Silver Diffusion

Within the cool, foggy mornings surrounded by trees and silence I find myself at home. We all yearn to go from Point A to Point B, and in this instance I feel as if I've arrived. Unfortunately Point B always seems to be temporary and static, forever moving. Perhaps it's just a variable that's greater than another variable, yet still undefined. The only thing I truly know about it is what it is not.

Can Hope be a physical, or at least metaphysical, place that we're all seeking? Like the birds we have a special magnetic sense that draws us to that place. In a recent documentary film about him, David Lynch imparts some wisdom. One thing that's stuck in my mind is when he talks about the importance of 'doing.' He says that the end result of 'doing' is the fruit, though it's in the 'doing' that we truly find our peace.

He has to be right, as much as it may not make too much obvious logical sense. We see the dollar signs and a world of praise and admiration as the central motivator to our actions, our projects. So why is it when we achieve these things we are left eventually feeling empty? It's because you've reached the end, and it's time to start something new. I think about why I watch movies and read books. If the real reason is for the ending conclusion, why bother with the rest of the story? All that conflict and turmoil? Does anyone consciously seek out issues and problems that cause us nothing but stress?



I've found that when I'm on a journey it is one big, deep meditation experience. There's always unexpected turns and roadblocks that challenge me in my path. I sometimes lose sight of why I'm on the trip to begin with, becoming discouraged. It's when I then remember that the journey is in fact the reason the final destination is so coveted. Ultimately we're motivated to do all this stuff for our own well being.

And so it's imperative that I keep taking short walks and schedule long journeys. It's healthy for everyone to do so! As an artist it is essential for me to continue with my works of expression, regardless of the opinion of others.

It's my purpose.

- Ether

Invisible Ink

What is the secret to breaking through everything?

Addictions and bad habits are traps. They hold us and deny us our freedom. They prevent us from doing the necessary stuff that life throws at us. We're allowed to continue living because it benefits the parasite. It's sad, really, because some of us go through life without ever knowing of it's existence. It emits an analgesic toxin that allows us to stay in denial.

I find it okay to allow a separation between myself and my parasites. It's so easy to identify with and falsely believe that you are the bad one, that you could have taken measures to have prevented the infection. Unfortunately parasites are part of the natural world, as natural as living and dying, and I know that I'm just as vulnerable as anyone else.


Certain times I minimize the severity of my situation, making excuses. The habit requires a continued existence and has the ability to manipulate it's host to insure nothing comes in the way of that. Help is for crazy people, and you're not crazy right? So I've tried handling it on my own, only to find in the end that it is impossible without assistance. It preys on your fears. It reminds you that you're afraid of how others perceive you. As a people-pleaser, it's almost impossible for me to make really difficult decisions.

The entertainer is naturally a people-pleaser. It's what seems to drive him.

I say I don't care what others think of me, but it has to be a lie. It's something I tell myself over and over, trying to convince my psyche to believe it. The truth is that I have no idea how to fully be 'normal.' Does anyone really? I know that I try to conceal my flaws. My invisible ink only appears under specific conditions.

Society seems to frown upon originality and uniqueness. It's a foreign invader! As I grow up I notice myself hating current music more and more. Every generation seems to do this. New things are alien to adults. It's something you can't fully understand unless you finally reach that point. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it," is for comfort. I've yearned to understand this world, to come up with the answers to the questions. It's frustrating to find out that the old method, the way you used to live is no longer applicable and you have to adapt yet again.


Quiet Cabin
by Deede Denton

There's a quiet, cozy cabin in the woods that I've been searching for my whole life. Every time I think I've finally found it, I then make a futile attempt to keep it forever. I fight nature and always end up losing. Trees fall on the roof. Termites eat through the walls. Flooding, tornadoes, forest fires, grizzly bears, earthquakes, avalanches, blizzards, and the occasional volcano eruption. Eventually I'm forced to move out with tears of sorrow and discouragement in my eyes.


Time traveling to the subjective past can be an unhealthy addiction. I've used it as a coping mechanism, a means of escape, the euphoric rush of a fantastic and ideal world that no longer exists. It has it's place, much like the infinite future trajectories. It's not often that I arrive exactly at the location I previously visited in my mind, since the iterations of the future are mind-bogglingly numerous, though it can get pretty close. The time travel practice can provide us hope and temporary relief, but with anything like that you have to be careful not to exceed the recommended dosage or else you'll suffer the consequences.

And by itself I know that this activity is not a cure for my parasites. Just a tool, not the solution. Help is a tool. Ultimately though, only I can purge them from myself.

- Ether

Service

Have you taken enough initiative already before you ask for help? Do you deserve help? Who are you to ask? You should never call 911 unless it's an absolute emergency!

It's taken me quite a long time to ask for help. My whole life I've been in denial about it too. Part of it is a control thing. To have help means I'm relinquishing my rights of full control over a situation. My power is gone. On top of that, I feel guilt for not being able to do or handle something all by myself. My fear is that other people will see me as a burden, as someone who just manipulates and uses others and is too lazy to do anything for himself. This has been reinforced in me over the years based on the what others have done to me.

In 6th grade middle school, I was bullied by other kids who perceived me as too smart and intelligent for them, even though I had no arrogance about it. I didn't dress exactly the same or spoke the same, so I was a target. This made my mother furious, and guidance counselors became involved. Unfortunately nothing changed. The abuse continued throughout the year, and a lot of my best friends stopped talking to me, appeasing their new friends. My grades suffered because I would daydream more and more. I hated being there, so I hid away in my mind where it was safe.


In 7th grade my mother pleaded with the school to get me into an honors program, based on my intelligence level. Even though my grades were slipping, the administration allowed me to join this new cluster filled with the smart kids. We all thought the problem was solved, and I even got to be in the same class as one of my best friends!

Of course it didn't work out that way. The bullying was now ten times worse. I was put down and told that I was a complete idiot. Nothing I could do would change that. All I wanted was to be accepted, for everyone to be respectful to me, even my tormentors, and yet it just got worse and worse. My school locker was broken into several times and music equipment and money was stolen. In the boys gym locker room, my clothes would magically disappear from time to time, and everyone would just laugh at me. I failed Gym because I refused to change into gym clothes. My coach didn't care. On the way into the locker room there were zigzagging corridors, and as the prior class of 8th graders were exiting they'd no doubt push me against the walls and laugh. My classmates joined in trying to impress the upperclassmen.

I'd find bad things written in my school books from time to time. There were depictions of me in negative ways. No one would personally admit doing it, but the majority of them would just laugh as they noticed me reading it. If they weren't writing in them, they were ripping pages out, or hiding the books altogether. I learned quickly to never let my backpack out of my sight, and to always carry every single one of my books everywhere, no matter how painful the load was to carry.


My 7th grade math teacher once looked at me and asked, "What's the matter?" I replied bluntly. "Life sucks." He was taken aback, but then began to laugh. "Oh, you are looking at the glass half empty! It's still half full, you know!" Unmoved I said back, "But you're implying that there's any water in the glass to begin with."

On one occasion I remember my 7th grade social studies teacher speaking to me in the lunch room with a look of concern on his face. "Randy, are you okay? Do you need to go to the nurse?" I looked up at him a bit surprised. I was completely fine, so I wasn't sure why he'd assume that. "Huh?" I replied quietly. He put his hand on my shoulder. "You look pale, you don't look so well today, how about I take you down to the nurse's office?" I wasn't about to protest, since I knew that I'd be able to get away from everyone and spend time on a cot alone in a quiet room for a short duration of time. When I arrived, the nurse took one look at me and asked if I wanted to lay down. I didn't hesitate. That whole time I rested, trying to figure why everyone thought I wasn't doing too well, unable to see the big picture.


I have no idea how many times my lunch or my lunch money was stolen and I went hungry. I have no idea how many times I was tripped in the hallways. I have no idea how many times I was pushed and hit outside of the school when the teachers weren't around. I have no idea how many times I was followed home and attacked. I have no idea how many times false accusations were made about me, and how I always got in trouble when I was innocent. I have no idea how many times I reached out for help to my teachers and was never taken seriously. I have no idea how many times my chair had been pulled out from under me as I tried to sit down. I have no idea how many times I was actually shoved and locked up in a locker. I have no idea how many hard basketballs were thrown at me. I have no idea how many times I was purposely knocked down on the ground while playing sports. I have no idea how many times I was laughed at by the way I ran.
It became difficult to eat, since my appetite had completely disappeared. I was chastised for it, and made to feel guilty. My slipping grades also reasserted the concept that I was inept. That year was the first and only time I ever went to summer school, which was for math, the same subject that I was once in the top 98 percentile of among other children. I was punished that summer and resorted in just isolating myself. I was safe there. I was happy there. I had to recuperate for the next school year. Each vacation day was cherished.

I moved that summer to a different town, a different school. To my complete surprise, my feelings of being persecuted and hated had been lifted. The individuals I had now began being around were all respectful! They didn't judge me like the others used to. All I had were fond memories of those two years I spent in that town. Those may have the best ones in my life, and perhaps even made up for the prior two. It was as if I was reborn into a more sane world. Finally I had arrived to a place that I thought reality was supposed to be like, and not the hell that I had been living in before.

My creativity was sparked and I began writing words and music. This is where I found my true outlet. Everyone cherished my cassette demos. Everyone wanted to be in a band with me. Everyone enjoyed my company. I was free in ways I can't even describe. I was in walking distance to an amazing video game shop, as well as a popular department store and a video rental place. I was next to a bus stop, in which I could be taken down to the city to hang out with all sorts of amazing people in front of a favorite coffee shop. We used to take a tour of the streets late at night as a large group. We used to hang out at the local college campus, and even use their computers in the computer rooms! We used to attend festivals and events, just us kids!

I finally felt like I belonged somewhere. Even when I was forced to move again, I still felt like the time I spent in that Eden was a priceless therapy that provided me so many tools for dealing with the rest of my life. Where my life could have went one way, I instead had a renewed sense of self-worth. I had no trouble making new friends wherever I went. I continued having new and exciting adventures with others.

I finally felt that I wasn't alone.



- Ether

Zero-Point Energy

If I had a decent shovel, I'd still know it would be pointless to dig a hole to China. The world is just too big, too hard, and I won't live long enough to break through all of it. Also, how is it really a healthy act to dig a hole you can never get out of? Sometimes it seems I try testing myself and turn away just before the event horizon. What is with the paradox of wanting to stay away from danger while also being attracted to it?

Perhaps the lesson we're supposed to learn from the fate of Lot's wife was that we shouldn't play with matches. Then again Lot seemed like a pretty horrible person offering his daughters to those awful men. His wife could have just been sick of it all. Everything was being destroyed, all her friends, her life, her home were to be no more. No where does is it indicate her desire to continue living. That may have been as far as her abilities were willing to take her.

She couldn't change as drastically as was required by her immediate situation. There were no support groups or antidepressant medications. Confiding in her husband just seemed out of the question after what he pulled with the angels back in the city with the mob. Then again I'm projecting my modern-day rationale on a woman from a time and place much different from my own. From what I understand about history, she would have had an understanding of what her limitations in her life were and weren't.


Or it was just a case where she should have listened to the warning, and instead curiosity killed the cat. Unsolicited advice is always difficult to take, especially if she had some degree of narcissism. Don't forget, it wasn't until the angels came into the picture that her life went upside-down. There may have been already a bit of resentment.

Now that I'm thinking of it, if she was more aware of her life and her surroundings I'd think she would have moved out of that horrible place long ago. Considering how bad the crime rate was there due to the corruption and lack of oversight of the city's law enforcement, I would never imagine raising my kids there. Her life must have consisted of quite a few bad decisions. The final one she made may have turned out to be the best one for her!

If someone is picking on a paraplegic in a wheelchair, it's definitely insensitive to tell them to "stand up" for themselves.

Intelligence is a double-edged sword. We can build technology to solve our problems, which is an unfair advantage over nature. So then we're eventually left in a vast, empty abyss. A void. If a cat could figure out how to be an intelligent capitalist and employ others to gather up mice in large quantities, what then is left? If God was in a call center waiting patiently on the phone as a customer service representative for you to explain your problems then swiftly fix all of them in a timely manner, eventually the process would grow tiresome. If I have a problem I "Google" it and almost immediately get the answer. God's smarter than you thought, because he put Google in place to do those menial tasks.

Now hopefully with the extra time he'll finally get started on his next book. I'm fucking eager to read it.



- Ether

Poppy

The thing about earthquakes is that there's never really any warning before they're about to happen, and so the pain is instantaneous. Our minds by default go into shock, shutting out all feeling and reception, unable know what to do. I've learned that minimizing the pain through repression only makes matters worse and the healthiest way of dealing with the aftermath is to face it without judgement or resistance.

My father ended his life last Saturday. No one had any idea, though I suppose that's how it usually is, right? With the week I've taken off of work I've had quite a fair share of sadness. It's been a roller coaster ride, where I'll be remembering how happy things used to be, then I'll remember that my father is no longer around. I can't share these moments with him. He can't share his moments with me.




What drove him to do it? I'll never have a definitive answer. He never wanted to 'burden' anyone else with his issues. The last thing he ever did was rely on anyone besides himself. So many letdowns in his life, it must have hardened his heart, yet not enough to make him cold. It's cliche to say to your dad that he's the best in the world, and yet I can't help but expressing that I feel he was. Maybe it's because he was the best dad for me specifically, since we're from the same tree. He had to have known some of my thought processes and feelings since he had them too, and I do the same with my older son.

I can't imagine the pain he was in to have done this to himself. I can't imagine his thoughts as I told him a month ago that I longed to see him, especially for his birthday, that I loved him very much. It's only in the last year or so that I've been able to really express to him my appreciation to him. How much pain had he been in when hearing me say this to him, being alone with his dark thoughts? He couldn't let me down and tell me the problems in his life. The demands he made of himself were too high, and he feared so much how his close family would view him after learning about his mistakes. So much guilt. So much pain. So much loneliness.

My father and I never seemed to cope very well with my mother's passing. It was mostly just us trying to move on the best we could, and inside we both felt like hell. I know it, we were fooling each other and ourselves. We never spoke at length to each other about it, because neither of us really wanted to.

From what I know, this year he began a new life in a new town. He cut down on his drinking and apparently only went to the bar a total of three times in the past few months. So go figure, the few times he had some beer he apparently got caught by the police. The irony. He used to drink like a fish while driving, with a small cooler next to his seat at all times. One time when returning to a party during the day, I went ahead and chugged down just about every beer in there before he got a chance to get to them, just so we'd have a safe drive back home. I vomited like crazy once we got home and was dizzy for hours, but I cared about my father too much to let anything like that happen to him.

I have lots and lots more to say about this, though I don't think it's fair to myself or anyone else to spend 100,000 words on a single blog entry, so instead I'll continue writing about it outside of this, and perhaps in different ways.

- Ether

Many Shades of Grey

I always thought I grew up in a pretty decent environment. Then again, what did I have to compare it to? My previous lives are a mystery to since I recall nothing. Perhaps I lived in the third world and died young. Perhaps I was an aristocrat that never had to work a day in their life. The only thing I can really compare it to is what I've been told my life is 'supposed' to have been like.

Both my parents I loved to death, but like most people they had their issues. Before she passed my mother explained a lot to me. She had attempted suicide several times in her life, and that doctors would say she has something called Bi-Polar Disorder. Even though I heard the words, they just brushed passed me. For all I understood, my mother was just angry and sad a lot, and always had bad ailments. She often tried repressing it with smiles and performing good deeds for others. Perhaps she believed in karma, that if she did enough good things that the bad future occurrences would be countered. Unfortunately, that was never the case.

She would bottle up everything inside and let the pressure build, much like a volcano. And as volcanos tend to do, she erupted every once in awhile. All the lava that had been collected would be released and I'd make futile attempts to run for cover. We had no way of predicting these events so we were never fully prepared. Over the years I had learned to be on alert at all times, to have all necessities on person. This was a dangerous zone. It wasn't "if," but "when."

My father on the other hand repressed everything in a different way. He would never explode. To see him angry like my mother would have been as rare as a hurricane hitting New England, although still quite a bit less devastating. He'd hide himself away and be left to his own devices. This is a paradox though, because any time I wanted/needed him he was there for me, so there wasn't really a distance between him and I.



His relationship with my mother was a different story.

Whereas he constantly tried to make the situation generally decent, my mother would always come by and throw fits when things weren't exactly how she wanted them. My father let most stuff go and so my mother felt vindicated in 'picking up the slack.' My father never really judged me, and even if he vocally expressed his dislike for something he'd still support me with my desires. My mother tried so hard to compete with that by giving me rewards based on conditions, and she had preconceived expectations as to how I should react. If I didn't act accordingly, there were consequences.

My dad instead gave just for the sake of giving. My mother naturally detested this, as it undermined her method.

Now this may all sound like I'm taking sides here, though I assure you that I'm far from that. Again, I love both my parents unconditionally. I'm just describing the world I had been brought into so that one could see the reflection that I had become.

Apparently my father had a track record of entering relationships with women who had tons of issues. His first wife, mother of two of my half-siblings, had actually committed suicide a time after they were divorced. To this day I know very little about her. Not one picture exists of her that I've ever seen!

The woman that my dad began living with shortly after my mom passed is certifiably mental as well. Living under the same roof with her for that brief period of time constantly felt like imminent death. She was nice at times, though when she got mad she also got very physical. I've called the cops several times out of fear for my own life. She would always apologize the following day, transformed back into her nicer self. It put into perspective how much more my mother had control of herself as opposed to others who suffer from that affliction.

To this day, I'll never forget hearing a knock on my bedroom door and opening it to find staring back at me my father with his face covered in blood.

Many years later they are still living together. Nothing has changed, aside from the fact that I'm out of there and on my own. I've realized that it's pointless to get too upset over it though, since it's all my dad's decision. He can leave whenever and he chooses not to. I've tried several times to help; we all have! It's a lost cause, so as long as he seems to be doing okay, what more can any of us do?



Mom was a bit of a lost cause as well. It was common to see her fill a tall glass up with vodka and pour in a little bit of Diet Coke in order to make it not look so obvious. With it she would gulp down her pills which included percocets.

When confronted about it, all she said was, "Oh, the alcohol is what really makes them work!"

Every time I see my father these days he's constantly drinking cheap beer. He justifies his constant diet of alcohol as being a wise choice since it's cheaper than soda, and plus he doesn't care for all that high fructose corn syrup. When asked if he'd consider water he replies, "I don't want to rust from the inside out!"

He then goes on to say, "You know, it's the alcohol that kills all the germs!"

- Ether

Alone

I've realized that I have horrible abandonment issues. I mean, REAL severe. My body starts having a panic attack when my perception is that I'm being left alone. This came from many years of thinking more than anything I loved being all by myself. Perhaps it's just grown over time, and the seeds of this were sown in my childhood.

This may be one of the root causes of my fear and sadness. It's the feeling that I don't matter. Even worse, it's the feeling that all these deep social connections that I make with others will inevitably disappear. The joy I feel now will soon become a void of sadness. Despite what I may say, I'm a very trusting and loving person for the most part. I want to see the best in people. I yearn to forge deep relationships with others.


Yet despite that, I have a my fears. These fears have been created from all the years of being put down and let down. When we all reached a certain age, a good portion of my friends began making excuses why they should stop hanging out with me. Some of them became bullies outright, mostly to impress their new friends.

Then there were girls. I would become close and then be shot down quite often, shoved into the 'friend zone,' or they'd instead completely disassociate with me entirely. But there were the few that seemed interested at first, and these ones are where my pain really becomes apparent. It was always after a short period of time that they'd eventually get caught cheating on me. I mean, ALL of them aside from perhaps one or two.

Then there were the in-between ones that strung me along to a certain point, but then walled me up when it came down to making things official. They allowed me to pursue them and give my hopes up. I got far, too far to be casual. I suppose when they came to their senses they'd look at me clearly and go, "Oh! No way..."


I fear the carrot is being dangled in front of me, and will be swiftly pulled away if I get too close or if I hesitate.

The world I live in is empty and aching for life. The walls need to be painted, and the painter keeps telling me he'll be there, but never actually shows up. I'm left sitting on my front porch staring into the rain waiting with just my eyes and my thoughts. I spend my patience and hope in tiny increments and always end up running on fumes.

All I have are my dreams. I have a reasonable amount of control of the world inside. The dreams are fed with art and stories.

Warm embraces, acceptance, care, love, non-judgement, mutual benefits, unlimited wealth, the presence of creativity and expression, and the absence of fear and loneliness.

- Ether