His problem....

"What is your problem!!", a 300 pound fat guy in an orange polo shirt.

Young man collects his football, which he apparently dropped, and throws it back to his dad.
His father is apparently a police officer and has driven his police cruzer to the peewee football practice. I'm sure to impress-intimidate the other people on the team.

Dear sir,
   I suspect his problem weighs 300lbs, is a police officer and wears an orange polo shirt.

Wrong side of lunch

I woke up on the wrong side of "you need to go fuck yourself" this morning. Well, the morning was fine, then I had to work, then I came back and... well "Y'all needed to go fuck yourselves".

I am fairly certain of it.

It's interesting, I think I'm more convinced than ever that y'all are hopeless. I don't think y'all know what makes you happy. Of course that makes me ask, Do I know what makes me happy?

There is something really wrong. I think we have enough distractions for 10 people. Movies, TV, Internet, Games. All of this getting us so far away from living our lives, so far away from Being alive. All of these distractions interfering with being alive. "Hang on a minute, I can't talk to you or help you I need to watch my favorite episode of Friends". It's a fantasy, it's a dream, It's like people are in a dream all the time. Then when your real life happens, you don't know what to do about it. You barely know how to live it. Barely know how to respect yourself or the people around you. Developmentally challenged... I can't turn a year older, I've spent the past year watching "the new girl" she is finally going on the big date. I can't live the idiot on 'the big bang theory' is pretending to be smart. I was watching some movie the other day, watched about 30 minutes of it and went "ya, All I can see are 3 bad actors on a shitty set, I'm turning this off"

Yet, where is my life, been trying to live it for years. It's not there. Read an article about happy people, who surround themselves with happy people. Easy to be a monk in a monastery. Another part is a life of service and caring about the people around you. If you are surrounded by people who are happy, they don't exactly need anything. It's people who are miserable who need service.... Easy to help people who don't need it. Funny little quandary there. If that is it, I'm doomed. Cause I have some of the most mixed up, miserable people around me you have ever seen.

Good luck.... I may not say it to you... but maybe it would be better if you internalize it.... Y'all need to go fuck yourselves.

Conversation with my dead brother.

“Jesus Christ, how the fuck can you own so many shit albums!”
“Patty Smith was the godmother of Punk!”
“Shut the fuck up! That is a load of bullshit.”
“but google says so”
“Have you heard that fucking album, they should use it on prisoners at Gitmo… It would make me talk. I also warn you that the other 40% of these bullshit albums will never see the light of day.”
“What are you talking about, I own the Patty Smith album”
“That album wanted to make me break glass and stab myself. You barely had any albums you were willing to listen to.”
“I loved those albums”
“enough to have the beat up in boxes for 20 years, Oh… and holy shit the ultimate ‘kurt weill’ collection. One fucking coltrain but 6 braxton, and the ultimate Brubek collection. Did you have something against Jazz from black guys? I don’t mean to be a douche but they are the only ones smoking enough weed to understand it.”
“hey now, that was uncalled for”
“You bought albums, how if you purchase ones you fucking like. The bowie and the Talking heads the clash… Ya, I get that. But there were 300 other albums. Were you just drawn to the Shitty soloist section in the record store?”
“Ok, so some of them I just purchased and didn’t like.”
“ya, I keep hoping for some real gems… even your Pink floyd collection was ‘compilations’ You fucking understand that they were concept albums, every one of them. So… NO FUCKING COMPILATIONS”
“Hey! I’m dead, you should be nice to me.”
“no, I should have been meaner when I was alive. Hang on a minute, I need to switch the record… I need to listen to another lame ass soloist sing Cole porter. And I love cole porter. Ya… well i’ll spend a lifetime torturing people with ‘i need to listen to some random album because I’ve never listened to ‘“cracks in the sidewalk” please indulge me as I torture my friends with your collection.”

Pondering

Sitting, pondering, I don't even know what. That is the horrible thing about pondering... sometimes you can't even figure out what it is that you are pondering. I feel broken, 40 years and I sit here. I must be so much of an asshole that nobody wants me. Yet... are you kidding the fucking monsters that find relationships... er victims. And i'm obviously too fucked up there either.  In all of that mess, here I sit, friday night dateless. Don't really like 'going out' really. I like work, I like adventures. Not a woman in reach that I either "should' want to date, or would I date. Where is that good friend, who I'm just overlooking... Where is that obvious woman who I'm just not seeing because it's just too obvious... what I see in the dysfunctional relationships, I don't see in that person so I overlook the relationship. Where is my sweet end to my romantic comedy.

Chasing my brother's demons.

I want to write a story called "genius or bust" about my brother. Unfortunately the title comes from a car commercial for Mercedes, I think,  that I keep seeing during the US Open. This is my brother who just died. There has been no shortage of shit storm in my family since his passing. At least for me it's been a bit of a wake up call.

I've spent most of the past weekend and much of the week chasing my brother's demons. His daughter has something wrong with her, she seems infected with his demons. I picked up the phone and talked to her today for a solid hour. She really wanted to be talking to her dad, she got me, poor bastard.

My brother was a hoarder, Not too bad. When he was a kid he was picked on, somehow he retreated from it in books. He went to the local, very rural, library and the librarians were encouraging and would help him request special books from other libraries that they didn't have. This sparked a life long love of books. His escape was feeling smart by accumulating books, Buying books fed him emotionally. When he died his hoard was books, and movies. He literally suffocated under the the weight of his accumulation. Unable to fill a clean cup with water or refrigerate food under piles of refuse. Unable to use 2 of his 3 bathrooms, the third was accessible if he sort of moved around some stuff. It was also one of 3 places one could sit in his apartment. The toilet also served as his music room where he probably didn't play one of his 6 guitars. When he didn't play them, that was where it was.

(imagine this without chairs... and with garbage on the floor)
   My sister in law called me last week, she seemed to be very caught in his problems. I get that.... I though, well sometimes crazy is crazy... they just want to suck you in, drag you around in their madness and convince you that you can't escape either. You can escape, but you have to stay off the train, cause it just goes round and round.

Simplify, simplify, simplify......