“There was a time when I would have traded my life for a glass of scotch. Not a “good” glass either, just something that contained instant gratification and the ability to remove me from the moment. The problem with life is that when you run from a certain moment you begin to keep running. Before you know it you haven’t run from one moment, you have run from half of your life.”
Jason Chandler Cushman
You lay upon a plain of snow so white. I moment framed in glaring red to match your Scarlet gown. You are a mistake or an action made… simply a reaction to the emotion of the moment. Your beauty shattered like a snow flake, body laying like a symbol of the past. Or are you instead the very essence of hate and for that your passing is justified…
Scarlet, slowly covered now by the frozen tears from above. Falling pieces of guilt to bury you from sight. Do not fear the end, fear the how. A scarlet snowflake in the field.
Writing is my life, but unfortunately I must die a little doing other things each day as well…
am I an afterthought to an action. An expression to a regret or a regret to an expression. Would it matter if you adorned me with a name, but never owned me. Never claimed me in the night like every night that I waited and still wait. One eye to the door expecting it to open and the other to life and knowing you will never come. Silent steps will always be silent. Steps of my dreams where they and you will always remain.
This will be the new name of my blog going forward. I had my little fun. I appreciate everyone that is handling this transition so well. You are all winners. All happy people here. :)
New Peaceful Tagline in place.
I felt no need to keep up two posts from yesterday, but at least some people know the why. And I guess that matters? Maybe a little?
Will I waste away writing nothing or finally write something to be proud of. That she will be proud of.
You stand proud and sure of your own worth. The knowledge and intellect that you have you use for your own understanding. You seek answers even when answers are given. Always curious, nothing is safe from your scrutiny. You argue and laugh seemingly without mercy. You list your reasons and you hold to your convictions. You do not need man, woman, or child telling you what to believe. Dusty books and literature hold no meaning. There is no truth but the one that you uncover. You have heard man’s thoughts, let them hear yours. You are the God Killer.
Those things we do. I have many vivid memories of obvious mistakes I have made in my life. Some were major and others minor. I suppose my project has put me in a reflective mood, so I thought I would share a few.
“You want my autograph?” – I remember hearing my name. “Jason!!! COME UPSTAIRS NOW!!!” I of course proceeded to climb those stairs as slowly as possible. You never want to rush into things you know are a bad situation and anytime you hear your mom use that high pitched, shrill sounding voice you know shit has literally hit the fan. Like any other seven year old I had a number of things I “thought” she might be angry at, but I wouldn’t know what it actually was till I saw her. “Did you write in sharpie on your brother’s window sill” my mother immediately asked upon my arrival. I did what any other boy my age would have done. I lied. “Nope, wasn’t me…” I said confidently. “THEN WHY DOES IT SAY YOUR NAME?” Oh… oops…
Betrayal At Krondor – This was my favorite PC game as a kid and it was light years ahead of other rpg games! Unfortunately at the age of 14 I did not have a PC of my own… this was back in 1995 in case you were curious. I solved this problem by formatting my mother’s hard drive so it would fit the 9 hard disks required for downloading the game. How was I to know that format meant – remove forever! I remember thinking at the time, while being yelled at, that it was a serious flaw to place a self-destruct button on a machine that was so valuable.
Dogwoods in Memphis – The first home we lived in on Stonewall had two beautiful dogwoods in the front yard. They were a kid’s dream for climbing and also beautiful to behold once their blossoms opened. I thought at the time that it was a shame that the only thing ugly on that tree was the bark. So I decided to peal it off. I was probably around the age of 8 and I was so proud to show my parents what I had done. It became apparent I had made some type of miscalculation from the look of horror on my mother’s face. My father was furious… it wasn’t like I had cut down a cherry tree or something. In my defense those trees survived and no one ever hugged those branches for dear life like I did.
“Dude Jason… I think we had a wreck…” – We were driving home from Nashville after a night of partying when I fell asleep at the wheel. It had never happened before, but fortunately this time I didn’t hit a car. What I did do was tear up five yards of guard rail, hit a bridge column, and the car ended up catching fire and being destroyed. Did I mention that it happened to be Father’ Day morning and it was possibly my dad’s car…
“Well that doesn’t fit… dammit!!!” – Recently I have discovered I suck at home repairs. I should not be allowed to do them. I decided to surprise my wife by switching out the back sliding door handle with a locking handle instead. Well it helps if you look inside and see what type of door it is. Unfortunately I tried to put a normal lock on a latch handle opening. For those that don’t know, that is kind of like the square peg in the round hole scenario. Needless to say, my wife was pretty pissed at the large hole I had drilled for the handle that didn’t fit.
WoW it is ugly. I’m allowed to say that right?
The theme said “open and appealing” so I thought I’d go with it. If I have to suffer you have to suffer.
Slay me into the night, in the night, and by the night we die. I sigh a sigh that only I can hear. My emotion pushes me to write, but what? Can I pick and choose the words of my soul? Dividing what is worth saying like a shepherd in the night. Weighing and measuring if offense is seen in word strings… is this a job I wish to take. Could I convey myself in such flowery language that a person must borrow a muse to ascertain my meaning, yes I could. I wrote college papers for a few years and they weren’t always mine.
Her name was Kitty. She was an elderly woman at my church and that is all I knew to start off, other than the fact that suddenly I had been “tasked” with fixing random stuff at this old woman’s apartment. I believe that if you had asked me on the first day going to Kitty’s house what my feelings were they would have been a perfect mixture of dread and loathing. Dread because I had no idea what this lady was about to ask me to do, and loathing because I had so many other more important things that a fifteen year old could be doing.
I never knew her story till later on, after she had gained my friendship. Sad that I think of it that way, her gaining my friendship, when in the end I couldn’t have been more honored to have hers instead. I remember the first day arriving at her place, it was the only time I ever had her pick me up, it was the scariest ride of my life. If a fifteen year old is scared in the car then the car ride is definitely freaking scary. I remember being so close to fire hydrants that I just closed my eyes and waited for the car to either stop or crash. She never wrecked though… amazingly enough. It did not fortify my faith in the elderly driving, however.
Kitty had a best friend, her dog Sunny. Sunny was a Chow and he was gorgeous. Called Sunny because of his fluffy yellow coat, he was an energetic dog and I could tell that the bond between owner and pet was much more than social. They had a pact, a friendship that was stronger than it probably should have been. I say that because later on I found out why this friendship was so close, Kitty had no one else in her life. Her story was another reason for me to hate “some” organized religion. The callous nature in which her former best friends had treated her made me want to go to their nursing home and break every shuffle board stick there.
Kitty had grown up in a Protestant church (I am using Protestant here because I am not sure of the denomination) for most of her life. For some reason, I have forgotten the exact cause, she decided to search for something else. The odd part is that she searched for a new religion late in life after she was well passed the ages in which discovery should be important or happening. She was at a mature enough age that she should have already decided how she felt about most things life had thrown at her, instead she was facing new challenges and questions every day. When Kitty found my Orthodox Church she was embraced by the parishioners there, as is our custom. What we later found out was that all of Kitty’s lifelong friends from her old church immediately shunned her when she left. They cut her off like a cancer cell.
This was not some sixteen year old girl going through a high school drama episode. I might have begun to understand that, at least to a degree, no this was something far crueler in my eyes. Who cares where someone goes on one day of the week as long as your voices are going in the same direction. True, I do see a difference in other people’s churches and mine and other people’s god and mine own, but that does not mean that I discriminate against those people in regards to friendship. This was a truly sad moment in my own religious journey, as I learned just how important people feel about some issues in life. Those people felt so indifferent to her that they did not even show up at her funeral some years later, a funeral I was proud to be a pallbearer at.
In loving memory.
Half done. Has to be done.
I look down at my feet to understand that I stand in the moment. Thoughts that feel as heavy as pillars turn out to be pebbles of my mind. Could I still the voice of my desire that thrives to hear my keyboard click. Could I stop being me.