Do we really ever learn? Anything? Really change?

Evolve?

Things stay the same. We love each other. We deceive each other. We deceive ourselves.

Life is hard. And it’s exorbitant. And we try to deceive ourselves about that too.

We seek to understand. Everything. But there is nothing to understand.

Just because we are aware of our own lives—this separates us from most of nature—doesn’t mean nature gives a shit about us. It plants this narrative that we can affect nature.

Yet, ultimately, we cannot. Stand up to that approaching tornado. Show it who’s boss.

And we lie. Lord, how we lie. Maybe truth is a fantasy.

I read something profound the other day.

Most “relationship problems” aren’t problems. They’re symptoms of one disease. Dishonesty.

For several generations, we’ve been taught to help others. To protect others. To take care of them before we even take care of ourselves.

We fall in and out of love. Do we really? What even is “love?” The contact of two chemical substances? Where if there is any reaction, both are transformed?

Or is it simply... manipulation?

Sometimes, it’s instant. That girl. Who talks to you with her eyes. The two of you have a conversation no one else can hear.

Her touch. It isn’t electric, as the poets would make you believe. It’s grounding. The energy saves you instead of elating you.

Although, there are those moments too.

But there’s our pasts. Our lifestyles. Consequences of decisions we made in the past. Not necessarily good nor bad, but influencing nonetheless.

“Lord, I wish I was stupid. They seem so happy.”

Indeed, the less aware seem to have fewer problems with life. They love easier. They figure things out as they go without worrying about “that dreadful mistake.” Is this what school has taught us? What isn’t right, must be wrong. And if you can’t get it right, you’re fired. Canceled. Alone.

This isn’t learning. This is prison. No wonder we’ve all learned to be helpless. We can’t seem to evade the electric shocks, so we just lie down. We let the shocks penetrate us as we lie asleep.

We let life wash over us, unable to do a thing. Why bother? Does anything we do matter? Anecdotal evidence suggests... no.

At least we have relief from this helplessness. A magical chemical that washes away the lies. The deceit. The pain. A truth serum that allows us to show someone how we really feel. To make decisions we’ve avoided. To lure us into adventure we might, otherwise, have overlooked. Real. Psychological. Sexual.

And we crave the attention. We all crave the attention of someone who doesn’t match that expectation. And we’ll settle for someone who gives us that level of attention, but at a price. Our hearts? Our souls? Our love? Yes. Just for the thrill. The hit.

Does she love me? Or does she just want something from me?

Is this even a fair question? We all want something from someone. We are all getting to know each other.

Other people make it all worthwhile, yet can also take everything away. The price of billions of people learning to live together and never learning that you can never make anyone do anything.

Hence the dishonesty. The lies. The numbness.

Can you imagine a technology that reveals one’s secrets upon death? Not dissimilar to the HR department and upper management taking three weeks to scour an employee’s computer upon termination, is this a true glimpse inside a person’s soul?

The shadows. The abyss. The lies we tell ourselves, because we so desperately want them to be true. To be validated. The attention. The adoration.

The love.

I don’t know the answer. I suppose none of us do. So, nothing will ever really change. The system we have constructed to control people will continue to ruin lives. As individuals we will care less and less. We’ll isolate from the world and slowly go insane. If we’re lucky, we’ll isolate with someone we love—if love even exists.

We cannot thrive alone. We cannot help ourselves to destroy each others lives to meet our own ends. There is always a reason to end it. After all, it all ends. Another lie we tell, is that immortality—legacy—is achievable.

All we crave is that reason to be here.

I’ll say goodbye to love
No one ever cared if I should live or die
Time and time again the chance for love has passed me by
And all I know of love
Is how to live without it
I just can’t seem to find it

So I’ve made my mind up
I must live my life alone
And though it’s not the easy way
I guess I’ve always known
I’d say goodbye to love

There are no tomorrows for this heart of mine
Surely time will lose these bitter memories
And I’ll find that there is someone to believe in
And to live for something I could live for

All the years of useless search
Have finally reached an end
Loneliness and empty days will be my only friend
From this day love is forgotten
I’ll go on as best I can

What lies in the future
Is a mystery to us all
No one can predict the wheel of fortune as it falls
There may come a time when I will see that I’ve been wrong
But for now this is my song

And it’s goodbye to love
I’ll say goodbye to love

What i'm listening to:

Goodbye to Love
The Carpenters
A Song for You

What did we do before the internet?

I suppose we believed people a lot more.

Yesterday, someone spent three minutes trying to convince me that Woody Allen had died.

This morning, upon waking, I was curious. Enter Google.

Spoiler: as of the time of this post, he’s still with us.

My hobby: Walk up beside someone and say, “All I wanna do is have a little fun before I die.”

My, the looks I get. Mostly, WTF looks. And a lot of confusion.

Is this funny? I think it’s hilarious. Apparently, I am the only one. Even friends who have heard of Sheryl Crow, and are familiar with the song, give a blank stare.

Yet, the sentiment is true.

Sigh. All I want to do is have a little fun before I die…

What i'm listening to:

All I Wanna Do
Sheryl Crow
Tuesday Night Music Club

Men are entering a new phase. Love me right, or leave me alone. No in between.

No more confusion. No mixed signals. No half effort connections. Clarity or nothing.

You either bring peace. Respect. Consistency. Or you bring distance.

Because “almost” love drains more than loneliness ever will.

Hot and cold? Gone. Uncertain energy? Gone. Emotional games? Dead.

Men are done negotiating for basic standards. What’s simple should be natural. Not forced.

If it feels like work just to feel secure, it’s not love. It’s maintenance.

Love me right, or don’t be around me at all. I’m not here for confusion anymore.

Currently, I am driving cars as a second job. It doesn’t pay well, but my coworkers are interesting and I get to drive automobiles I might never get a chance to drive otherwise.

That Maserati was a sweet ride. Never even turned on the stereo… just listened to that motor hum. Beautiful music.

Plus, I’ve been able to do some accidental research on what kind of car I’d get next. One list for if money was no object, the other a bit more practical.

Yes, I’d get a Saab, for the right price. And I can’t believe anyone would get $20,000 for a 1979 Volkswagen Beetle. Convertible or not. Collectible or not. Am I even prepared for this world?

Nor can I believe anyone would pay money for a Jeep (that’s not a Cherokee) as a daily driver. And don’t get me started on those Toyota Tacoma girl trucks. What a horrible ride on the pavement!

The Jeep Grand Cherokee, on the other hand? Yes, please.

Also, it’s an interesting look back into time capsules. Decisions auto makers made—for right or wrong.

Last week, I drove a 2011 Nissan Armada. A comfortable cross between a minivan and an SUV. Except… there was no way to play my own music.

Looking back at 2011. Smartphones were still relatively new, yet iPods were a decade old. My 2009 Hyundai even offered a USB port tied into the aux of the stereo… although I did need a special dongle that utilized both the USB and the 1/4” aux jack in order to make an Apple device work. But I digress…

This Nissan I was assigned the other day offered some innovations. It was a nice sounding Bose system. Of course, given the era, there was a CD player. There was a DVD slot as well, plus a fold down screen in the back seat for the kiddies.

There was a compact flash slot. That was something I hadn’t seen offered in a car before. Many of them have SD card slots, but CF was… different.

If memory serves, Bluetooth was not yet ready for prime time. I could connect my phone to Bluetooth to make and receive calls, but for music playback? Forget it.

And there was a 1/4” aux jack. Arguably the best way to attach an external device at that time.

“Do you have an aux cord?” I no longer do. Thanks, Apple.

My big surprise was the lack of a USB port. If there was one in the vehicle, I never found it. Kind of surprising.

It’s like, in their effort to be innovative, they backed all of the wrong ponies.

Sony Betamax, anyone?

So, I rode in silence. For ninety minutes. Not really a big deal. Definitely preferable to FM, given the state of modern mass media.

A nice ride, yet one I’d likely pass over unless the Google showed me some modern connections through a stock system I was missing in my brief journey with this vehicle.

I want to hack my brain.

No. That’s not quite it. I’ve been doing that.

Plus, that won’t alleviate the pain. So much pain.

Pain is good, right? It keeps us aware. Thinking less.

Feeling. More. MOAR.

The pain isn’t quite in the brain either. It’s lower. In the neck.

I know what you’re thinking. Haha. Cliché.

Base of the skull, actually, so a li’l higher than the neck. That spot where she’ll swoon if you grip during an embrace.

Yes. That’s the spot.

Hack is the correct word, however. No, not with trending psychology. Avoid this.

With a fucking machete. Just a tap. Then another. Then several. Give it a reason to hurt. And likely discover I’ve passed a point of no return. And made quite a mess.

Eventually, the pain will stop. No? Perhaps she’s right... perhaps I need to get this checked out.

Would anyone notice if I built a guillotine in the courtyard?

Sometimes, the pain feels too close. Like today. Today—I just need to sleep the rest of the day away. Little life hack I learned—sleep on it. It actually works.

Constantinople, Summer 1334. It marched through the streets, the sewers. It left the city by oxcart, by sea, to kill half of Europe. The rats, rustling and squealing in the night as they, too, died. The rats...

It’s pay day. Plus she’s annoyed with me.

It’s a good day to wonder if this is really what I want my life to look like.

She didn’t tell me she wanted me to pick her up for lunch yesterday—until it was too late.

I have my own life. So, I made lunch plans. With a chronically late friend. Lunch was set for 1pm. She showed up at 2. Not really a big deal. Not really.

Today is pay day. My favorite co-dependent doesn’t need me. Maybe it’s not fair to think of it this way, yet as you observe your loved ones, do patterns not emerge?

Last pay day, she celebrated. And subsequently missed a week of work. She spent most of that time with me… that part I enjoy.

She’s not good for herself. Her dreams are not found in the bottom of a bottle of Tito’s. That won’t stop her from looking though.

There are no easy answers. With every sip, she loses the battle to addiction. Yet she’s far from rock bottom. She doesn’t care. About me. About herself. About her daughter. This war is just beginning.

Her folks solution isn’t sustainable. Treating her like a child: curfew, no car, living free at home, no responsibilities. A life I’d love.

Is this a life I want? Dating like we’re in high school? Picking her up… sometimes sneaking her out of the house? Dodging communication from her parents when she misses curfew?

Do I want to balance respecting her privacy with assuring her folks that she’s safe and with me? This, I’d do anyway. I will be her sanctuary. If only I can accomplish this without becoming her gateway to poor decisions.

I don’t want her to use me to get high. Except maybe on life. And sex.

But, for now, she’s incommunicado. She wants me to have my own life, as long as it doesn’t interfere with hers. More nonsense. Is this acceptable? Is this what I want my life to look like?

I have grown so fond of her. Perhaps too fond of her. Rose colored glasses. Each day, I learn more about the power I have over her. And the power she has over me. We are both broken. And we are both healing.

It’s a journey. And a worthwhile one. Whether we end up traveling together, or not.

No, this is not what I want my life to look like. I want her in it, but she has some work to do. Work she may not be willing to do—in which case, I will love her no less, but I’ll have to exercise restraint in coming to her aid. Especially when coming to her “aid” involves a bottle.

Ugh. I hate it here.

Memento mori. What if this is the last year of my life? What if I’m not immortal as I feared?

A co-worker learned yesterday that he has lung cancer. My mom succumbed to lung cancer. She continued about six months after receiving that diagnosis.

I know what she did at the end. Living life with death stalking her, just a few steps behind. And now I’m curious what he will do? Will he do anything different?

Me? I’d cash out the savings. All of it. I’d disappear. I’d invite Clarissa and her daughter to join me—although they probably wouldn’t. And I’d make arrangements to control the ending. To cease any unnecessary prolongation of life before the question is asked.

The world has endless fascination with holding us here—on this plane—far beyond our comfort. Our usefulness. Our happiness. All because they are selfish and don’t want to let go. And they need our tax dollars.

I will go wherever it takes to avoid that nonsense. And make the necessary arrangements.

And then I will live. Fully. Intentionally. I will tour Mexico. And Central and South Americas. Befriending all of those lovely latinas I meet along the way. Perhaps dying at the hand of a jealous drug lord. Why not?

Am I living intentionally now? Fully? If not, why not?

It’s funny how money is a factor when we don’t know how long we are going to live. It has to stretch. Am I truly immortal? That will require a colossal sum of money… a skill I have yet to acquire.

No, currently I have enough money to die in six months. Maybe a year. Maybe.

Is this really what I want my life to look like?

She is not the only one who has work to do. Clearly.

What i'm listening to:

Regret
New Order
Republic

It’s storming. It’s been a while.

5am just hits different. It’s not like they write songs about 5am... except maybe Cliff Richard, but only after he was walking all night.

I recall my immortality. I remember seeing 5am on a regular basis. I was far from here. Northern Wisconsin. The woods. Nature sounds. Sights. Smells. The out.

Hell, I was frequently already exploring the out by 5am. Bears be damned.

Some days I miss it. Today is one of them. I wonder if I could return...

Can back be a way forward?

After all, here I have little interest in going into the out. The sounds. Sights. Smells. The sirens. The “song of my people.” No, thank you.

Yet, I’m stalled. Again. Stagnant. I can smell it. Like rotten vegetables. I’m hungry, again. Unable to find something to eat.

Except her. She’s stalled. She knows nothing else, so I cannot take her with me. However, I must go.

I realize today was the day. My scheduled departure. Things happened, so I am still here. For the time being, anyway. I’ve made it too easy for her. To stagnate. Because she consumes me. The sounds. Sights. Smells. My taco. My tasty snack.

Unlike the others, we can never return to strangers. We know each other intimately. Inside. And out. We have taught each other so, so much. Yet, I must go.

I must find something to eat. Even if it is not as sweet.

Perhaps, one day, I will return. If only, to pick her up. To take her with me. If only, one day, she will awaken. Awaken from society’s slumber.

But first, I must awaken. It is bad to hold myself back. To not grow. Simply because she is not ready. She is afraid.

Afraid I will show her the world. Inside. And out.

Okay, 5am. Let’s do this. Show me what you’ve got.

What i'm listening to:

Dreamin’
Cliff Richard
I’m No Hero