My Existential Crisis

       He fancies himself to be like the writer Bukowzki.  An Epicurean man of living free and in the moments.  Well traveled, educated by European standards and practices.  Insane and sometimes unpredictable will fits of crippling depression and legal issues. He's a man who has lived the life I wish I could have and always dreamed to do.
         He is well traveled and has lived in several countries with friends from all over Europe. He has hook ups to drugs  and a life free from starvation and wanting.
       For most of my life I wanted to live a life similar to his.  I wished to travel, see the world, get international experience, and live a life of freedom and passion as an artist, muscian, lover, and seer of the world. Instead, I lived a life of a working man.  Striving and toiling with very little to show for it. I gave my life to an opportunist and a leech.
        I lived much of my adult life in a world of Sarte-ian, "Bad Faith". I did what was "right", to be the person society told me to be even if it it made me unhappy. I gave and I gave. I toiled and toiled. I took better and better jobs. I was promoted and landed every bonus. I gave it all to my family . That was what was right to do, right?  It did not matter if it left me dead and hollow inside to be giving, and giving, and giving to an ungrateful person. It was what "adults do", right,
      I became a parent. I gave myself, my time, and all my money to those people. (I never regret a single moment that was for my children), but the abuse of the material from my spouse made being in the relationship unbearable and sickening. The constant mess, the horrific money management, and the constant requests that were road blocked by their own choices and issues kept me from being happy because of the sacrifices I made to try to keep them happy. When they stopped being my lover (because words on a phone screen generated 5,000 miles away told her to),  that passion stopped I really saw just how empty the relationship truly was.
         I was putting up with her just because I was getting laid and she'd been my regular sex partner since I was 19...  Not really a good foundation for something lasting.  Hell, she kept the "relationship" on "life-support" so she could travel to have an affair with her new bf just to make sure it would "work out" & I could still be her comfortable fall back if it didn't.  Just like she has done to me so many times before. Why I kept allowing myself to be used by her is beyond normal or rational. But I kept allowing it and that was my main flaw.
         I did take other lovers.  It was wonderful to have someone care about me, and enjoy time with me, without feeling like I was just being used and critiqued by them. To have real passion and friendship was beautiful. I was miserable and should have gotten out once I saw how I could be happy outside of her.  I didn't make that move or choice.
         Like each  time I  got a better and better jobs. I was still made to feel low because it wasn't enough for them. They belittled the work I did and when I desperately needed time off, and time for me, I was told what I wanted was petty and unrealistic. (Though they stayed at home, kept the house a total wreck, spent their time building a relationship with someone else and traveling to a new land to be with them while I worked and did all the house work)  I ultimately allowed it, and was miserable in it. I didn't make the change that was needed.
         I have now sacrificed my late teens, all of my 20's, and half of my 30's to a woman just feeding off of me till they could move on and "be happy". There is nothing like coming to that realization this far into life... It hurts, it burns, and one just has to look toward to future at that point.
        I'm glad I'm not much older, but I'm no spring chicken anymore, either. At least I hope I learn from it all and can take that into the life I have left. Being pretty and open to fucking just isn't enough.... It just isn't enough.

2012 and the New Horizon.

       Each and every year this time comes and goes.  Some love the release of another year; others dread what the next turn of the calendar may do to their pocketbooks and families.
       I stated that I was not going to use this page to give you too much information about my personal life (isn't Facebook and Twitter for those kinds of things?), so I won't.  I will speak of the psychology behind the new year and my philosophical views of what a New Year means to me.
       During 2011, I was inundated with a world view I have always hated.  It is one of defeatism and horrible attitudes to the tasks at hand and the potentials of the future.  This is not new or different.  I know I have experienced this world view all the way back into my elementary school years from teachers and fellow students alike.  Thought out the last month I have come to coin a term for this belief system and philosophic view: I call it "Hill-Billie Dour-ism".
         In this "Hill-Billie Dour-ism" no matter what takes place it can be pushed away with large amounts of alcohol and badly written music played at high volumes.  Then, in plan preparations, it does not matter how well prepared one is; the plan will fail anyways because "something" will come out of "no-where" and stop the "perfect plans" from reaching achievement.  I feel this must be for making it easier to accept when one does not succeed and then failure from there watered down effort.  They do not see that this mindset sets them up for misfortune from the start.
        But, if this does not do the desired trick, reveling in the mistakes and failure of others seems to negate the short comings of those who use this world view.  To revel in the pain and destruction of others only undermines the whole of societal progress that we need to work on to improve as a society, not destroy.
       
        But the most hurtful element of this world view if the absolute hatred of those who succeed in their hard work and accomplishment with confidence.  They hate those who have talent and make money using these talents and find accoplishment .  This counts for double and triple if the artist also loves the performance and the work they do.  But what is progress without art and music to make it beautiful?
        It goes farther than even Sartre's concept of despair.  Plus, it lacks the rationalism or reasoning that backed his disparaging world view .  At least the French society (that Sartre was immersed in) had just moved out of WWII and the Nazi occupation. We in the United States are rebuilding an economy alone. Much of Europe was trying to rebuild its money flow along with the cities and roads that were destroyed during this world's greatest armed conflict.   Sartre also saw that defeatism could only fold in upon itself; just as I do.


        I have now made it my goal to keep my thoughts and ideals away from this mindset of Hill-Billie Dour-ism for the new year and the rest of my life.  I have let the influence of this mind set and life style effect me far too often in the last few months and years.  I know that I can no longer accept this as a way of life.  I must block out and stay away from this type of being if I am to find the true happiness and success my life is destined for.  I have been through rougher times than any of those who have tried to bring me down.  They hate that I have risen above the vile pit they tried to throw me into.   Now I must keep my focus clear and continue in this upward momentum with out regard for their want of failure.

Near Death and Thoughts

How interesting the change is. I remember being high school. I may not have looked the part of the nerd; but to know me, I was. I played in the band, spent almost all of my free time in my room reading a book, practicing the bass trombone, reading pen-pal letters, writing letters to pen-pals, or listening to music, if not doing a combination of all of these things. But most of my time was taken up by school and church. In both I played in the musical groups. If it was music, a Christian organization, or both I was involved. The whole time I was questioned about what I believed and how I could. If they encouraged me (in the collective student body I was a part of) it was to tear me down when I was not around, or when they thought I was out of earshot.

As I grew, I took more interest in things that did not just praise a man who was said to live in the sky and be the reason I was going to spend my after-life in the sky with him, I started to study psychology and Eastern Religion/philosophy. (They are intertwined exclusively because their practice is mysticism.) I learned the pleasant feelings one feels during the “religious experience” are only chemical releases in the brain. This same effect can be found in non religious people when they go to a musical concert. The combinations of the number of people in the congregation, the words used by those leading, the volume level and timbers of the music, and personal psychologies can practically be calculated to have the same (or nearly same, so it does not seem preordained by man) effect each time. It’s that warm, ‘loved’ feeling that comes about during the service. Of course, it will be stated that it is not always there...

But, I stated that personal psychologies are a large contributing factor. If one is not in the correct mind set, this effect cannot be achieved. This same point of conjecture has been used many times during church services; I had been to, to explain that god was not always as present in their lives. Their lack of religious experience was said to be due to not perfectly adhering to the specific dogmas of their denomination. In all actuality they were just not in the correct mindset to be hypnotized by the service.

Taking information like this, and other reading and studies I had done lead me to look elsewhere. (Not to mention actually reading the book Christianity bases itself on.) Once I got to college, I met a beautiful blond who had a genius level intellect and was practicing Buddhism. It seemed from our first time hanging out; we were meant to be best friends forever. She taught me parts of the world I had been long sheltered from. She helped to teach me of the things I had only read of in books. And when I was lucky, we would get to experience brand new things together.

Through new experiences and interactions I continued to grow and learn. Not all of these new experiences were good. A few were: working places full of drug addicts, being without any transportation other than my feet, and having my life threatened by those who are sworn to sever and protect lives. But in each I took away from it a great wealth. I saw why I never wanted to get into drugs, on a second hand basis, and learned the hard way about car care and when one is getting ripped off by a mechanic and what it was like to look at death.

During these hard times I had one very near death experience. (I have written elsewhere about the near death experience, so I won’t go into that here.) But several times I had my life threatened by those who wear a badge and carry a gun. Such as one time I was stranded on the side of the road.

My car was stuck in a mud hole, and no matter what I did I could not get out of it. I tried going forward and back ward but my car would not budge. When trying to get my car unstuck didn’t work I tried knocking on the doors of the businesses in the area. But it was late and no one was in. I started home on foot...

A while later a car stopped behind me. Being grateful that any one stopped, I turned, and looked at the vehicle for a moment, I walked towards the car. I was going to lean into the passenger side window, and see what the driver may offer as help. Before I got that far I had a mag-light and the barrel of a service pistol pointed in my face! I barely heard what the fat ass was saying for the fact that I was shitting myself from the shear shock and the extreme use of force!

After yelling that I was totally unarmed and that I was just stuck up the road (To which he told me he had already seen) he had me get into his patrol car and we went back to where my car was. He did not helping me get my car out of the mess, but he accused me of trying to break into ever building in the area. He proceeded to check ever last door and window for any sign of break-in in the whole area! Thankfully there was no indication of the sort inflicted by anyone because he would have pinned it on me!

It was easy to see that I had been driving, unable to tell that the mud puddle was a perfectly still pool and not a paved area. The lack of adequate lighting only exacerbated the problem. Plus I was rather angry that the fat fuck never indicated that he was a police officer till after he told me to get in his car. He did not have his cop lights on, or said he was the police even while pointing a loaded weapon at me!

Then there was the time my wife got out of the hospital. She was in a crash she was lucky to come away from. And after the shoddy care she got at the hospital, was lucky to be alive. As part of her recovery regiment she was told to walk as often as she could. I worked nights, so when I got off we went for walks. Though usually never a problem...

This night was a mistake! The college kids had just come back from mom and dad’s basement and were parting at full tilt. One reject decided his lack of being able to get laid due to lack of people skills, attractiveness, and any form of respect for any one needed to be taken out on the next person his drunken ass laid eyes on. He passed my wife and me on a bike, and started whistling and saying that he wanted to join us for a three some and loved how cute a lesbian couple we were. As he got closer he saw that I was, in reality, a guy and proceeded to tell me I was gay... Nearly perplexed, I turned and yelled to him, “You, being a guy, whistling to a guy, and telling him how cute he is, is gay. I am holding hands with my wife that you just thought was SOOOOOO hot. That makes me not gay.”

This infuriated this pink shirted bastard to no end. Trying to seem like a bad ass, he circled us while riding a girl’s bike. He kept taunting me, telling me my wife was a whore, and begging me to fight him. Then he got off of his bike and started to tell me to throw the first punch. I’m pretty annoyed by this point. But, mostly, I am worried about my wife, who still feels bad and has not even been able to return to work, let alone was in a state to fight with some drunken fat ass. As this sad joke continues to play out, I was starting to wonder what I would do if this turned into something real. I didn’t wanna get my butt kicked; but if I beat him up I’d be up for assault charges. I tried to play it cool, but when he shoved my wife out of the way and went for my throat, I shoved him away and my hand brushed past my phone! I didn’t usually carry it with me because a phone call during a walk seems to end its serenity. But finding that I had not taken it out of my pocket was a great relief.

I took it out and dialed the police. Once he heard who I was calling he tried to run off. In the attempt to mount the bike, he fell onto it three different times. After he had ridden away the police got there and surrounded my wife and me with guns drawn. They were yelling at me to stay where I was and not to move. It took five times for me to convince this guy that I called for him to help me!
After this long, and nearly pointless, exchange of words I eventually convinced this dense, gun totting, hack that I was in need of assistance; not to be shot! He then gets a message on his radio that they got the guy who attacked my wife and me and needed us to identify him.

When we get there the pink shirt is crying like a child and waving his arms around like some kindda nut. The driver asks us if that is him, and we tell him it is. He gets out of the patrol car and talks to the other officers at the scene. The pink shirt attacker is lifting up his shirt and showing some injury that is bleeding. After seeing this, the officer who drove us there walks up to me and demands that I give him my knife. I don’t have a knife, and I tell him so. I told him the pink shirt guy fell on his bike several times trying to get away. But, no matter what I said he was not convinced, and took me to the station. I spent all night in a cell, got finger printed, had to give a statement, and tell them I started the fight before they would let me go! Then, I had to meet with one of the university higher-ups to plead my case to him to remain a student! All that for asking the police to help me! I have never done that again! (As a side note, I later found out that the bike the guy was on was stolen from some local girl.)

Of late I have been talking with people I went to high school with. Most of them have kids, families, careers, and a new found love for Jesus! These same people were the ones who made fun of me for doing the same thing when I was immature and naive durring high school. Now it is the greatest thing that has ever happened in their lives. They LOVE Jesus and will not stop talking about how amazing he is and the paradise that awaits them. Nor do they stop persecuting those who do not believe what they do, constantly saying that hell awaits anyone who doesn’t believe just like them.

I cannot help but to just look at what they type and wonder what happened. These people should be wiser than this. Many of them went to good schools where logic and reason are taught. But now they insist upon an ideology far removed from logic. Back in high school they had a more firm concept of A+B=C types of logical proofs. They have regressed from where they were in their teens! And call me a fool!

I have been the one who has nearly died and had his live threatened several times. (By the “good guys”.)I have not finished a degree. (I really want to.) I have done all I can not to settle into life and become complacent; to learn and to be what I have dreamed to be and to not let my dreams fall away and die... But I am called a fool to no longer believe -the 2000 year old zombie who only showed himself to friends after being reanimated- story. Shouldn’t I be the one wishing and hoping for pipe dreams of paradise because I have come so close to seeing my life blinked out of existence? I have not quite gotten to that place I have always wanted to achieve. Shouldn’t I just want to sit around waiting for paradise to come to me? After all that has happened, that would seem the most logical, right? But that is not what I have chosen to do. I will continue to fight and rally for all that I want and desire. I will never give up.

But, I will end with saying that maybe what is logical is to say that they now have to hold onto these pipe dreams. Because if these dreams are true, it will be the only thing that will ever happened to them.