The Sounding Board

A human being is truly a sentient being. All of us are masters of communication. We have internal mechanisms, to detect false notes presented by others.

And, we have our own hard notes, to cast upon others, to detect their true level of synchronization.

I have been moving in a world of pure feel, for the last six weeks. If situations do not feel correct, I correct them, or leave the situation. When I do leave the situation, my current tendency is to inform.

Now, I am so liquid, that there is seldom need to inform. Last night, I cruised a different scene, for a change. I don't drink, so, I never go to clubs.

But sometimes, this cat needs to feel the music, bouncing off the insides of his hollow chest.

I like being able to feel situations. Much easier than thinking them through. Because there may be someone smarter in the room, at any time.

If there is a deeper feeler than I in the room, then, it was probably that party, that drew me in. If there is someone just scratching the surface of their feelings, then, perhaps, I am the individual who drew them near.

I wonder if I can find a lawyer to help me with my condition. What is? Well, I have a hard time typeing in the little word verification everytime. Maybe my eyes are a little glavin in the gefeltefish, or sometin. High time someone invented a name for my grand malady! How about, omneqxn- glavin sydrome (in honor of the next eight letters that I must type).

Hate

A clear turning point in my spiritual progress, was the sudden realization, that there is no such thing as Hate. What I mean, is, there is no such force, with any name, that causes anyone to do anything. I came to this conclusion a few days after deciding that there is no such thing as Love.

It was a bit of a struggle, to reconcile a world without love, but easily explaineable. See, love is a construct of our collective minds. It is something we came up with, to create and enhance familial bonds.

Today, I do not believe in extremes. I approach all unknown situations flat, with a centrist mentality. I know that there are extremes, and I know how to utilize them, to my advantage. I personally exist in a world full of nuance, full of lies. The only lies that I currently accept, are harmless little white lies.

Can't believe I actually said that. I am still struggling with that one. I have always believed that a person is either truthful, or not. I also believed that honesty is the best policy.

Today, I firmly believe that it still is the best policy. I just happen to believe, it's not the only useful policy. Since my approach is distinctly utilitarian, and implementarian, I consider the possibility that a lack of truthfulness, when delivered properly (pre-signaling or something) to be very useful.

Why did I decide that love doesn't exist? Simple. I don't like to acknowledge anyone who says, "I love you." Because what they are almost always saying, in a passive-aggresive way, "I need you." Pride gets in the way, and makes people think they are only acting in an altruistic fashion.

Well, let me be the first to tell you that I love you, while I twist the knife.

Okay, so I won't be the first. Maybe among the first to point out the schism. There are loving actions, but no love. There are hateful actions, behaviors and individuals, but, no hate. They are only acting out of fear.

UPDATE: I am reading this eight years later. It is like looking at my reflection in a shattered mirror. The above was written while I was experiencing a psychic break, a nervous breakdown. Too much pot, too little work, a dissipation of my support structure. I cannot endorse any of the ideas expressed here. MLB 12-09-2014

Hell

I always had a rough time, swallowing the concept of hell. There are people who commit foul deeds, to be sure. And, those individuals should be kept separated from the rest of us. I just never reconciled an eternal dungeon of fire and brimstone, with my benevolent creator.

I long posited that a place like Hell, as depicted by world religion, cannot and does not exist. The God that created me, would not have created a lake of fire for my soul, should our higher minds become separated.

Well, I'm here today to tell you, for the record, that 'Hell' DOES exist. It's not the stuffy, maladrous place where bad people go after they die. Hell is a prison that exists in the minds of people.

How do I know? Resonance. Pat Benatar wrote a song about child abuse, and titled it, "Hell is For Children." Know what? She is 100% right. Hell IS for children.

What do I mean. That song resonates, after all these years. That means, to me, that there are deep layers of truth, within the song.

"It's all so confusing, this brutal abusing
They blacken your eyes, and then apologize
Be daddy's good girl , and don't tell mommy a thing
Be a good little boy, and you'll get a new toy
Tell grandma you fell off the swing"

Children and other victims of abuse (including 'adults' who practice self-abuse) are imprisoned in a world that defies their understanding. It is confusing, as the song says, because, "love and pain become one and the same."

A child is completely dependent on their parent for love and support. A child has absolutely no control over their situation. That is the foundation of this hell; a little soul, tragically imprisoned.

I have been to hell and back. My father has always exerted control over his children by opening and closing his wallet, and his heart. My mother, strained by the demands of raising five children alone, kept all us children in a state of fear. I could never be sure, when I got close to her, whether I was going to get the palm of her hand, or the back of it.

One chilling recollection that keeps coming back, is her telephone voice. She could be a mean, angry witch when she wanted to be, spewing the most hateful words, in the harshest possible tone of voice.

When the telephone rang, and she answered it, I was always amazed at how quickly she could transform her voice into a sound that was smooth and velvety.

I'm no different than most people. My mother, herself, is a co-victim of my father's controlling tendencies. I was well into my thirties before we could discuss that man, without her collapsing into tears of self-recrimination.

As human beings, it is our personal responsibility to recognize the signs of abuse. Each person who is abused, will in turn, become an abuser. I was forced to inhale my mother's second-hand cigarette smoke for my entire life, until I myself, became a cigarette smoker.

This is how each and every person is a victim of the Stockholm Syndrome. We all try to identify with our captors. We have all been imprisoned by the misanthropic will of another. We have all become captors of others.

Liberation is our highest calling. It is our sacred duty to break the cycle, and flush it out of our very DNA.

Eddie

My first best friend, always the all-time best friend.

"All-time" is a boyish game expression, representing how one one player recognizes another, for dominating his spot.

"All Time Best Friend"

hey, today, are you twe, er, like fi, still playing well, traveller.

Stop Internet Fraud Team [=S.I.F.T.=]

Recruiting stingers, snipes, and engineers. Always on the lookout for soldiers, and stars, who enjoy a team approach to engagement and victory.

I am currently engaged in selling equipment on craigslist and ebay, and I know my identity has been recently slightly compromised. Good thing I know how to protect myself on Ebay, cause I have seen honest mistakes, and am currently stinging unwary spoofsters. Got five already on Ebay, and a deuce and a half, from craigsplits.

I scout, and engineer, playing a lone gunman, armed only with a perfect Ebay reputation, and willful scrutiny. A current tactic is make time work against them, by reducing the duration of all the auction to one or three days.

Anyone that I don't know, asks me anything I don't feel comfortable with, gets the boot. Ever see the movie? Nahhh, you'll see me, apartment four, 1060 West Addison Street, upstairs on the left. I meant, my left.

Wary snipe and gear-head, laying in the weeds, willing the good, aware, in the nano-cosm of the constant battles that are being waged in people's minds, for control of their behavior, and very soul.

My response is to play spider, as long as the flies are so numerous. I have several laptops to sell, so, I decided to list lots of different configurations, and price points, to get some relatively inexpensive market research.

The best leading indicator of local consumer sentiment, was free, spotted, hmmm, parking lot of the Home Depot Store, Balboa and Genesee. A dozen mini trailers were parked, with the prices clearly marked. Beat the labor day rush. $2,500 will get ya a rail.

Or, put some stuff on ebay, and only accept Paypal. Only access your PayPal account by closing all your browser windows, checking device manager, making a cup of tea, rebooting your computer, raising a family of martens, then, open a new browser window in a freshly installed version of Opera, to check your Paypal balance. No lie.

The Macrobiotic Way

For every polarizing reaction, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Sometimes a fearful jab, taken masterfully, results in healing, all around.

Gentle reader, this book is your guide to good sane health. Not as influential as the book, "Fit For Life," which was absorbed much earlier. "Fit For Life," paved the way for my total acceptance of a macrobiotic lifestyle.

Michio Kushi authored the volume before ourselves. The foreword, by the late John Denver.

This tome is "The Definitive Guide to Macrobiotics." Says so, right on the top. "The Complete Macrobiotic Diet and Exercise Book." On the back, identifies AVeRY Pub. Gr.

Sensei George Ohsawa, hai!

ISBN 0-89529-524-5
UPC 9 780895 295248 50995
whatevery migh tttee mean.

Mcrobiotics is loosely defined as a yin-yang approach to cooking, and lifestyle. Be preferential toward natural fibers, fabrics, and materials. Wood furniture, koi ponds, fusions of your personal styles, whatever contemplative methods divide the individual from the system.

Hawaiiana fusion and Japanese respectful contemplative methods are my present kick. Toot-sweet!

What do I know. I went from 230 to 190, forty [LB]'s ago, hace cinco meses. Accomplished forty pounds of weight loss, in five months. The bodyis starved but the brain is constantly nurtured (neuro-genesis). I'm back to CATerWAULing! YoWoY

This is The End

Beautiful friend, the end....old world order, circling the drain.

New world, exists without one very timple turn, simple work, simple word, hey! Sshnapp! Sometimes, gotta let the words get grah cranked out the way they come out, mm, hhmmmmh.

This is not a quiz. This is no mistake. There is noise, and a snake in the grass, sis, s' disguised as a hoe, a rake. Carefeul you don't get your fat lip caught in a trip-wire, son.

sTRaf1ng t1mE...

Chris Master

Five minutes with the Lifetime melodrama du jour, and I recall a dear former friend. I love to watch these type shows, to see how the various male leads are portrayed.

Most of the time, the male is portrayed as emotionally weak, as compared to their mate. As far as I'm concerned, that is an acceptable starting point, and a far sight better than the way men represent in advertising.

There was one advertisement recently, that just left me baffled. It was a cartoon format; logic dictates the use of animation, when boundaries of reality must be stretched. The product was some type of cereal, I believe.

The ad is viewed from a 'fly-on-the wall' perspective, of a young family's kitchen. I don't recall what function the mother performed. The daughter was consuming the product, at the kitchen table. Her father (presumably!) was preparing for work.

Well this guy was one hapless schlep! His act of preparing to leave the house, to go to work, was met with utter disaster. I believe the denouement involved his necktie (hmmm!) getting caught in the toaster, having the dog chase the cat through the kitchen, snagging his necktie, dragging the schlep across the table, out the window, and straight onto the bumper of a passing delivery truck!

All the while, the little princess is oblivious to his presence, let alone his malady. As the door closes with a thud!, she half-turns and shrugs, as if to say, 'did I hear something?'

The last time I heard from Chris, was shortly after Tupac got ventilated. I remember, because he called me, at my 33rd St apartment, and I kept calling him Tupac, then Sixpac. We discussed his older brother; I attended his brother's wedding, and deeply admired the fella.

We discussed my future. We spent more time discussing my potential contributions to the world, than he spent even considering his own. I don't recall discussing Mariah, or her mother, Christelle. Mariah is the name of Christopher's first born. She was conceived, while I was Chris' reluctant housemate.

Before she was born, Christopher warned me, that, she better not have an enormous big toe, or war would be declared. When she was born, and he was satisfied that all her toes did indeed belong to him, he offered me the sacred duty of being her Godfather.

I remember when they christened her, while she was still a baby. We all met at a beautiful Catholic church, and conferred the endless spirit upon her soul. I always took my responsibilty very seriously, even though, at the time, I considered myself a fallen-away Christian.

The last time I saw Mariah, was at her fourth birthday party. I remember her mom, Christelle, had her hair pulled back out of her eyes, and I had never seen her look so grown up. I think she might have been a little nervous, too, because I remember her trepidation at going forward to play with the other children, at the Chuck E. Cheese.

Too bad for me, that I spent the entire time playing foosball. Had I known, that that would be the last time I would ever see her, well, then I probably would have spent a little more time talking to her.

Instead, about two months later, her father, Christopher, telephoned me for the last time. In my heart, I knew that I could not take one more second of abuse from him. Even at the expense of a relationship with my Goddaughter.

The abuse came 24/7. The abuse even came when he was too lazy to personally dish it out. He bought this insult box, that would spew out a pre-recorded string of epithets, whenever the user pressed the button. While watching TV, he would flick the switch, and laugh as the little box told me to "go to hell" or "fuck off."

Too bad for everybody. July 29th would have been her quinceanera. I am doubtful that her daddy is even still alive. He had been battling an addiction to crystal since high school. Christopher is another child of divorce, and he repeated that pattern on his family, by taking a mistress before his son was even born.

Compared to Chris, I had it easy. Christopher always came back to a very painful story, that I reference as a low point for him. When his parents were divorcing, the issue of child custody reared, and a novel approach was tried.

Instead of the judge deciding, based on the facts at hand, someone thought it would be a good idea, to ask the children, who they would prefer to live with.

The basic fault with that approach, is that children are not the world's decision makers. They aren't equipped to deal with nuance, as so many adult issues seem to be infused with.

He was made to sit in a courtroom, and address the judge. He was asked the question, and responded, that we would rather live with his mother. Nice! Saddle a child with an emotional debt that they cannot understand, let alone deal with.

Very professional, very classy move, judge.

To Night

With all due respect, I feel my last life ended on a battlefield.

Had a yard, sale somewhat of a letdown. Feelings not yet distilled, into self-expression, so, so raw, and not just the standard letdown; my trusted method for self-expression, about something so exposed, form hai'ku.

Google, my Yahoo nickname yet? Follow the trail left by my electronic footprints. My intention is to respect any individual's views, and only engage discussions within a framework of mutual respect. Most women, for example, view my political persuasion as a deal-breaker.

My Dad has a total hangup about receiving gifts. His standing order, to each of his five children, is, "please, no gifts." But, Lord help you, if you actually obey the order, because then he pouts like a child.

Six months ago, I bought a 17" LCD monitor, with speakers. Just loved it. The old CRT monitors always left me feeling kind of oogie, and often gave me eyestrain and /or a headache.

Ever since then, I wanted a 19" LCD. I kept the original box that the 17" came in, and started saving my money. I boxed up my old monitor and put a birthday bow on it, for him. When I arrived at his house, I asked him if he wanted his birthday present.

"How many times do I have to tell you children, not to get me anything?"

I said, "Well, Dad, it's actually a combination Father's Day / birthday present."

"Ahhh, what is it, with you kids??"

"Actually, Dad, it didn't even cost me anything! I got a great deal on it!"

"You kids never listen to me!"

"Okay, Dad, no problem! I can take it back and get a refund. Let me just go lock my car, because I wouldn't want someone to steal it!"

He was fixing himself a snack, and just kept mumbling his dissent.

"Okay, Dad, I'll be right back! Just going to go lock my car, then we can go play golf."

I practically had one foot out the door, when I heard this pathetic, resigned, "wull, okay," from the kitchen. I chuckled sardonically all the way out to my sled. Five minutes later, I had his new monitor installed, and he seemed skeptical.

"So yer saying that thing, does the same thing as that one there?" he asked, pointing at his crappy old CRT. I powered on his system, and he just said, "Wow, I have more room on my desk, now."

Did I say, funny story? Please excuse my hyperbole. There was much more pathos than humor, in that exchange.

If it is good humor you seek, look no further than the first post in May, for an orIGInal Gomer!

Yard Assail Haiku

a dollar a case
how about the cooler, man
maybe not today

the reciprocal
caught a man's eye, and made mine
the focus, a sale.

sly hand sign for three,
his thumb pressed fast, on knuckle
three fingers, earnest

a deal is done, no?
cooler man's wife piped back up
"thought it not for sale?"

all apologies
sixteen years in sales, taught me
take the bird in hand

all apologies
yet her final utterance
my lord's name in vain!

inappropriate!
and so was my behavior
wadding up the bill

taken for a ride
i thought i was driving sir!
twenty for the saw?

the final assail
yet another sly gesture
hidden wallet trick!

Post Traumatic Stress

The main reason I cry out for research on PTSD, besides my own pathology, is because of all our returning citizen-soldiers. There is no way to prepare a human being for the true horror of war. War severs bonds that have been forged through shared hardships. War demands that a sensitive human being must forgo rational decision-making, and kill, or risk personal safety.

There was an article in Reuters about PTSD. It appears to be "associated with increased levels of two coagulation (clotting) factors and may thereby promote atherosclerosis (hardening of the arteries) and increase the risk of cardiovascular disease, investigators say.

"Several studies have demonstrated the increased cardiovascular risk associated with PTSD, even years after the trauma. Suggested mediators of this relationship include unhealthy lifestyle, chronic low-grade inflammation, and blood clotting activation, but until now no one had investigated any link between PTSD and a "hypercoagulable" state."

I believe that PTSD is the most under-diagnosed condition in America.

I am a child of divorced parents. Studies are emerging, that show the disastrous effects of cumulative stress, on young children. I believe that fifty percent of all children of divorce, may have mild to severe PTSD. I see the same pathology in all four of my siblings.

"The levels of specific PTSD symptoms (re-experiencing, avoidance, and hyperarousal) as well as depression and anxiety were assessed by interview. From blood samples, the investigators measured blood levels of several clotting factors.

"The team concludes that symptoms associated with PTSD could lead to a hypercoagulable state, which 'could be of particular clinical importance in terms of an elevated cardiovascular risk and overall mortality several years down the line.'"

http://go.reuters.com/newsArticle.jhtml?type=healthNews&storyID=13139876&src=eDialog/GetContent

My Favorite Christian

"Matthew, You know what? You're right. Honestly. I re-read your original post, and it didn't warrant that kind of reaction from me. I thought you were taking some kind of shot at my wife, and I didn't take kindly to it. And, I think maybe I was too influenced by what some of the others said on my blog. After reading your post again, I don't think you meant anything derogatory by it, and I apologize for the way I reacted. Please forgive me."

Now, this prodigal son must swallow a like amount of pride, and offer my apology. This individual has clearly demonstrated a grateful awareness of the overarching issue.

I started the issue by posting a comment on this individual's blog, regarding a family member. I certainly had no business touching someone in such a personal way, and that makes me feel bad. I believe in what I said, I just don't believe that I had the right to take that liberty.

I am deeply convicted of everything I say, think and do. There are conflicts when I say things that I believe to be true, because they are often inappropriate. This makes the issue of never denying the Christ in me, a moving target. Since I have all of these vague medical issues hanging over my head, there is very little discernment between myself and my delusions.

Your apology was accepted the moment you felt it in your heart. I believe that was the only way my heart was able to become soft enough to read your last email, because I had that feeling.

Thank you for following up with the personal validation. I truly hope that the way I choose to validate you, right now, will be acceptable.