The Same Story

I had this allegorical story brewing in my head about a board of decision makers who couldn’t get anything done because one of the members continually decided to not move the motions of the board forward because of his pathological need for power. So the health of the community suffered because of this one member who continued to prevent decisions from being made, and when members of the board tried to move forward, even after including him, he caused a legal stink that stopped things even more. But I decided not to write this story, because I’m so tired of it. I feel like it’s all I’ve written about for five years.



This stupidity in court is that story.
The stupidity over gun control is that story.
The stupidity over the debt ceiling and fiscal cliff is that story.
The stupidity over health care reform is that story.


I feel like smart phones are just a way to push advertisements to you more personally than ever before. And advertisements are simply lies packaged as refreshment.

“Your life will be better if you give us your money.” That’s all an ad is.

And then you allow yourself to succumb to the ad. And, ultimately, is your life better because you bought the latest piece of plastic, the newest taco, that car presented on the melodious voice of Alec Baldwin? No. Your life isn’t better. It’s got more stuff in it. And that isn’t better. It just means you need a bigger closet.

Facebook is one, huge ad. And it’s stupid. Here:
Facebook is stupid.
There. I’ve said it. I’ve started a path now.



Sleep is elusive. Friendships are elusive. Meaningful work is elusive.

What I have right now is love.
Love my wife.
Love my children.
Love my mother.
Love my step-father.
And that’s enough to keep me going. My legs are weak and wobbly, but that love keeps me going back into the ring for round 85? 86? It should have stopped at 15, but I’m still in the goddam fight. When can the fight be over?


But sometimes I’m plagued by my memories. Like icy electrical spikes at the base of my skull, I get these vivid images of moments in my life. And the images have emotional resonance, leaving me with a feeling of embarrassment, sadness, loss, fear, failure. His face is so close to mine, I can’t even see it, but I know there is a flesh-colored blur directly in front of me, and what is clearest to me is the garage door behind him… fear. You stayed with her for 3 years, and you knew you never loved her, but you walked down that road because you were afraid of being lonely and alone, and now you’re left with the memory of just how little you value yourself and how little you respect yourself… failure and embarrassment. If you had been a good son, he would have cared enough to see you perform, call you, not called you names, not sat on you… sadness and failure.  And even this feels like the same story I’ve been telling for the past five years. The stupidity of the few stopping the flow of the many.



I try to be like the river and flow. Putting a stick in the river simply allows the water to flow around the stick. Putting a brick in the river does the same. You must build a dam to stop the flow, and even a dam allows the river to rise and grow.

I’m not the river. And I’m not flowing.



I tried to write a song for my mother for Christmas. I couldn’t do it. I was too fatigued. Too out of practice. Too ordinary. Too talentless. It’s all gone away from me.

I tried to write a song for my wife for Christmas. I couldn’t finish it. Same reasons.

And the non-completion of these gifts makes me feel inferior, ordinary, weak.  Failure. “If you really loved them, you would have given them the gift of your voice and song. They wouldn’t have gotten that from anywhere else. And now, because of your lack of talent, they won’t get it even from you. How disappointing you are.”



It would be nice to win the lottery on Wednesday.

But even that won’t happen.

And that, too, is the same story.