End of the line.

I realize a huge trigger of my anxiety is death. The finality of it. 25 years ago I danced with it frequently. A couple times it almost claimed me permanently. I tried changing myself to fit in even further. Still, no matter what I did I couldn’t care one way or another if I lived or died. Now after a deep breath and my mind bridging across new chasms i had the realization that my past lives are in fact just genetic memory. Something that tagged onto a part of the dna download that programmed this life. It makes you see why men try to control the narrative. They try to ensure they have offspring and preferably male. Someone long ago had this realization and shared it. And Ignorance and science had yet to discover the things like dna, evolution, etc. They ont understood their own survival instinct. Well as we move on something has to balance the scales. That same thing is still evolving. Viruses, diseases, genetic mutations, etc are all evolving too. So there’s no room in the future for those who can’t provide growth towards the bigger picture.

All I wanted was to be a dad. To look down and see a piece of me in them, a shape of a nose, eyes, hair, whatever. The problem is I have had no such luck. Mind you I was very fortunate to find my wife who had three beautiful children of her own and I have grown to love as my own. That has brought me some happiness, but there’s still that part of me that wanted one child with my DNA. come to find that no matter how many times I planted a seed, it would not bare fruit. It didn’t matter how plentiful my seed was, it lacked the part that made it viable. So now this line ends with me. It had nothing to do with what god I worship or anything other than I lack that code to go to the next level. So no further “reincarnation” or “rebirth” for me. When I die, I will be gone with the last electrical signals in my brain cease to flicker. My memory will only carry to the last generation of people I make any impression with. I will just be gone like a fart on the breeze.

This could be a good thing though. I mean I find my ways are no longer relavent. My way of thinking and acting is no longer needed. I may see the next generations failing too but the ones who are meant to continue, will. While I wish I could see what 100 years down the road looks like, a part of me is glad I can’t. I wouldn’t fit. I’d be like a wart on the nose of society.

So while I understand it’s easy for some to say “don’t dwell on things that haven’t happened yet. Be in the moment.” It’s hard when all you see is numbers and know your clock is winding down fast. The best I can hope for is to plant a tree and have my body be the food that makes it grow strong and tall.

Typically misrepresented

Everyone talks about atypical on Netflix. I’m not a fan. Mainly because of the bs drama is still making Sam out to be the cause of everyone’s stress. I get that, but I thought it was supposed to be about Sam but too much focus is on everyone else’s problems. I much preferred on the spectrum. It’s available on HBO NOW. Warning it’s a show from a different country but it has English overdubs available. It was really good at showing the characters truly trying to get by in a world that never understands what it’s like. Mind you I understand it’s not easy living with us, but we’ve seen that story before.

Spectrum disorders are in no way make us unaware of how people see us. Some of us are highly functioning enough to know when we’re perceived as weird. So much do that we learn to mimic others so we can act “normal”. Growing up through the late 70s and 80s the word “retard” was used a lot. It was not in a clinical sense (to be delayed of development) so you don’t want to be labeled that. We had the foresight to hide.

I was diagnosed when I was 15 with autism spectrum disorder. I was treated as just another hyper active child. This originally was labeled as ADD. I lucked out having a therapist that understood my concerns and was also the therapist for my mother and understood exactly why I needed him to keep that to himself. I don’t know if my mother reads this blog, but if she does I’m sure this is all just a “lie” or me “being over dramatic” or a “whiny little faggot.” What’s funny was this therapist she loved even though he was “a fucking gross faggot, but he’s ok enough. I guess.” This is how he actually was able to pin down my diagnosis so well. Seeing me and the home I came from he knew that it was more than a neuro diverse brain, but there were deeper childhood traumas. My diagnosis overall was autism spectrum disorder with ADHD PTSD and Social Dysphoria.

Instead of doing treatment with medication he saw I was able to function rather well in the environment. I learned how to maintain myself as well as function as a buffer for my younger siblings. The youngest of my siblings at the time was already diagnosed with ADHD and was being treated with medication, but it wasn’t something that stayed with him. As soon as he got to big to argue with he told mom fuck you! I’m not taking those fucking pills!

In school it was challenging because I learned by watching others. I can read a book fine, but my brain files that information where I can use it in recall only after seeing how you are supposed to recall it. The best example of this was my music class. I could read music. I learned theory and practices etc, but I always failed music. It wasn’t until my last music teacher sat with me watching me learn a hard song (battery by Metallica and pull me under by dream theatre)on the guitar during lunch only after hearing it twice and was able to play it seamlessly with the recording. He stopped and says he doesn’t understand how I can do that but can’t do basic sight reading. He knew I could read and understand what was on the page. I knew what the time, key, notes, and the instrument I was playing, but as soon as I was sat down with the sheets of music I couldn’t play. I told him it’s because I can’t hear what I’m reading. I told him it’s ink on paper until I hear the music. I finally passed a music class that year. Not with high grades because sight reading etc still had to be graded, but I’m happy to say I got a C- and that was a passing grade.

Here I am now. 45 years old and only learning over the past few years that I’m ok. Yes I have this thing that most people call a disease or disorder, but I’m not “retarded” or “challenged” or “slow.” This isn’t a disease. It’s not a disorder. We’re just wired a little different. that guy with cerebral palsy isn’t fucking slow or stupid either. Nor that person with Down’s syndrome. We’re all people who are just as human as you. We just want to live our life with your typical judgment.

Cracks in the concrete

I’ve been seeing things that make me wonder what I am supposed to prepare for? My grandmother carrying a big heavy battle axe ready to split a skull. My grandfather standing under falling waters. My father cutting down a large tree. People attacking others and not showing remorse. Those who have fought long and hard, just quit and drop their sword. These are visions every day now.

Meanwhile I’m losing my mind trying to accomplish little tasks. Always being stopped by something out of my control. Slowly this is chipping away my protective cage. The place that holds a beast of rage and fury deep within. The walls are beginning to crack. I’m not sure how long before it breaks. I’m hiding in a dark corner trying to breathe. I hear him breathing.

Lies and what lies between

All my life I have had a connection with everything around me. Understanding deeply the truths of each thing. The problem with that is nobody likes being that vulnerable. So you pretend to be naive or ignorant to what people say or do. You pretend to believe their lies or play along with the game. However you grow tired of the feeling you get for tolerating the poison in the well you drink from. You move on and find yourself secluded but the sickness you feel goes away.

Eventually you find yourself looking for company of people who instead are like you you search and find some, but you realize they are just as broken as the ones you sought refuge from before. Few are genuine. Some you become good friends with, but others who refer to you as friend are just poison and you again need to distance yourself. They use “good deeds” to earn favors that they use to benefit their own agendas. Again you find yourself withdrawing. Only keeping contact with the ones you can trust to not manipulate you, and keep minimal contact with others.

From a distance I still see what happens. I see that I still need to be cautious of my surroundings and pay mind to who I let in. I learned this time that strength is not good when it’s only good for the few while it benefits them. Strength needs to endure when it’s hard and must benefit the whole of the community. We are still far from the path forward I guess. Humans are the most flawed species on this planet. A virus that is unlike anything else. Ultimate bringers of havoc that set forth destruction in their paths. Even those who try to live better, still can’t help but to fall to their more basic need for self worth.

I have doubt that there still be much hope for a real positive outcome in the near future. We continue to fall.

Home(less) of the brave

There’s been a lot of stuff going on over the past few weeks. There’s never the “right time” or whatever to post or even try to post. It’s hard for so many nowadays. Everyone is trying to get back to their entertained state of convenience. It’s getting uglier than ever out there. There’s something though that made me feel like things are worse for those who are already doing much worse than you.

I recently got put into a very uncomfortable state of being, as my spouse made me do a road trip to spend some of her vacation time. I don’t like to do the social interaction thing with people. Long before the pandemic, I was well cemented in my antisocial ways of anxiety hiding from the mass amount of mindless idiots that are growing exponentially. I’m telling you that I don’t need tv or movies. Not when you have 21st century America. However because for some reason this beautiful person loves me and wants me to go with her on her trip, I go. Things start bittersweet because we started the trip by dropping our son off at the airport to fly back to Virginia. It’s so hard when we hadn’t seen him in over two years. So day one is just miserably hot and uncomfortable. My arthritis is flaring something awful and it’s hot as shit in this very uncomfortable passenger seat of her convertible. 12 hours into this drive we finally make our first stop. We try our best to get comfortable in the hotel, but we’re so exhausted that we just pass out regardless. The next day we are doing less drive time but still won’t be into Oregon because the wife wants a picture at the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco before we end the day in Eureka. We get to our hotel stop and it’s the worst one of the whole trip. Shitty staff. Shitty and dirty room. Shitty loud guests. The place was filled with old broken cars everywhere. Normally I would not care, but this was the most expensive room on the trip up there and just very uncomfortable. I couldn’t sleep but that happens. We go to get breakfast and the McDonald’s app forces me to do the curbside pickup. The doors are barricaded at this place. I’m very discouraged. This kid finally comes out with only half our order and gets himself locked out. His coworkers just dit watching him laughing as he’s trying to go in to get the stuff he forgot. Finally one of them opens the door and the kid goes to get the rest of the order. This poor kid was embarrassed but was polite and still had a smile with his return. I only had a couple bucks in my wallet but gave it to him as a thank you for doing a god job taking care of the customers while dealing with shitty coworkers. With that we cross the street to get gas, and that’s when I saw something that hurt a lot.

I’ve seen the homeless and understand that there is some shit that happens to everyone. Some have bad luck. Some just choose to live like that. I don’t judge. I was homeless myself for a good spell. however I have not seen it first hand where these people are just invisible. It’s a feeling I didn’t like. Not only was this man digging up to his armpits in the trash at the gas station, but to get his attention I had to pat him on the shoulder. He said he thought I was talking to someone else because everyone just ignores him. I handed him all my breakfast and then after gassing up the car I went into the gas station buying canned food and beef jerky, bottles of water and brought it back to him. He was grateful but continued to dig in the trash, because bottles and cans he can exchange for money. This guy knew that the food I gave him will only go so far. I wished I could do more but knew it’s out of my control. From that stop until we reached our destination in Portland area, all I noticed was the sheer amount of little homeless encampments. When we toured Portland I noticed that blocks and blocks and blocks of the city were all just tents and boxes and shopping carts. People sleeping in doorways of now closed businesses. Some are clearly dealing with mental health issues, but so many looked like they were new to this life. Trying to survive in the heat with nothing. So many businesses closed down. So many losing jobs and homes. Worse than this though, was the blind eye turned to them and the struggle. Like they’re nothing but vermin or insects in the gutter. I mean they’re clearly there and there’s not just a few, or hundreds, but thousands.

Everyone wants to believe it’s not that bad and we’re getting back to normal , but why is this normal? Why do so many choose to ignore the suffering of others? Does it really make you feel better about yourself if you say it’s not that bad? Do you think if you just ignore it, it will all just go away like a stray cat? For a country that brags about being the best, it’s far from it.

People seem to only help if they’re recording it for social media clout. I didn’t even think of it, because I don’t need praise for being empathetic to my fellow people. I don’t give a shit about praise. I just want to help if I can, and let people know that I see them and They matter. Im very privileged and I understand it 100% I can easily be worse off, but I’m beyond gray for my family and there happiness. The rest is just stuff. Stuff comes and goes. I hope someone can figure out a real solution to the problems of the world but the reality is, people only invest in things with a return. So if they can’t profit from a good deed, then they say it’s just a bad investment.

Spitting into the wind

You can not carry water in a broken vessel. You can not fly across to water with a hole in your sail. Anger and frustration causes fractures and cracks in your walls. It leaves your spirit exposed and vulnerable. While you may feel strong some days, really you’re just punching holes it the walls and stomping cracks in your foundation.

I have been so angry for so long, I forgot what I was angry about and realized the anger was just a mask for my fears and insecurities. What happens when I unclench my fists and reach out my open hands? Will I find something reaching back? Will I be led back to happiness? Will I then find peace again? I used to tell myself “Not my circus. Not my monkeys!” Then I stopped telling myself that and I forgot I can’t control other things. All I can control is my words, and actions. I wasted precious time and energy trying to make others listen, but I can’t do that. I became deaf to my own words. I became blind to my own actions. My vessel became weak and the cracks started to show.

Today is a new day. Now is a new moment. I take back my light, and I will patch the walls. I will clean house and give it a new coat of paint. Clear the dirt and dust that blankets everything. I will open the windows to allow the fresh air to kiss my lungs. I will take a shower and wash away the blood and salt and shit that has splattered over me from my tantrums of madness. Then I will refill my vessel and remember that I am still worthy of my love.

Anxiously awake

I really don’t like to spend time worrying about birthdays, but since I started being sick they more feel like a mark on a doomsday clock. That’s a depressing way to think of it I’m sure, but since I have been unable to do anything since this started I feel I’m wasting time. I spend every day doing nothing of purpose. It’s like I’m just hanging around waiting to die. So it sucks to think about time because it slips by and unless you’re enjoying it, you’re wasting it.

I woke up with a panic attack again at 4 am. I dreamt of me doing a speech on my 63rd birthday and I was getting anxiety in my dream as I told those in attendance “it’s hard to believe 13 years ago I turned 50!” In my dream I started having an anxiety attack and next thing I know I’m awake having one. It’s terrible to waste time, but counting the time wasted is just magnifying it. I know it’s unhealthy, but my brain has done this all my life.

I don’t know why I’m so fixed on the life clock? After I finally calmed myself and went back to sleep I was awakened by one of the dogs licking my head to wake me. I let her out and sit in the living room with a cup of coffee. My wife is playing music videos on YouTube and cutting up our daughters softball shirts to make a quilt for her. All the songs that played I pointed out that the singers were dead. It started with Chris Cornell’s version of “nothing compares to you” where I jokingly said everyone who famously sang this song was dead. My wife drops her head and chuckled saying “HAPPY SUNDAY EVERYONE!” Her point being that on top of everything, those were the first words out of my mouth.

While I’m excited to get out into the pines today, I noticed that I’m good when there’s something I get to go do, or if I have a project to keep my occupied. It’s when I’m alone with my thoughts that the shadows overtake my thoughts. The other side of that is I spend so much time seeing past lives and the ghosts that linger that I really can’t avoid the subject of inevitability and death. Most people would think I’m insane. When you talk to me on any normal occasion I’m as grounded as the next guy, but talk about visions, spirits, spiritual energy, etcetera, and I sound like I’m a complete nut job.

I’m the guy who says things directly. To most I’m an asshole nut job who gets under your skin. To the few who know me truly and understand me, I’m a laid back guy who just has a couple loud moments. Nobody likes hearing that there hasn’t been an original thought for ages. Nobody likes hearing that we’re all going to die. “Why are you so grumpy and negative?” I’m not. I’m just honest. I’m autistic and hide as someone who is not. I learned to mimic very young. So I pass as a person who is not autistic. That means Is that I say things with the delicate touch of a sledgehammer to the face. Add in the mix of dealing with dimensional existences and seeing through the walls of separation, I see a lot of past present and future. I see and feel things most ignore, but for me it’s like a poison ivy rash that never heals. You can ignore it momentarily but it’s always there on your skin. You can’t stop your subconscious taking a pick or scratch. So needless to say I can seem like a bit much.

I end up staying home because I can tell the day was going to be busy. I mean everyone is suffering from crazy cabin fever. Everyone is like “fuck the pandemic” and out in force. So I instead stay home and hide in my hole. I only go out if it’s required, and when I do I’m like a field mouse looking out for the hawks about to swoop down and rip my into shades of bird shit! Besides, my day is busy enough with many journeys in the TARDIS of my mind.

Someone left the gate open

All the noises tonight are loud. My rural town sounds more like a city. People everywhere are out in droves. Cars are revving their engines. Tires are squealing. Horns, dogs, planes and kids are all filling the air with noise. One noise breaks through the chaos and snaps my focus. In the tree on the corner is an owl. He calls out a few times and goes to a tree down three houses. And things quiet a little. There’s still road noise, but people sounds fade away.

I’m at my fire with a drink and a cigar. I call out to the corners and lay my offerings under the tree. Spring is just as busy for me as the fall. The veil is thin around the equinox. As it was last week it’s still a bit thin. The ground is opening up to start anew. I’m working outside to prepare for planting trees and and small crops of food and flowers. It’s still too cold at night, but I’m doing the groundwork. Laying my intentions into the dirt. With my sun allergy I have to do what I can after the sun sets. This time though it’s harder. My body is fighting me. The arthritis in my back hips and knees has been throbbing for weeks. This doesn’t stop me though. I’m building my sanctuary here. I will have to move my fire before the next full moon and tonight it’s all about letting them know that it will be here still just a few feet away.

So as I sit at my fire now, trying to rest my bones, I hear the flow of things passing my way. So I will sit and listen for a while and the owl will take my voice for a while. I will see through his eyes, and watch through his eyes. I will soar through the night bring stories from another time and place. I will share them another time, but I feel there will be a few to tell.

Off we go

Who am I?

No longer do I recognize myself. I look at pictures from the past and I don’t see me. I see familiar things, but I don’t see me. Things that are in my past, are passed by as if not existing. Who am I?

Sense of normalcy is gone. That’s the new normal. I still get dressed and play the part, but I don’t see why it’s important? I’ve never cared really about it. So if I’m playing a part, who am I?

I sleep. I wake up. I eat. I shit. All these things I do to identify as something, but who am I?

Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow hasn’t happened. I was: I will, but who am I?

Lost in a sea of memories that are as distant as planets. Playing scenes from a movie nobody ever heard of. Separation. Removal. That was something, but who am I?

I go to the bathroom and wash my hands. I look in the mirror. Who are you?

Reality b(y)tes

Everyday it gets worse. My inability to deal with the mass stupidity that is Americans and their “right to freedom.” I have seen the mass movement of ignorance and stupidity waving as proud as they wave flags of fascist leaders and racist confederacy. Still to this day it is the sounding horn of there battle cry. My only response is to tell them to take their freedom guns, shove them up their asses and pull the trigger. The only way to end their spread of ignorance and hatred is to remove them completely. They don’t care about anyone else’s rights but theirs. You can’t educate someone who doesn’t want to learn. So the only thing to remove the tyranny that is fascism and racism, is death. Treat it as you would a rabid animal. There comes a point where you have to put ol’ yeller down. It’s for the safety of everyone else. On that same idea of balance though, we need to watch the ones who have their heads shoved so deep up their ass in a yoga pose that they think will make the world a better place if we believe in more fantasy and fiction. This mentality is just as dangerous.

It seems that no matter the instance, nobody takes any responsibility for their actions. Nobody wants to give a healthy dose of common sense. It’s all gone. We as humans are failing ourselves at a faster rate each day. It’s all about what gets likes or makes you the new standard of special. Why can’t you just be happy for what you have and not care about what others think? I know I’m flawed with my own intolerances, but I acknowledge them and work to do better. I no longer see that anymore. News is just more click bait for reality tv and advertising money. Every time you turn on the tv, you find yourself questioning if you’re watching a fictional show or news? You can’t tell the difference. Our lives are just a meme or a sound byte. We have completely invalidated our own existence. All we have to do to see what happened to the world to make it such a shit hole, is look in a mirror.

Sure I’m on a rant. When am I not anymore? I just seriously can not see the point of this world. I used to have hope for people. Now things have changed so much that I can’t find any light at the end of the tunnel. I’ve removed all social media from my phone, and I hide in my room. This is not healthy for me, but it’s far healthier for everyone else.