The Den

Hey, Shorty

May 1st, 2019

I saw an interview with J.Lo in which she said that men are “useless” until they turn 33.

I can’t even argue with that.

I’m a clandestine member of a team that is part Fight Club, part church, and I got fired up today. We were talking about perfection and the sin of pride and it got me spilling about some things that had been swimming in my head.

See, unadulturated, all-consuming pride is bad. It is terrible for you and the folks around you. But being proud of something, if we’re to progress as people, is essential.

I feel like when you try to better yourself in any way, it can inspire some people, but it absolutely turns off others. It convinces them that you think you’re better than them.

And I’m here to say: that’s okay.

I am not a better human than any other human, and in a lot of ways I’m worse than many. But even so: there are certain things, because I work hard for them, that I am better at than you and that is a fact. And you do things that are so much better than I can.

There are some amazing baseball players out there. Some of them make millions of dollars and build their lives based on their skills. Conversely, I am a shitty baseball player. I am the worst. And I am okay with that, and I am okay with people being better than me at things.

The fact that I don’t drink alcohol makes me better than nobody. Except that’s not true. It at least makes me better than I used to be. It makes me better than me. And the fact that I make generally better decisions and don’t consume something that was consuming me makes me better at those things than other people who have similar goals but are not reaching them, for whatever reasons they have.

We have to be allowed to celebrate not only our differences, but our accomplishments. Because if we feel like everything we do is even, we’ll never strive for more. Perfection is impossible, but it is a perfect goal.

So I hope you feel like you’re better. Because I think you are. I think every day you get to be a slightly better you and I think that makes every day magical.

I get to be 34 today. Which means I won’t ever die at the age of 33, the year I started to become useful.

And that is the best.

I Love That You Love It

A completely normal locker room, nothing to see here.

April 30th, 2019

An open letter to those of you who don’t “get” superhero films (or comics or just like to poo poo all over things that other people love):

Marvel just released a film that is essentially about grief and the act of moving on, and it made $1.2 billion its opening weekend. If you fail to recognize how this movie took a theme as heavy and hard to talk about as loss and spoke about it to the hearts of millions of people, then maybe this isn’t a failure of genre.

Show a person a painting, and they say it’s art. Show them words, and they say it’s art. But combine these two forms and only the simplest, most condescending people in the world could dismiss it as anything more than mind garbage for children and degenerates.

Ultimately, and the same side of that coin: any person who spends their life trying to define what art is completely misses the point of living it.

For the record: not a Game of Thrones fan. But I love how many people are, and I absolutely, totally, 100% “get” it. You keep being you, you stone cold weirdos.

Art Owes You Nothing

Art, doing its thing, which is nothing or everything depending entirely on you.

April 28th, 2019

Art owes you nothing.

If you find light, or find hope, or joy or peace or love in art, ultimately that’s on you.

Similarly, if you look at a work of art and it pisses you off, or deeply upsets you, or makes you angry or sad or indifferent — that is also all you.

I say this because art is what you make it. Yes, the artist has ideas and intent and works within or without a structure, but how art is perceived is only determined by one thing: you. And I feel like people have put too much responsibilty in artist’s and writer’s hands for things that they, in the end, will have no control over.

Which means that the observers of art need to learn how to take responsibility for themselves, and their role in the world around them. They need to be the change they want to appear and be the light they wish to see. They need to stop pointing their fragile fingers and put those hands to work.

Because, when all is said and done, art owes you nothing. And we owe it everything.

Mister Sandman

April 14th, 2019

I just finished reading all ten volumes of Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman.

This will be a long post, so I’ll see two, maybe three of you down there at the end.

Rarely in your life do you experience a work of art in which you are changed and you can never go back; you can’t forget and you will always remember. Sandman is one of those moments for me.

I bought and tried reading the first volume many times, in my twenties. I’ve read a lot, if not most of, “the classics”; critically-hailed graphic literature like Watchmen, and I never had any problem with reading or understanding them. Or any books, really, for that matter. But Sandman would always elude me, or make me feel lesser. And I found out it was because I just wasn’t ready.

But this last time, I was. I had to be who I am now in order to travel down Morpheus’ path with him and have it mean anything. The book is about change and purpose and goodbyes and I had to figure out what those things meant to me on my own terms — by living, by creating my own art — to feel the echoes of Gaiman’s words so deeply and fully. And I did, and I do.

Sandman is not easy. It is hyper-intelligent and super-literate, deeply sensual and darkly erotic, it’s romantic, it’s horrifying, it’s hopeful, it’s terrifying, and it’s filled with more throwaway lines about the most important pieces of life than I have ever seen put together in one place.

And it’s about dreams, which are essential to me. I’m very glad I wrote my own book about dreams before I read Sandman. Because I found the gaps I dug and the bleeds that all humans feel without any literal influence. And that was rewarding in itself.

Anyway, this story changed me. For the better. I just realized a longer post is in me and a longer post would do it no more justice. So read it. And if you don’t: then just dream it. And know that everything changes and nothing really ever goes away.

Snow Dayz

April 11th, 2019

This morning on the way to work, I pulled over to help two men who were trying to push a woman’s car out next to Crystal Lake. They were decked out in work gloves and thick boots; real men’s men. I feebly asked if they needed help; they said it couldn’t hurt.

The woman, who had front-wheel drive, wasn’t spinning in ice; she was in the ground, turning up thick mud. We pushed a couple times, and nothing was happening. I didn’t want to sound stupid, but I had an idea: had she tried driving forward at all? They all looked at each other and said it was worth a try. So, with a new plan, two tries later she pushed forward, pushed back and she was free, and I was back on the road to work.

Moral of the story? Never assume that everyone around you knows more than you do, and never underestimate your value in any situation. You can always help.

The patio will not be open today.

Don’t Be A Meme

April 10th, 2019

My entire life, I’ve been told that I speak too much, that I use too many words and that I talk too fast.

For a lot of my life, I was told to “fix” those things for miscellaneous reasons.

It wasn’t until I learned to like myself that I realized there wasn’t anything to fix; that there are differences between character defects and the unique things that make you who you are.

I don’t want to be a meme. I don’t want to be reduced to a simple sentence on a generic background. I want to be complex; I want to use every tube of paint on the palette and see what speaks to me, and see how that speaks to others. I want to be forever too excited about things, because I think people who are cool and don’t show their passion about what they love are boring. There’s nothing wrong with them, of course; they are who they are, and that itself is beautiful, but they’re not me.

The back of my business card says “Always Love,” which is great, and simple. But how great is love if we don’t use all of our words and images and ideas and thoughts to describe it, if we don’t question it and confirm it and present it as hard and messy and easy and free as it is?

Editing is great for condensation and clarity, but always remember this: editors are not creators. Their job is to essentially dismantle and destroy; to take something apart and make it less until it’s palatable to more. Only creators put something here that wasn’t there before.

So, be a meme if you wish. Be a single letter, even. Be what makes you you. But I’m going to be me. And always, awkwardly, quickly and loudly, I’m gonna use my words.

Damage/Control

My dog is my number one fan, primarily because she cannot read my work.

April 3rd, 2019

“All art is a kind of confession, more or less oblique. All artists, if they are to survive, are forced, at last, to tell the whole story; to vomit the anguish up.” – James Baldwin

Since the anniversary of Them and Us on Monday, I’ve been rereading my work. There are many themes throughout the two books, but the one big theme that the entire story is about is the idea of control. People who are in it, people who want it, people who are controlled and people who have lost it.

The theme isn’t groundbreaking, but as I’m walking through this world again, it’s the context of the piece that makes it shine a whole lot brighter for me now.

See, five or six years ago, when I wrote these words, I was very much a terrified person who was out of control. And the only way I knew how to deal with it was through art. I couldn’t face my reality, so I used my words to try to make sense of the displacement and fear and the shame I was always feeling; to put my finger on the lack of control that gave me horrible anxiety and amplified every bad feeling and thought that I couldn’t turn off.

Art was the only thing that worked in a positive way in my life at the time.

So among the errors and marks and mistakes and the words of a lesser writer are grand ideas and even grander emotions, rooted in a really real truth for me and my soul. It’s less embarassing, and more flawed, and flawed for me now is good and important.

Art is important.

So in a way, these books helped me on a road that saved my life.

And one of my best accomplishments as a writer was coming up with an ending that is either extremely cynical or positively optimistic, depending on your outlook. It could even be both, like it was in my mind.

Anyway, this is just a reminder that everyone has something to say, and what you say is important — if not for anyone else, it’s important for you. Your ideas and thoughts and feelings are art and it’s up to you to put that paint on canvas. Because someone is waiting to hear it.

When Do The Bad Thoughts Stop?

March 19th, 2019

As a recovered/forever recovering person, I think the question I get asked the most is: “So when do the bad feelings and thoughts stop?”

I avoid this question. But I think, in the spirit of true transparency, I should answer it, and as honestly as I can: they don’t.

I still have bad feelings and bad thoughts, every day. That doesn’t ever change. What changes is that you learn better ways to deal with them. Or you learn that you CAN deal with them or, sometimes, that you even WANT to deal with them.

My generally positive attitude has been addressed by others, some curious, some hopeful, some incredulous, some doubtful. I’ve had people say to me it’s because life hasn’t crushed my soul yet.

I have to tell that it’s because it has.

Every time I look you in the eyes and smile, every time I say something nice to you or about somebody else, every time I try to help you or another person or people — I do these things not out of instinct, but because I choose to. I do not wake up in the morning with a balanced, blessed outlook on life. I am not a naturally positive human being. I look at myself in the mirror and I see flaws and I see hurt and I see scars but the biggest thing that has changed is that now I also see hope. I see today.

So the answer to the question appears dismal, but it’s not. Because anyone can choose. You can’t choose what happens to you, but you can choose how you go forward. I have days where a garbage human being will do or say something to me that could potentially ruin my own day, and my goat gets got just as much. But it’s what I do after now that matters. I take blame more, I apologize more (and more quickly), and I try to make anything I can better, too.

I choose to smile, and laugh, and be nice, and I choose to deal because that is the only thing that makes the bad feelings go away.

And they’re always waiting to come back. But being a better place, by dealing with you, means that you’re making a home in yourself that can sustain any storm.

Fifteen Months

March 9th, 2019

For those of you at home keeping score, today I completed 15 months of sobriety. To share how I’ve been progressing, I Googled “15 months” and all of these things accurately describe me and where I’m at:

• Walking. Your 15-month-old is probably taking at least a few steps on her own. About half of 15-month-olds can walk well. A few are even running or starting to learn to walk backwards!

• Speech. Most 15-month-olds say at least one word. Half can say at least two words. And some tots will have now ventured past “dada” and “mama” to form a growing vocabulary that includes words like “dog,” “juice” and — if you’re still breastfeeding — “boobies.”

• Identification. Your 15-month-old is starting to understand what everyday objects are used for—a broom is for sweeping and a wooden spoon is for stirring, for example. Some 15-month-olds can identify and point to a few body parts when you ask them to show you.

15-Month-Old Behavior: While it’s awesome to have an active and (mostly) happy toddler, they have their, er… moments. A few challenging behaviors at 15 months are:

• Tantums
• Separation Anxiety
• Throwing Things

This is all me in a nutshell, Squirrels.

In all seriousness, if you’re on the same journey as me, congrats on your months, your years, your decades — but most duly, I’m proud of your day, your 24 hours, because today, as you know, is all we have.