odd-balls

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Why do they call it therapy.  Why not call it emotional prostitution? All it really is, is paying someone to be still and listen, handing you Kleenexes while you’re sitting there shamelessly sobbing.  Ya see, you can pay someone to have sex, but you can’t buy intimacy—–or the algorithm to true love.

Figuratively——I sat there, bare-ass naked on the therapy couch, exposed, vulnerable with no small talk or false bravado to hide behind——its’s just me paying a stranger to listen———to help me make sense of the tangled knots that make up the shitty things that occur in life. Isn’t it odd, we find it easier to talk about our deepest fears and heartaches to a total stranger rather than a lover or a friend.  (The following voice coming from somewhere inside my head) “If everyone knew how fucked up you are, they wouldn’t like you anymore.”  (An opposing voice from inside my head responds) “Here’s some free therapy kid, stop giving a shit about what others may think of you———being who you are is nobody business but your own.  This world is full of copies, posers and phonies. Be your inexcusable weird self——-those that break-trail must be stronger than those who follow, but they’re the first to plant their flag at the top of the mountain.” 

I can pay someone to listen to me spill my guts, but I can’t buy their companionship, someone to like me, to care about me———to be my friend.  There are things money can’t buy. I think the best therapy is fellowship, someone to walk beside me, at a common pace, to not just hear me, but to quietly listen, to share the breath of difficult words———-someone who won’t make me feel awkward when my faults and flaws are exposed. We all need someone to share life’s private jokes, to smile when we smile, to cry when we cry, somebody to carry us through the darkness when the days become too heavy.  I could be that for you, if you’d let me——cause in spite of  all the changes we’ve been through,——I’ll aways be your friend. 

I have a photo of you and I on the mantle above the fireplace. We’re posed arm and arm——it’s strange to see how young we looked back then. We carved our initials in the trunk of that big old walnut tree in my parents backyard, we were gonna build a rocket ship and fly far away, we made up secret handshakes and pledged to always be brothers, the world smelled like rain in late June, the summers lasted an eternity——-my therapy back then was playing make believe and pretending to be a cowboy or a pirate.  Maybe we’re all pretending to be something or someone we’re not?

My therapy now, is no longer pretending to be normal, cause I’m not. I’ve embraced my weirdness. There are certain memories, people and things I’ll never be able to let go of———and you my friend are one of those things. I’m old fashioned and sentimental that way.

The therapist nonchalantly looks at her wristwatch and clears her throat “I think we’ve made some good progress today.  I’ll see you next week, right?”  I respond, “No, I don’t think so——-I’m fine with keeping it weird.”

 I offer this open letter to my fellow odd-balls.

To be one, is to love one.

 

Magic

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Soundtrack “Comatose” by Sierra Eagleson.

I have my fathers temper, stirring just below my skin

And then there’s my mothers compassion, lingering in the marrow of my creaking bones

I’ve made my camp in this flag tattered crossfire 

It’s always been a battle of attrition

I’m forever at war with myself

It’s trench warfare, two steps forward

Two steps backwards

Where’s god in this circular calculus

Beware, history is written by the winners

For the rest of us, it’s white flags, white crosses and unmarked graves

On guard!—-Touche! 

I may offer you an olive branch with a hug 

Or perhaps a sucker punch to the nose

I’m a danger to myself and others

A classic case of 51-50, 

I’m the static clinging to the radio station, while you’re straining to hear your favorite song

We don’t get to decide if we are born

Who’s to say when it will all come to an end

That’s fate, destiny, god’s propagative 

But in between birth and death 

There’s much to lose, much to gain

Refusing to choose, is choosing

There in lies the hazards of freewill 

Anything is possible

Nothing is promised 

Surrender to the openness

Do what inspires you

Love’s an imperfect science 

It’s the art of misdirection

Sometimes you pull the rabbit out of the hat

Other times a rat……

Regardless, don’t give up on the magic…….

Abracadabra 

Alone In My Darkness

alone

 

Soundtrack “Coming In The Air Tonight” By Sierra Eagelson

She’s like me, she loses herself in the dark things, the sad things, the unexplainable things

Like the thoughts that arise in her, when staring up at the canopy of wish-less stars

She beholds it all with awe and wonder, wanting to feel connected to someone or something, or maybe to all things

She has reverence for the fragile things, only to watch them shatter and fall through her heart

All people will let you down, thank god for the loyalty of a dog

She’s fearless, she digs deeper into the places where others choose detours

All seekers are loners, except for the company of their cats

People are vicious, unpredictable and for no apparent reason will suddenly turn on you

She and I hold hands with each others shadow, we’ve fumbled about, finding ourselves alas within one another

She’s like me, she hates liars, mean people, hypocrites

And all those zealots who nail others to their faux pious crosses

She’ll confront the mean spirited, but then become sick of it all, throwing up both her hands

Silence becomes her amor, but she whispers beautiful things in my ear

Her words are warm and damp, tickling a place deep down in my belly

Like me, she becomes sick of the fight, there’s just too many comatose people

It’s been too long, to feel this empty, this lonely                                                                                                         how it had always been before her

She’s my last chance, suspending reality with her magic, my final faith in humanity                                             I don’t want to ever let her down,

If I should ever lose her, it’d once again be just me, alone in my darkness

Abuse Me

Soundtrack, “Everything I wanted” by Billie Eilish.

Livingroom is quiete
Bedroom is silent
I need somebody
Who’s not afraid to say they’re sorry

My door is shut
My window is closed
Screaming at the top of my lungs
But nobody knows

Moon owns the sky
Sun has gone to bed
I need to escape
These voices in my head

My door is shut
My window is closed
Screaming at the top of my lungs
But nobody knows

I don’t want your reasons
I don’t need your lies
I need somebody
Who’s not afraid to cry

My door is shut
My window is closed
Screaming at the top of my lungs
But nobody knows

You’ve wasted all my time
You pretended that you knew me
What I thought was love
You took as a license to abuse me

My door is shut
My window is closed
Screaming at the top of my lungs
But nobody knows

When promises fade
When your favorite memory
Is the love
we never made

My door is shut
My window is closed
Screaming at the top of my lungs
But nobody knows

I just wanna be alone with you
Like we use to be
Being alone without you
Doing bad things no one see’s

My door is shut
My window is closed
Screaming at the top of my lungs
But nobody knows

Love and Death

Attached is a PDF of a play entitled “Love and Death”. I’m looking for help in getting it produced as a play or a screen play. If you are interested in helping in this endeavor please respond to this blog. It’s defiantly an unconventional, quirky and “one of a kind story” that begs to be told.

As always, I’m open to re-writes, additions and omissions. The final product is to be a collaborative effort of the director, actors and the writer.

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Please hit the link below to view the PDF——-

Love and Death-the play

Owning Your Days

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Soundtrack “Burst Into The Air” by Ruston Kelly

Where have all our good morning gone
Where have our goodnights gone

We sleep on our assigned side of the bed at night—-separated by long lost pleading desires
And we fuss and fight over the nothings that slowly evaporate a love

What’s happened here, what of all those brave forever words spoken all those years ago—till death do us part—–Who’d of known that forever could lose it’s grip like oil sliding through ones desperate hands

You can live with someone you no longer love,
But you can’t live with someone you no longer like

Missed opportunities, living without, so quiet, like bodies that go untouched for years
Mornings and nighttimes, consume what’s left of this fleeting life

The first snow, of another, coldest of seasons—- on this divided journey
Sometimes it’s better to say nothing, rather than to be wrongly accused or predictably misunderstood, I’ll need to scrape the ice from my frosty windshield

morning coffee, in my favorite worn out slippers
my cat asleep in a sunbeam, the clock ticks at me
my favorite part of this trip is having nowhere to go
And nothing to do, it takes courage to own your days

I’m no longer sorry, I’m not even mad
Now I’m only sad for our poor excuse
of what we’ve come to agree upon
as to what’s love
Her voice sounds like a stranger
such an angry tone of someone I no longer know
My heart bleeds

Time is short, lifetimes pass quickly
Such a waste, what a waste

My lazy cat yawns
I’ve come to understand him
So at peace in his solitude

Good morning my love
Goodnight my love

How It Feels To Be Like Me

Paper airplane, stuck on a roof
Power-line, with dangling shoes
Kite stranded, in an old oak tree
That’s how it feels, to be like me

Facing it, on my own
Another road, traveled alone
With a face, made of stone
Sometimes ya get the fat, sometimes ya get the bone

Another beer, to help me forget
Hungover in the morning, is all I get
Ain’t no use, getting upset
Best to fold, if I can’t cover my bet

Letting go, what might of been
Old lovers, fair weather friends
Sad and lonely, is all I get
Holding on to memories, that others forget

It ain’t easy, being like me
I’m not sure, who you want me to be
With all my faults, others see
You’re the only one, to stand by me

Lets get high, have a laugh
Forget tomorrow, let go of the past
Life goes by, way too fast
If love were a race, I’d come in last

Paper airplane, stuck on a roof
Power-lines, with dangling shoes
Kite stranded, in an old oak tree
That’s how it feels, to be like me