impending doom. Rather than thinking about my own death, I was able to focus upon the visual imagery of breasts. These breasts belonged to no women in particular but rather they were universal breasts belonging to all women.

As I walked through the park with an image of youthful breasts swinging around in my head- I found that the anxiety that I was suffering from moments ago had passed. There is something about the image of breasts that calms the central nervous system. Breasts are nurturing, comforting, cooling and there is not a person on earth who is not calmed by the presence of a breast. I was suddenly able to make sense of my chronic desire to look down women’s shirts or seek out strippers and stare at their breasts. I am seeking repose or release from the chronic anxiety that seems to be upon me day and night. I am looking for breasts to calm my frazzled nerves in the same way that a person who is about to drown searches for a life preserver.

As I watched the morning sun come up over the tall looming redwood trees I realized that I not only had an erection but that a non- profit organization like Breasts Not Bombs could possibly save the world. It was the German Psychiatrists Wilhelm Reich who said that “if man could just have a daily orgasm or be allowed to fondle a naked woman everyday, then all the wars and terrible violence of humanity could be avoided.” Men would not want to fight- because the release of sexual energy would allow them to feel rested and calm. Myself, being a daily orgasamer, happen to agree with Reich’s theory. I am a very non-violent man who has yet to throw a punch or harm another fellow human being in any direct way. I have always known that this is mainly because I am always thinking of naked woman and masturbating. If Breasts Not Bombs could stimulate this same feeling in the majority of men on earth- than maybe I could find a way to avert the constant violence on earth that I so strongly stand against. This could win me the one thing I have always longed for- a Noble Peace Prize.

I would have to find thousands of woman who would be willing to not only walk around with out shirt and bra but also be willing to allow men to fondle their breasts. These woman would have to be connected with their maternal instincts and realize that what they where doing was sacrificing their own sense of feministic decency for the larger good of humanity. By allowing men to play with their breasts- they would be effectively changing if not saving the world. As I returned to my home ready to begin the work of establishing my own non-profit, I grew a bit disconcerted with my ability to gather so many women who were willing to sacrifice themselves for a larger good. In our contemporary American war culture, where breasts have become taboo and hidden from view like the Dead Sea Scrolls- how the hell would I find a thousand women willing to bare their boobs and save the world? I have always believed that where there is a will there is a way….and the rest of my day was spent creating a plan to make my will a reality.

Sometimes It’s Fun To Get Lost

It’s like jumping over time. Tricking space. Being lost is the most immediate way to be free. This is why I try doing it as much as possible in this modern world where every one pretends to be found. I prefer not knowing where I am. Not knowing which way to go. Even when I know where I am I pretend that I am without a clue. Being lost for me is a form of salvation- a way to escape from the narrow confines of day to day life. A way to turn things on mute. When I am lost I am stuck in wonder. There is no wrong that I can do and I am free from all the critical judgements of my mind. Being lost for me is a form of therapy, a way to understand myself outside of time and space.

Certain individuals always say to me that they are worried because I always seem lost. “How are you going to maintain a normal job or have a family if you are always lost?” I am often asked. My employers look at me with concern because they are unsure where they can find me. It fills people with trepidation when you spend a lot of time being lost. They feel like they don’t know where to find you and this jeopardizes their own sense of safety and control. I am often faced with questions in the form of condemnations about being lost. “You are so forgetful you know?” or “When are you going to take responsibility?” I often times know that these judgements being expressed towards me are the pontifications of someone feeling out of control. But my intention in getting lost is not to make people anxious or worried, rather I get lost because it is fun.

It is hard to have fun when you get older. Fun can be worn out just like a pair of jeans. We need to drink more or eat more in order to feel the same pleasure that we did when younger. But one form of fun that has never thawed out for me is forgetting where I am. I have been doing it for years and the older I get the better I become at being lost. I relate this kind of fun to the pleasure an enlightened person must have being enlightened. When I am at lost I am free from the responsibilities and familiarities that dictate the course of my normal life. I no longer have to pretend and I enjoy the knowledge that no one around me knows who I am. Nothing seems to matter to me when I am lost other than the moment which I occupy with complete mindfulness. It is almost as if being lost for me is a meditation. An opportunity to set my perpetual thoughts aside and remain focused on the knowledge that I am finally free.

My Sister The Slut

My sister is a 37 year old slut. I have not always been aware of this- but recently it has caught my attention that this is the case. On several occasions I have spent time with her in parks on nice sunny afternoons. We lay out a blanket and I am always surprised because she suddenly takes of her clothes and wears a very skimpy bikini. I am surprised because we usually spend time together in popular parks where there are men all around playing bongo drums, doing yoga, playing frisbee or just hanging out “surfing for chicks.” I myself have always been a bit uncomfortable hanging out with my sister when she is wearing a bikini. I see more of her than I want to and I am also unsettled by the amount of men that become fixated upon her bare body. Often, I would just chalk her modesty up to a desire to receive a tan- but lately I have realized that there is more behind her bikini wearing motivations.

My sister is a medical doctor and spends most of her weekdays dressed in nice suits usually covered by the traditional white Doctors smock. She is an attractive lady with long brown hair and golden brown gypsy skin. She is well educated and has a tendency to drink and smoke a little too much. She lives alone in a lavish city apartment with her cat who is on heart medication. My sister is often going on dates with strange men who she meets on-line and in the park.

My sister recently told me that she has met at least twenty men in the park that we like to go to, over the past two months. When I asked her how many of these men she has gone on dates with she told me “all.” I was shocked since I have always considered my sister a rather conservative sexually repressed professional. When she told me that her idea of a date was getting a bottle of red wine, some weed and staying in and watching a movie- I knew something strange was going on. My sister was seducing these men and then having her way with them in the privacy of her own bed.

I do not know why I am surprised that my sister is a slut. I come from a family that has a long lineage of sexual perversion. My grandparents and parents were swingers. I myself was addicted to prostitution and pornography for many years. Now that I am married my sex life has become more non existent but I am able to maintain some sexual relevance by a masturbation habit that never gets boring. After all the afternoons spent sitting with my sister in parks it never occurred to me that she to was acting out her deep and genetically acquired sexual perversions. I was naive not to see the motivations behind her bikini and body oil. I was also naive to distrust my own feelings of discomfort that I felt when ever she was dressed in a bikini.

I recently found out that on warm sunny days my sister goes to a particular park in the city and sits in the sun wearing nothing but her bikini. She smokes cigarettes and does all the paper work that has accumulated from her day job as a doctor. Her office has become the park and she is always trying to get me to meet her there when I am done with work. But recently I have been staying away. I do not want to face my discomfort around the fact that my sister is wearing a bikini because she is trying to hook and reel in men like a fisherman awaiting some stupid fish to bite the bait. I do not want to face the fact that my sister is a slut and possibly using me as bait to capture the jealous attention of other men. After all I am an usually handsome man and the two of us together have often been mistaken for super models. So I am staying away from her and the park for a time. I am trying to make due with this knew realization about my sister and find out if there is some sort of way that I can convince her that she is traveling down to wrong path.

The Bush Lover

I am a serious lover of vagina. Not in a misogynistic way but rather I adore vagina. At times it is almost as if vagina and I are kindred spirits. Lately I have been contemplating where this odd bond comes from. I have been trying to re-live my mothers relationship with her own vagina and my fathers relations with my mother’s vagina. Nothing imparticular stands out in my mind other than a few muddied memories.

When I was born my mother told me that my head was stuck between the lips of her vagina and the outside world. It took hours to get me through what by then had become and enlarged mass of pulsating tissue. Doctors had to work diligently to get me through my mother’s vagina and then said that I demonstrated unusual resistance for an infant my size. My birth was not traumatic but rather more like the experience of getting out of bed when you desperately want to stay in it. All day long you long for a time later that day when you can return.

My mother always used to laugh about how when she would try and breast feed me I would immediately head down into the vicinity of her crotch. I did not want to be kept away and when she would return my suckling head to her breast I would break out in terrible cries. When my mom would rest with me in a chair or on the couch I would always keep my head planted in between her legs. “It is as if you wanted to go back in to where you had come from,” my mother often tells me when I talk to her about my love of vagina’s.

My therapist helped me to see how vagina’s for me are a symbol of returning to the womb. The womb for me was a pleasant place, a place of warmth and safety. The world for me is a place of fear and chronic anxiety intermixed with moments of over whelming beauty and heart felt emotion. At times it all feels like to much….and it is during these times that I most heavily long for vagina.

I don’t necessarily like the taste of vagina nor do I enjoy the act of licking around in it with my tongue. Most of the time when I am in close proximity to my wife’s vagina I will delicately use my fingers to gently pull apart the flesh and see if there is a big enough hole there for me to slip back in through. The hole is seldom big enough to fit anything larger than a bottle cork into so I usually end up resting my head upon the warmth of her naked crotch.

I often stare at other women’s vagina’s before I even look at them in the face. This is a habit that I believe I developed at birth. I am not looking at the vagina like a pervert would but rather every time I look at the area where the vagina is located I am filled with a warmth that I am at a loss to describe. It is like a feeling that one gets when they are returning home after years and years away. Sometimes I will sit on a park bench that is close to my home and spend the entire day watching vagina’s pass by. I am a 36 year old married man and I am still searching around in the bush.

When I was a younger man my friends and I all referred to vagina’s as “bush.” “Hey man did you get some bush last night?” we would always ask one another and of course the answers were almost always “well, almost but she didn’t want to put out.” I on the other hand was fortunate. One of my first girlfriends in high school loved to let me travel around in her bush. Her name was Emily Jolly and by the time she was 15 she had already been around the bases a few times. One of my friends informed me that she had also hit several grand slams (orgies).

By the age of 15 I was already obsessed with vagina’s. My school locker was filled with cut out photographs of vagina’s. When Emily Jolly told me that I could “mess with her bush” when we had not even kissed yet I became overwhelmed with a mixture of excitement and terrible anxiety. After a few weeks of waiting to get the nerve up I finally asked her if I could “see it.” We snuck behind the gym and there she lifted up her skirt and showed me what was the most magnificent thing I had ever seen. Her vagina was huge, and was covered with so much hair and vibrant pulsation that I knew it was the place I was supposed to be.

I tried several times to fit my head into her vagina but I was never able to climb all the way in. Emily loved it when I would fit my hole fist inside her- but when I proceeded to try and fit the top of my head into her she said it hurt to much. I grew jealous of my fist and often asked it what it was like inside. After the fourth or fifth time of trying to get inside her I gave up and slowly there after our relationship began to fall apart.

My wife has always been generous with my pre-occupation with vagina. She allows no jealousy to creep in when I look at other women’s vagina’s and she lets me rest my head upon her vagina for as long as I need. Some days my desire to be inside the vagina is so strong that I will cry about never ever again being able to get back in again. My tears lubricate my wife’s vagina as I lament over and over that I feel like a man who has been cruelly locked out from the very place he belongs. My wife pats my head and tells me to not worry, that every thing will be all right, but I know the truth- I know that I am a stranger in this land.

My Idea Of Fun

“I am worried that you are not having enough fun in your life,” my wife said to me. “I have had too much fun in my life and now I am having fun not having fun,” I replied. She looked at me like one does when they know that you are lying to yourself. I considered what I had just said to her and then realized that I did not know what I was talking about. “When you go out and have fun, it sustains you into the future. It makes your life a little easier to handle.. a little more enjoyable to live,” my wife said. ” I have fun staying home and reading, writing or watching a movie. I don’t feel the need to go out to have fun,” I replied- but then I thought about what I said. “Am I really having fun staying in all the time, do I really even remember what it feels like to have fun?” I asked myself. “I think you are afraid of fun,” my wife said as she kissed me and left for another evening out with friends that I once again elected myself out of.

I have been staying home a lot lately. My wife goes out and has fun quite often but I stay in. I make up excuses and tell my wife that I have work to do. In reality I am avoiding the world. All through out my twenties and early thirties I indulged in the world. I went out night after night and indulged in what people like to commonly refer to as fun. I socialized, drank too much, smoked weed and went off on insane adventures that lasted until the sun came up. When I turned thirty I decided that friends were a waste of time and I began having fun alone. I spent my weekends and a few weekday evenings and afternoons in various strip clubs where I knew no one and no one knew me. In the darkness I somehow felt complete in my solitude and as I watched naked women dance for me upon a red lit stage- I was the happiest man alive. I would end my evening in massage parlors where I received shiatsu and a hand job- and then return home early the next morning and sleep until noon. This was my idea of fun.

Now that I am married I have lost touch with a feeling of fun. No longer can I hang out in strip clubs and massage parlors without ending up with a twelve pound suitcase filled with guilt and shame. It ain’t worth it. I hate keeping secrets from my wife so I have broken up with my idea of fun. I have few friends that I enjoy spending time with and solitude has become my favorite form of company. Last weekend when my wife and I went on a dinner date with another couple I felt like a man who was wasting his time. I drank too much so that I could force my self to have fun. All I really wanted was to be at home swimming around in the pages of a book.

“You are becoming reclusive and a curmudgeon,” my wife told me the other day. “Why because I don’t like to have fun?” I asked. “You don’t like to do anything,” she said. “That is not true!” I protested quickly. ” “Though doth protest too much…when was the last time that you had fun?” she asked. “I had fun last night being at home alone watching a movie and doing some writing,” I said. But then I thought about what I said. Was I really having fun being home night after night watching movies, writing and reading? Or has doing these things become my idea of fun because I have forgotten how to have fun? Have I given up on fun because I know that it only lasts for a brief period of time before you are right back where you were before that fun began? Fun drops you off right where it left you- stuck in the middle of your life (and usually with a hang over). Is this why I have given up on fun?

And then I realized that my idea of fun was no fun at all. I have become discouraged with fun, I have lost hope in fun. After decades of having fun I am still stuck in the realities of my life. I got tired of the fun ending. No matter how much fun I had the night before my life was still awaiting me in the morning. By refusing fun, I have learned how to stay present in my life. This way I am not disappointed, I am not let down. Fun for me is kind of like a lover who is always making you feel bad in the end. After years and years of this maddening relationship I have broken the cycle. I have left fun for the reality of my life. I have left fun for quiet evenings at home- a relationship that I feel is more dependable and certainly more consistent. “That’s my idea of fun,” I told my wife as I tried to describe why I was no longer interested in having fun.  “Well do not forget,” my wife replied, “tomorrow night is your sister’s birthday and we are going to go out illuminate ourselves out from this funk you live in and have some damn fun!”

A Blogger In Chains

I know that there are chains. I can feel them and here them and at times I can taste them. There seems not another living soul but me who can notice these chains- but I will not allow their limited perception to make me mad. I know that the chains are there and not a single soul can change my mind. No spiritual guru or psychotherapist can convince me that there is no shackle wrapped around my ankles and no chains dragging behind my feet. They are there and this is an unarguable fact- but what can be done about this “condition” is certainly up for discussion.

I only confess this “condition” of mine because I have notice that I share it with my fellow human kind. Every place I go and upon every one I know I can see these shackles and chains dangling from wrists, ankles and sometimes neck. The individual who is wrapped in chains seems seldom to realize that they are walking around with a great weight. Rather they stay distracted by preoccupations that seems to anesthetize any feeling of physical bondage. Is not this the role of modern technological gadgets (television, ipods, computers, cars and on and on), to make us numb? I am uncertain what is to be done, because when I talk about my chains with colleagues over coffee- I receive nothing but a blank stare that seems to suggest that I may be crazy. The more time I spend at work or thinking about the world- the more I can feel the weight of my chains.

I am not the first to mention this “condition.” The French religious philosopher Pascal did so as well. He wrote “we live between the weight of shackles, seldom aware that they restrict not only our physical bodies but also our spiritual aspirations.” I have visited with many spiritual counselors and healers in regards to my “condition.” I have been counseled by the best and the answer is always the same. “Yes, we live in chains- but it is the physical body which is contained. We can choose to be free in our thought by not getting attached to anything, by remaining free from thought.” How can I not think? This is the question that I always ask. I love thinking and trying to understand the nature of existence is what I do for a living (unpaid). I have worked hard to develop the quality of thoughts that I have- even if they often cause me a great deal of suffering. I have refined my thoughts by reading and writing religiously. Thought is the one great enjoyment that I indulge in every day. How I am supposed to live without thoughts when thought is the one thing that makes me feel civilized?

“Do not attach to your thoughts. Do not identify with your thoughts- just let them pass away into the universe. Everything is impermanent…even your shackles and chains,” one spiritual guru told me when I went out to his farm for an hour session. I spent over a hundred dollars to be counselled in how to break free from my thoughts. “It is your thought that creates the chains and it is your thoughts that can set you free,” were his final words to me. Granted, when I left the farm I felt lighter- less inconvenienced by my chains. I was out of the city, in nature and for the first time in a while I felt as if I could breathe. I was confused by what I was told by the spiritual guru- but I ascertained a glimmer of hope that I could be free. The moment I walked through the front door of my home and saw a credit card bill, phone bill, and insurance bill awaiting me upon my table- the great weight returned. I felt the chains slowly wrapping themselves around my wrists and ankles like a serpent. They worked their way up towards my neck and threatened to cut off my oxygen. As I walked towards the bathroom I kept on telling myself “do not think about it, do not think!!”- but my attempts were futile because the loud sound of the chains dragging along on the hardwood hallway floor convinced me that they are real.