Posts Tagged ‘loss

16
Aug
25

There Is Only So Much Torture One Man Can Take

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Concerns and Alerts and Confessions of the Rabbit Kind
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

***

Where to begin?  After all…my last post said this was or may be the end…of me.

I fear the end is near.  And, the past few days have been utter torture.  Every day a new batch of caustic solution is cast upon my emotional and financial wounds…if not also my mental and physical health.

Let me count the ways:

@ My home gets flooded, moldy and all occupants are forced to evacuate the biohazard.

@ My basement collections, including valuables and artwork….let’s just say a ton was ruined by the flood.

@ My family hirers movers to help move stuff to a truck to ship to a storage facility.  And, they spend more time putting stuff in garbage bags than loading anything.  As far as I recall, my sis, brother-in-law and I did most if not all of the loading.  And, my helpers were not the least bit concerned about what happened to what we loaded.  They had no emotional attachment.  All they saw was a clock and wanted to get done fast.  So, they threw stuff in the truck.  And, some fell out…getting damaged.  Why am I paying for storage if you’re going to damage what goes into it?

@ Weather is the worst.  Hot.  Muggy.  Every step you take draws another bucket of sweat from your face.  So lifting one box is a pain.  Lifting three is murder.  But, more rain is on the way; so you’d better get moving.

@ Brother helps by working with the movers.  He throws $800 of valuables on the ground, claiming it was in a wet box.  I highly doubt that.  But, I don’t doubt the collection is now worth about $600 or less.  His assistants fail to bring up stuff I am sure was safe and dry and worth a small fortune.  I suspect that went into garbage bags before going with the movers.  Thieves with cellphones who can look up the value of what they are moving and walk past stupid family members.

@ Brother offers to help move stuff as I myself move stuff upstairs, struggling with the poor air quality.  He drops my most precious handful in the sewage.

@ When I convince myself I need to just walk away and trash a bunch, family tries telling me to wash it off and salvage it, even if mint condition boxes are lost.  If I stop to wash things, they tell me I need to move quicker and load a truck, instead.  If I load the truck, they tell me to take care of the wet stuff coating the lawn.  There is no win.  And, everyone is clashing with each other.  It’s an ugly scene.

@ Sisters say they are on my side and supporting me, but their patience quickly thin, and I am feeling threatened with ultimatums…fearing they will put me in a group home when I totally lose my mind from this disaster.

@ I thoroughly regret ever getting involved with collecting and will surely never collect so foolishly again.  Nor will I be able to ever truly love my family.  They have earned my hate.

17
Apr
25

Beware the Game Show Network…Fools

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

***

Beware the Game Show Network. It is full of fools.

***

Hi. I’m one member of a friend threesome. We have been good friends for numerous years. We have traveled the world and have many favorites we share. You would think our life is bliss. [You might also suspect we are sleeping together…like one brainy threesome with no standard other than similar levels of intelligence.] But, we cannot resist being part of a game show that is sure to make us look stupid. Even if we fail to win anything, we go home just as perfect as we were before we arrived on TV. Enjoy watching us waste your time and remember how perfect our life is while your life is not.

***

Listen. I, too, am part of a trio of friends who has to give ourselves a witty group name before competing against another team in one of the many, many trivia game shows that, if watched together, will likely drive your already mashed potato brain completely mad. We each have a lame story to justify our life’s purpose and intelligence. The least attractive of my group stands at the far end, with her back turned to the cameras, ensuring she will get the least TV exposure.

Anyone at home could tell this was done on purpose. But, we just went along with it because we all wanted to prove we were smart. Everyone watching game shows wants to prove they are just as smart. You sit at home, seeing what people are doing to win prize money, and you say, “I can do that!” Right?

We play a game similar to Password, trying to get our teammates to guess words given to us on a screen. We are failing miserably, but the youthful host is determined to make us feel good about ourselves. The show ends somewhat abruptly, and we go home feeling dumber and physically exhausted, which seem strange for a show that’s supposed to be a verbal and mental challenge.

***

I buckle under pressure, too; which is why it seems stupid for me to be part of a game show that intentionally seeks to peg someone as stupid by giving them very little time to solve wacky puzzles on a touch screen. Many of the puzzles are actually rather witty, themselves. So, it’s not all bad being a genuine fool. I think the audience, at home, gets something out of watching.

***

I hosted said game show with visual puzzles that make you think outside the box to avoid me calling you stupid. I exposed my relationship status many times and often flirted with the female guests, even the lesbian ones. Obviously, that did not change my relationship status, because I came back, day after day, with the same story.

I am not a fool because I call myself a FOL. See? I took out one letter to change the spelling of the word. That takes intelligence…I think. Stop staring at my unusually large hands and odd outfit combinations.

[Actually, I think the host was/is rather amusing. And, most of the puzzles are amusing and/or decent tests of observation…not all of the tests, though. So, ‘no offense intended. But, you do place yourself among many other fools. And, damn, those two lesbians were very attractive.]

***

I was on a trivia game show that put three supposedly average people up against three “celebrities,” noted for their televised prowess on other trivia-related game shows. I helped viewers at home sit through an hour of failure laced with little supposed factoids supplied by the know-it-alls. In the final round, when it was just me versus the “expert” with the highest individual score from their group, I missed more than one question and didn’t go home with much.

Later, at home, I watched some other episodes and noticed a pattern. I think the “experts” knew which of them was going to be in the final round and answered accordingly. And, in the final round, I think the final know-it-all also intentionally answered in a way that gave me minimal hope of surviving until the final question, when they politely kicked me out the exit door.

***

I strongly disagree with the above testimony. I was on the same trivia game show and not only defeated the three experts but came back two more times and achieved the same feat to become one of the experts. Earning the right to appear on other trivia-related game shows, I now can speak freely about whatever someone else fails to know as true and annoy countless TV viewers with my big brain and not-so-big mouth. I enjoy dry cereal made of dictionaries and the New York Times. I literally eat books and newspapers. But, I can’t seem to make as much money as the other brainiacs who seem to always be on TV. I guess emulating or trying to compete with someone already deemed famously smart isn’t very smart.

***

I was on a similar trivia game show, with one expert at the top of some flashy mountain just to boost his ego. I was among three people who were all convinced we were very smart by people we know. I guess I let my support system influence me too much; I turned out to be a big dummy, utterly squashed by the big mouth in charge. The lovely hostess tried to make light of the situation but failed. I know now not to be so trusting of others’ opinions about myself, which will probably erode my self-esteem as I get older and dumber.

***

I am the (gorgeous) host of the forementioned trivia game show…well, actually, I hosted a few, and they featured some of the same know-it-alls. On one of my shows, which went on to appear on another channel and feature a variety of experts at the top of the mountain, put on rotation, I was forced to repeatedly address the know-it-all by his nickname. [I don’t host that other version.] I said his nickname so many times; I think my powerful jaws became stuck in perpetual motion. I go home, many nights, just repeating that name to no one. Sometimes, it just pops up in conversation.

It’s a beastly bad habit. I know. But, hey, I’m keeping busier and looking better than I probably did on that old joke about being a lifeguard. And, I didn’t have to radically change my appearance to put that behind me, like some Aquaman I know.

When I’m not bowing down to a British giant, I like to deliver questions to contestants at such an alarming rate, I fear, one day, my head will just fly off into the studio audience anyone rarely sees…because there are not many big winners on the shows I host. It’s a good thing I like to eat and never gain a pound.

[And, I don’t mind that last bit, either. That is one dreamy game-show hostess.]

***

Hey. I was on a dating game show that didn’t last long, probably because it smelled too much like the host’s other famous show, which ran too long for the sleazy crap it was, as did its cheap spin-off. As a contestant, I was required to describe three faults or quirks I have, in a few words, and put each answer in a silly piece of silvery luggage.

The lone woman, who had to pick one of us three guys for a date, not a commitment, just a date (planned by the makers of the show), did not like at least one of my “secrets.” Like many other people in my shoes, I told her I would burn my past and change my ways for her. [You might say it was a bold-faced lie to get the girl.] She seemed remotely pleased by that offer. [I’ll take that as a maybe.]

Unfortunately, my choice of words was more scandalous than accurate. I went home looking and feeling worse than when I arrived. Now, I’m marked for life as the loser I was on TV (thanks to reruns used as filler on a faulty broadcast TV system).

***

Yo. I was on that same dating show, but I was the star who had to put one answer in a single red piece of luggage. I had less chance of being rejected than the other three players in the room. I had a choice of three fine women. Being a rather superficial, immature (though mature in physique, which I pumped and sprayed at the gym) and selfish guy, I quickly eliminated the one gal who was the most nerdy because she freaked me out. Some other artsy loser can pick her up outside the studio; I’m sure. So, that left me with a nutcase and a hooker. I chose the hooker. But, when she saw my “big secret,” she rejected me. I think she misunderstood what I said. ‘Live and learn I guess.

***

Hi. I was a woman on that same dating show and in the previous speaker’s position, with the choice of three possible dates. I quickly rejected the one guy who still valued his mother and lived with his parents, because that’s the standard with this gig. I mean, who accepts an adult man who lives with his parents?

This left me with a scrawny nerd in debt and a hunk who barely fit in a suit. I couldn’t pick the nerd because that would just give other nerds false hope of landing someone as hot as me. And, I cannot process being with someone who houses a huge toy collection, even if it includes sex toys.

I chose the hunk, who, thankfully, did not mind me being a stripper, though I did not use that particular word to describe myself. We went on the show’s pre-packaged date and had lousy sex before looking for other cheap and lousy game shows to expose ourselves and build a crappy TV resume. If you see me, again, anywhere, I’ve surely had my brain removed and am now just a cyborg.

***

I also was a gorgeous woman who had to pick one of three guys on that same quasi-dating game show. However, I ultimately picked the most ethnic, immature and dorky of the guys, who had to accept that I was both a lawyer and a stripper, exclusively for some wealthy guys linked to the game show, itself, which I could not admit on TV (even though the host giving me a peck on the cheek might have given a clue). I gave false hope to other fools like my date to boost the show’s audience and round up other fools.

The date was just a formality to make the show appear like a success. I ditched the dork with a clause in my contract and never saw him, again. Actually, we did cross paths, but a restraining order set him straight…or gay. I can’t remember, anymore. I handle a lot of men. Ha.

***

Hey, folks. I was the host of that dating show, when Match.com was still hip and televised. It wasn’t just a dating show; it also advertised a talent-seeking agency for which any of the contestants could apply to do something other than humiliate themselves in a strangely limited social environment. [So, it’s possible some if not all contestants were staged and grouped for a preset result.]

I am a very witty guy with dentures, who can make countless jokes about himself and speak rather intelligently when pressed. But, instead of hosting something that puts my assets to good use, I am pegged as a “shock jock,” bent to getting scandalous noises out of the audience.

Unlike the other fools who appear on shows like mine, I had plenty of time to entertain viewers. Unfortunately, the nature of the shows I host eventually lose their charm almost as fast as viewers lose brain cells. But, when one show bombs, another is sure to rise from its ashes. So, don’t worry about me. I’ll keep cracking wise until my head falls to the floor.

***

Hey, America (and whoever else may be reading this remote blog). I hosted a game show that was supposed to be hip, trendy and modern…because it involved something I know we all love to use…EMOJIS! Yes, and it required contestants to see things in emoji codes which few if any people actually could do, because the selection of emojis and time on the clock were rather limited. Try playing Charades with only fifteen possible hand gestures. How DO you get someone to guess “Raiders of the Lost Ark” by using a hand, a box, a pirate and a puzzled face? I have no idea. But, I’m glad I was making money while the contestants went home with corporate swag and subscriptions to things no one needs.

***

I was a contestant on the forementioned emoji-laden game show. I was at a mall (in some part of Southern California) when I saw someone offering applications. A friend of mine, who likes to text with me, thought we would be good contestants, and, buckling under a fair amount of peer pressure, I agreed. I thought a show about texting was far easier than one that required you to use knowledge I failed to grasp in school; and I don’t read much, anyway.

On the show, I got nothing right and ultimately decided to never use emojis in my daily life; nor will I ever likely play a similar game, like Charades. When that emoji movie came out, I freaked and cut off all of my hair. If anyone tries to use emojis with me, I will probably break my own phone in a fit of uncontrollable rage. I shouldn’t even use the damn word…emoji! Ugh!

***

It’s been over twenty years since I hosted my game show, with a very sexy blonde assistant who had a strange name and little to say…because I swallowed up eighty percent of the air time with my non-stop rambling. Together, with a third person whose job was to put contestant pairs to sleep by whispering random factoids, we tested the physical and mental limits of red-eyed fools and offered little reward to compensate for the madness and therapy that would likely follow. The show was a play on what many students go through to pass the big tests they take in school.

So, you see; I’m no fool, even if my hairdo looked dated…like really far out, if you dig what I’m saying. I made money for my effort and didn’t lose any sleep. I just ran a sweat shop that bent others like slaves for my own amusement. I also had one of the most attractive assistants who just wasn’t getting enough better roles, anywhere. Those are the perks of being in charge of my destiny and not the pawn.

***

I was part of a reboot for newly married couples, hosted by some woman who I did not recognize because I don’t watch many movies or TV shows and don’t listen to music made before 2001. My new husband and I had a not-so-crazy story to tell about how we met, which gave viewers the impression we were close. But, as it turned out, we knew very little about each other and were terrible at reading minds. Instead, we just answered like the other couples, which didn’t do us any favors. Many of the questions were innuendoes, which I did not understand. [Why is this show so lewd?] I didn’t know there would be a kiss camera, either. In the end, we went home with a certificate for the loser-steak-of-the-month club and plenty to discuss in couple’s therapy. I’d say the experience was a waste of time, but, of course, my soon-to-be ex-husband disagrees.

***

I was also on that game show for newly married couples, and my lovely wife and I actually won! We were VERY in tune with each other and matched on nearly every question. We took the big prize trip to Antigua and met several other game-show winners. It seems Antigua is the pit where seventy-five percent of game show winners go to die like lemmings. I thought it was supposed to be a tropical paradise. There were so many people trying to sell me something. I came home covered in business cards and coupons I’ll likely never use.

21
Feb
22

Regroup or Retire But Never Extinguish; a Poem for all Olympic competitors

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Creations and Uncategorized
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*****

Listen, now, all who came to compete.
The torch is extinguished; the games are complete.
Your peers continue to celebrate
While you collapse under an emotional weight.
If you weep because you didn’t medal,
You don’t need to step off the eternal gas pedal.
Olympics come, and Olympics go,
With summer heat and winter snow.
The chance to earn gold, silver and bronze may be gone.
But, the flame of the sport burns ever strong.
Your time in the spotlight is at a rest.
But, don’t douse the fire still within your chest.
What lasts longer than a momentary prize
Is the image of sportsmanship left in our eyes.
Who came first, second or third might matter today.
Who we call our friend or inspiration should never go away.
The Olympics are just a small example
Of what we all wish to more than sample.
Those who choose war do not share the spirit.
If you happen to agree, let me hear it.
Television attempts to paint you as stars.
Deep down, only you know who or what you truly are.
So, cry your tears, today, and rest for tomorrow.
Time rolls on, and no one can truly live in sorrow.
As your life remains, so must your flame.
You came to play, and life is still all our game.

Game on.

~Writingbolt, Feb. 20, 2022

 

23
Dec
21

Dear Red-Haired, Fellow Rabbit, I Wish to Support You in Your Time of Grief

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Concerns and Alerts and Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

****

What do you do when sympathy sparks tabloids?

I have had one strange, painful week…and probably at the worst time, during what is supposed to be a festive holiday season.  There is no holiday joy, this year.  It seems to be getting sucked out by all sorts of tragedies.

Most recently, I have had a rather strange experience with a celebrity I have adored for some time…ever since Mr. Holland’s Opus.  My sister was watching a holiday movie that featured this strikingly pale and red-haired actress; she didn’t care for the beauty’s performance.  I commented how I still adore her.  Then, the next day, terrible news for the red-haired beauty appears on public “feeds.”  Just awful.  And, after that shook me, I strangely chose to watch X-Men:  Dark Phoenix and watch a little red-haired girl lose her parents in a series of strange “accidents.”

Now, being the sort of guy I am and having these inexplicable feelings for a(nother) woman I hardly know, it feels natural to offer sympathy and/or support, any way I can.  Yet, a simple line I read about requesting space and privacy prompted me to think and write this.  Celebrities get “shat” upon so often just for helping create things to entertain or invoke thoughts in us, the “viewing public.”  The rest of the world becomes mosquitoes in the faces of these famous folks, whether we want to know or not.  Some want to get the big scoop and a buck from the “tabloids” that pay them, as if their life depended upon digging up dirt.  Others, like me, might just want to reach out and embrace those who are “caught in the headlights” and steer them toward safer ground, shelter them from emotional and mental storms that could otherwise ruin them.

But, how does one offer sympathy and support without alerting the “mosquitoes?”

In short, without naming names, you, dear red-haired beauty who has been given a bad roll of the dice at the worst time of year for tragedy, I ache with you and wish I could do more to lift your spirit and help you work through the grief that is surely coming in waves.  Let my words and thoughts be a blanket of comfort to you in this harsh time.

[It does not seem to be a good decade for rabbits (if you have any idea what that means, astrologically).  We just have to survive the sh@t storm and continue seeking higher purpose to this life.  Perhaps, dedicating ourselves to service of others will ease the pain.]

02
Jun
21

How Many Memorials Do You Need to Cover a Planet?

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Concerns and Alerts and Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

*****

That is my essential question.

If you watch enough TV, you see plenty of stories about REMEMBERING, preserving memories and erecting memorials to EVERY tragedy under the sun, big or small.  Someone died?  Make me a memorial.  A ton of people died?  Make  another memorial.  Someone did something really bad somewhere and trashed the place?  Make a memorial.  WE CANNOT FORGET WHAT HORROR HAPPENED HERE…OR ANYWHERE.

What sparked this focus?  Well, let me tell you a story…a rather long story.  So, you might want to get comfortable…

I found a weathered antique that I thought must be valuable…because it’s an antique…and people made a whole “Roadshow” about finding value in such things…sometimes values in the hundreds and thousands. It turns out the item is part of a terrible time in human history, a time when my ethnicity was dragged through the mud of ridicule and stereotypical abuse. [Then again…that sort of talk is STILL happening.] It gets a low auction rating/value, according to an appraiser. But, I’m told to display the item as if it were in a museum, to never forget that horrible time in history….

[Disclaimer:  The above story is true but not about myself.  It is my perspective on something I saw on TV.]

WHAT IS WRONG WITH HUMANKIND?!?!

BURN IT! BURY IT! DESTROY IT! DON’T PUT IT IN A GLASS BOX!

You know what typically happens in the movies when people put horrible things in glass boxes or on pedestals. Some dumb archaeologist or thief decides to take it and causes a catastrophe.

I’d ask the rhetorical question. Are you nuts? But, clearly, many if not all of us are if keeping the worst of the past alive to remind us all of the horrors is considered–by anyone–a good idea. So many damn memorials to tragedies, disasters and deaths of large quantities of people. How does anyone expect to see the sunny side of life if we are surrounded by and bombarded with tragedy and horror?

Where are the memorials of the good humans have done? Is the best example of good just the religious statues of supposed gods, saints and prophets? People we, who are currently living, probably never knew or can clearly say existed, yet we pray to and believe in them; we cherish them like a kid with his favorite stuffed animal. Where are the memorials of triumph and survival? Not trophies from sporting events where lots of money is passed around by those with greater resources while the athletes risk their lives on display. Not monuments made to men in high offices who may or may not have served their country well. Some…signs of good human nature and values. I cannot even name one, right now. Is there such a thing? Are they all hogwash, now?

I have a disfigurement that may or may not be associated with my parents’ neglect. I do not preserve it as a badge of honor or something to show people when I want to tell–one more time–how I no longer respect my parents the way I did as the “good little boy” I once was trying so hard to be. The only reason I haven’t had it fixed is a combination of sheer terror at the diagnosis I was given and some twisted self-therapy notion that I hope people will accept me for my personality and not be so concerned with my tragically flawed physique. Heck. I was flawed at birth because my parents let some doctor tell them I had to be born NOW, not later. And then, that same doctor said I should have surgery on my skull to prevent brain damage…damage he caused by pulling me out in haste.

I don’t want to show of my disfigurement and recant the painful stories of my youth over and over and over again. I’m sure as heck not going to stand naked on YouTube and talk about the horrors of my past. And, if there was a better way to fix the “problem” (than what I have been told and the cost I anticipate), I’d get it done.

But, I get it. Those who want this hot mess are angry and upset and sticking it to those who caused the hardship and those who turn a blind eye to crime and other troubles.

Yet, there are probably just as many who would like to live their lives in peace who had nothing to do with the trouble and are not so well off that they are trampling the victims of the past. Just because someone is “white” doesn’t make them a supporter of slavery or racial abuse.

As much as I might like to shake a furious finger at my parents and hope others share my scorn, that attitude is not going to help me get on with my life. I’m not going to be a better person by harboring resentment and toting the painful memory. Nor am I going to feel better 20, 30 or even 50 years from now, looking at that history in a book or museum. I’m not going to see that horror and say, “Mmm. That was tragic. It’s good I preserved the memory. Now, the world can relive my pain.”

Sure; it might be good to know if you were a “fan” and wanted to know the intimates of my life. But, who can predict the existence of such historians? And, who preserves every bad thing that happened in their life so future generations can learn about it?…considering, among those generations, there will be plenty of “bad eggs” who would misuse the information. History certainly shows how people can twist a story and use it for evil. Ask anyone who is skeptical about the history of popular holidays.

I think back to my school days. I had teachers trying to cram tons of–well–useless information into my young brain when what I really needed to learn was how to function in the modern world, how to take care of myself and fit in with people both younger and older than me. Instead, I received a diploma in all sorts of historical matters that might be good to replay in a museum if I was giving a tour…but otherwise are just skewed stories on rotting paper.

I am a fairly religious guy and give adequate respect to religious texts and places of worship. But, even I can tell the Catholic/Christian Bible is not a documentary on ancient Christian people. Many of the stories are more like fables than diary entries. Yet, the Bible is one of the most talked about and preserved books in human history. WHY? [Maybe people just looove storytelling.]

Now, imagine what is happening right now or even all the stories we’ve heard about things that happened in the 1960s…a few thousand years from now…being recanted in schools and museums. Do you really think any of this will matter? What if history repeats itself? What if humans continue to be ignorant and learn nothing from the abundance of history they are provided?

People today are not learning from the history I was force-fed. They aren’t much wiser. The weapons just get more destructive and sophisticated. Heck, the planet pays every day from past use of radioactive materials and chemistry that harms the environment. No museum necessary.

WHY WASTE THE TIME AND ENERGY ON PAINFUL HISTORY?!

[In April of 1986, the Chernobyl disaster happened, and, to some extent, it’s still there, still tragic.  In June of 1987, Peter Parker married Mary Jane Watson in Shea Stadium.  Yes!  There was a live staging of this blessed moment in comic-book history!  And, if you’re lucky, you’ll find a footnote in some book or on some website about it.  [I faintly remember seeing a blip on some morning news program about the wedding, as a kid who was just starting to like comic books.]  Is there a statue of Peter and Mary Jane anywhere near that stadium?  Does anyone talk about the wedding?  Probably not as much as they will talk about countless disasters and memorials to them.  You hear more about the tragic end of Princess Diana’s life than you hear about Pete and MJ.  Sure, go ahead and criticize me for favoring fictional characters.  😛 ]

We don’t have to glorify the fools of the present, either. But, we sure don’t need to carry all the horror behind us. If you were struggling to travel across a hot desert and could only carry so much on your back, would you take the pain you and your “family” experienced or just the essentials you’d need to survive the trip?

You’re alive. You made it through. If your family and friends were impacted, I’m not saying forget they suffered. But, don’t erect a statue for every person who died. And, even if you experienced tragedy, don’t let it stop you from living a good life. Don’t shove it in the faces of others who may not properly process the information, either.

Not everyone will respect your sorrow or understand. Eventually, the planet WILL run out of surface space. Even graveyards get run over by new generations and new developments. Did anyone erect a memorial for my favorite dinosaur when the meteor hit Earth? I don’t think so. And, as far as I know, no one’s working on a park exhibit to bring “her” back to life and protect the endangered species. I’d really freak out if anyone tried; and not in a good way.

So…I’m watching this episode of that “Roadshow” and seeing a famous person talk about a collection of historical items which are not doing any good for anyone and probably should not be discussed or displayed anywhere. If you knew nothing about the pieces, you might say, “Oh. Those are unique ethnic figurines.” But, once you hear the story behind them–if you have a conscience, at all–you might wince and wish to look away.

WHY do we need to preserve every bad thing or bad incident for future generations to replay? Is all of that really going to make a good impact on “kids” so they make smarter decisions? With the way the world is sinking into an abyss of technological distractions and everything coded under the silicon sun, who are we expecting to take a look at all of this painful history and make good on it?

What good is expected from preserving these nightmares and bad days in our history? More museum ticket purchases? Yes, please, take my money and let me stare for hours at tragedy and horror. Show me more people dying, suffering and being mistreated so I never forget.

I think my days in school with ancient history about the barbaric practices was quite enough to know humans can and have been quite horrible and probably should never cross paths with life from other planets, unless those lifeforms are as bad or worse. And, if they are worse, then we are all screwed, anyway.

SCREW YOU WHO FAVOR MEMORIALS OF EVERYTHING TRAGIC AND HORRID! You want to weep? Then weep and make peace with what happened before moving on with LIFE. Otherwise, you can spend eternity carrying a boulder up a slope before it pushes you back down to start the climb, again.

It happened. But, the rest of the world doesn’t need to relive it or review it the rest of their lives. And, Heaven forbid someone tamper with the evidence so the history becomes skewed. Oh no…humans would never alter history to make it appear different in future school books. [Can you detect my sarcasm?]

Stop preserving every little piece of painful history you find and LIVE your life or be buried and rotted with your STUFF you refuse to let go. A hundred years from now, what you value or refuse to leave behind won’t matter to anyone but the few descendants born with either miraculous memory or the acursed desire to hoard your past. If you feel the need to tell stories, you don’t need models and charts. That’s school and courtroom bullshit.

But, I get it. Ultimately, “to each their own.” I just don’t want to be bombarded with the horrors of mankind the way these rampant drug ads with horrific side effects keep dominating my TV time. Just because I know mosquitoes can be deadly doesn’t mean I need to hear it every day or year. Teach me how to protect myself, truthfully, don’t just tell me how horrible they are and what I should buy to feel safer (as if). Bring back those remotely charming “mascots” of commercial history and retire those F’n toilet-paper bears, already.

I’m not Andy Rooney, but, if you’ve read everything I have to say, you’ve probably been here 60 minutes, give or take.

Who’s Andy Rooney?

I dunno. Google it, maybe?

Tick, tick, tick, tick…….

06
Apr
20

Online Bonding; Don’t Get Your Hopes Up

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Concerns and Alerts, Looking for Love and Happiness and Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

***

So, after dipping my toes into some online gaming over the past year, I think I’ve finally broken the last straw on whatever supports my belief in finding lasting friendships online.  Online gaming isn’t exactly the most favorable place to secure a friend.  But, I believe anything is possible.  That is…I did.  And, now, I’m fairly certain (never quite set in stone) my high hopes will never come true.  I’ve done the chat-room thing.  I’ve worked emails better than anyone I know.  I’ve blogged and interacted with fellow bloggers, clearly.  But, it’s all wishful thinking on my part…to think any real bond could be made and carried over to the world outside the computer.

I am tired of losing touch with people into who I invest my time, talent and heart.  I cannot continue befriending people just to have them vanish without a trace…and, in this recent case, leaving no trace of what we shared.  It’s as if all I said and did was a dream.  And, when I forget a fairly good dream, that sucks.  [Which is why I recommend keeping a dream journal and jotting them down as soon as you wake.]

So, I think, from this day forward, any contact I have with people online will be with lowered expectations/hopes.  I just cannot tolerate this uncertainty and loss much longer.

16
Sep
19

A Party Year and I Don’t Feel Festive

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Concerns and Alerts and Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

***

Chinese astrology (and, maybe, predictions from astrology in general) is a bit like a certain brand of computer games that seems to have a mind of its own, telling me how and when to play. And, I guess, as I recently experienced a major “glitch” (troubling error), perhaps that too resembles my experiences with Chinese astrology.

I refer you back to 2015…a Wood Sheep year I thought was a sign of finding the love I have sought most of my life. I thought good things were in the near future; I just had to get out and find them. But, not long into that fateful year, I wound up in a hospital and was subject to a number of tests and treatments like a lab rat just to get me back in semi-normal functioning order. The expression “it cost me an arm and a leg” became a grim, somewhat sinister reality that year and continues to haunt me. I saw pretty faces but lost all or never had any chance of achieving a greater connection with them. So much for finding love. If there was any love that year, it was more like pity and it came with suffering.

Now, to be fair, there was no book or placemat telling me that was the year to find love. I took it upon myself to believe that from what I had grasped of/from Chinese astrology. I didn’t have a master/medium/guru to consult. I simply “divined” the possibility from what I had learned. Which, like many of my mistakes in this life, resulted in a slap-in-the-face disappointment.

In 2004, I took a costly trip overseas to fill a big hole in my life’s “experience folder.” I followed the ways of Bruce Almighty and said (to anyone who wrinkled their nose at me when I told them what I had planned), “If you don’t like what I’m doing, you can ‘megabyte’ me.” I didn’t know much about Chinese astrology at the time but had an inkling of good feeling and built my hopes up by carefully planning everything I could. Sadly, while I was ensured a measure of safety from certain harm, plans fell apart, social experiments failed under a cloak of deceptive friendship and I returned home with a case of souvenirs which left me feeling nearly as empty as I did when I left home.

I cried for days if not weeks, nearly as long as it took me to shake the jet lag. I felt as if the monkey (year) had made a fool out of me, once again. I remember watching so many others enjoying themselves while I struggled to insert myself into the fun, somehow. It was a bit like watching a celebration on a big TV and thinking I could step through the screen; there was no logical way to fit into the picture. The party crowd was just an illusion on the other side of a glass wall; I was not welcome (unless I changed who or whatever I was/am, maybe). I took what small positives I could from that experience…it was an experience which taught me a few things I’d hopefully be able to use on future trips to avoid repeat disappointment.

Now, what does all of this have to do with the price of tea in China? Perhaps nothing.

But, this year, 2019, is said to be a year to party and enjoy the fruits of past labors. Yet, as I think of the past eleven years, I cannot fathom how or what to celebrate. I used to dismiss the disagreements with family, who seemed unable to understand my interest in, my passion for celebrations of other cultures, and find my own small way to enjoy something like the Asian moon/harvest festival.

2011 was probably the last year I can recall feeling remotely good about that. I made an effort to grow pumpkins and redeem what was lost in my youth to very strange foul weather, a freak hail storm which destroyed a precious pumpkin plant in my family’s garden in the middle of summer, as if some god threw down a lightning bolt and said, “No! You can’t have any! No pumpkins for you!” I sought out my own kind of moon cake and bought paper lanterns. I had a party for one outside while the rest of my family isolated themselves with TV and computer screens. It was both mildly amusing and deeply tragic.

This year, I feel very un-festive. I feel like…what’s the point? And, somewhat accepting my lack of company on the same wave length, I feel like leaving the lights off and the decorations packed away. The Asian moon/harvest festival just came and went, and I didn’t even check out the moon until the night my most recent upset unfolded, the cliche Friday the 13th. I didn’t find my special moon cake. And, as family talked about caramel apples, I didn’t feel as strongly as I have in the past to get a special one of my own (which usually costs more than I’ve been told makes any sense to pay).

I couldn’t care less about dressing up for Halloween, if family can get together for Thanksgiving or if there are any decorations or presents out for Christmas. I’m slowly starting to agree with all those who “bah humbug” the holidays as commercial trickery. And, that really makes me want to cry. But, perhaps, all my “dammed” tears (tears I cannot seem to shed alone and which continue to amass behind a mental dam) are merely the sound of paper tearing, paper torn by the grim reality of practical value, telling me what is merely an illusion of happiness and what is the biological function of inevitable decomposition.

It’s really difficult to stand firm on any feeling because there always seems to be that other side of the fence making some kind of noise. If you’re the festive sort, there’s someone who’s a “humbug” nearby, trying to lower your lights and silence the music. If you’re the “humbug,” there’s someone turning up their music, launching firecrackers and/or turning their home into a spectacle. It’s like, no matter where you go, there’s no peace of mind. And, if the peace people carol about cannot be found, well, that’s just tragic and tears me to the core. It makes me question everything. And, questioning everything just stops the world dead. Everything becomes a rusting amusement park strung with cobwebs.

I “hear” some factor of Virgo (and/or Pisces?) might be responsible for this recent bout with self-doubt. But, who knows for sure. Though, I do see others, even here, having similar doubts. At least, it appears the doubts are similar. But, knowing my luck, this is just another misconception, another assumed grasp of reality ready to be shaken by disagreement.

It just makes me feel lousy to think this year could be the biggest party in twelve years and I, once more, don’t feel like being part of the crowd. Imagine going the next eleven years, listening to people rave about that party back in 2019 before they bemoan the toils of the present “labor” year.

To be fair, I’m not much of a crowd person, as far as I know my core spirit (though my thoughts of such have been swayed by research of astrology). I’ve never been comfortable at loud parties with countless people…or even a family of fifteen. When I was a kid, grown-ups did all of the partying; and us kids just had to sit quietly with a present, if we were lucky to get one. We didn’t get to play much together nor with the adults. I would latch onto brief smiles from pretty older aunts and cousins and think I was at the door to some magical world…and then be forced to let it all slip away as I returned to a restricted life at home like Cinderella and try to reset my mind for school work and all the education I was being told was important. I rarely knew the true warmth of friendship; friends would appear and disappear or change into something I could no longer accept.

And, I still occasionally mourn the loss of what I consider the best friend I’ve ever had, partially blaming myself (and partially blaming her). She was the only friend who stood beside me and came to my aid when I was suffering; she checked in on me like a good nurse. Male friends were only looking for fun I could rarely supply because I didn’t share the same sort of imagination or have the latest toys. But, *she* wasn’t like that; she would have been my friend, no matter what I had or didn’t have. And, though I didn’t share all of her interests (which made me worry I wasn’t the best of friends), I was fairly content just being with her, seeing her smile and hearing her infectious laughter. Yet, we drifted apart after she denied me the growing feelings I had and went to a different school where she became involved with some guy using drugs; and, back then, that was like a cardinal sin to those of us who had been raised on anti-drug campaigns. Had I known then what I know now, I might not have shuddered at all at the realization and fought to keep her at my side (instead of letting her go and drifting into my own solitary misery). [Granted, to be fair, I was in no position to fight for someone else at the time. I was grateful to have any friend visit me and give me some sign of comfort and/or strength to fight with my own internal monsters. I couldn’t be someone’s hero when I needed my own hero…or heroine (a female hero, not the drug).]

If I had an inkling of that same good, enduring feeling (that I had with her) with another person in the past thirty years, I’d be less inclined to mope. But, sadly, I cannot say anyone could compete with her. A rare phone call or email just isn’t the same as someone who could pay me a visit and shake the tears from my branches until I could smile, again. A pen pal is a nice dessert but far from the main course I still do not have in/with me. And, I think of all the things we had yet to do together, things so many young lovers claim they’ve done (or so I hear). While many turned their focus to the pursuit of sex, I was thinking about so many other possibilities that would bring far better, enduring joy. It just never came to pass. And, at my age, it seems like a foolish notion to consider anything outside of a world of broken marriages and single parenthood, of “sloppy seconds” and “second chances,” if that, of people making desperate moves out of desperate positions only to fall back into fruitless ruts after attempting to satisfy their “sweet tooths” (or sweet teeth?). I don’t want to think any window has closed for good………..

….So, we’ve reached that point in my train of thought when I know I need to hit the breaks (Tsssh!) and regroup so I can get on with my life before I am completely and permanently derailed.

I know I shouldn’t let any of this get to me. But, I feel an inclination to mentally stab myself (not using an actual knife) for missing out on some festivities, for not making the proper moves to share in the fun, every time word of some party going on reaches my ear. I don’t buy into all the “best ever” and “bigger than ever” crap people keep pitching. But, I know there’s a party…and, even though I’m not the best party joiner…suffering from some variety of social discomfort/anxiety…I’m missing…something. I suspect what I am really missing is the joy of good companionship, of friendship and revitalizing love. But, many if not all of us feel that pull when people are enjoying themselves; don’t we? You feel like you’re on a dark street looking in on some lively, colorful crowd laughing, dancing, eating and drinking. You feel just a little like that infamous Scrooge traveling the pathways of time and space with those three eerie spirits.

But, down the road, I doubt these feelings will matter much…or they will just become “wash” in the layers of sand gathered during aging. I just…don’t want to be an old humbug. But, I also don’t see a way around it. And, that makes me quite nauseous and tense.

And, how does one go on living when the past seems so empty, when your story cannot feel as good as that of another you encounter (and it makes no sense to say it’s better than the case of some other poor chap)? When that fateful day arrives to write an obituary about yours truly, what will it say and who will write it? I currently don’t have someone I know will do myself justice in print. Nor, even if I did, can I feel good about filling this life to its fullest. Maybe I never should let such notions get into my head. Maybe everyone can only live life as full as they can or the Fates allow. Maybe I only get half a life while someone else gets twice their expected share. Maybe that’s just the way of the cosmos and beyond human understanding…and not something we humans should dare pass around as fact or expectation.

So, what if I write my own obituary? Would that matter? A little. And, still, it would feel empty. Because, aside from my good intentions and fewer deeds of service than some I’ve come to know, I see plenty of missed opportunities either thrust upon me by controlling and/or mentally abusive adults or spawned from within myself by genetic “doubts” and “fears.” And, it pains me to think of when I did take chances only to fall flat on my back and injure myself. It’s as if even trying to do something was in error. So, why try anything? It’s a question that continues to peck at me and leaves me feeling restless.

If only I could tune out the rest of the world and focus only on what is in front of me. Even if I could or would do that, could I be content or find contentment in that? Or, is it already too late?…because I’ve bitten the apple that flooded my eyes with illusions of wonder?…with ideas of what could be and pretty faces I wish I could call my friends and lovers?

24
Jan
17

My Response to “Some Good Times” (Dear Abby)

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

****

Now available for your viewing and opinion on the designated page. 

A high school freshman has lost touch with her longtime female friend.  Their parents remain close, but one religious girl feels she is on the verge of cutting ties because the other has become a cussing and condescending monster.  Dear Abby told her to talk with her parents and accept the possible change or loss of the friendship.  I give an alternate solution.

30
Dec
15

You Wanna Know How Much I Hate Snow?

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Concerns and Alerts and Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

*****

getschooled-with-writingbolt-munemune-teacher-edit_ap-1J

You wanna know how much I hate snow?

How it makes travel, especially foot and road traffic perilous…even deadly?

How it turns into back-breaking cement and takes lives by heart attack?

How mean kids torture their prey by stuffing nonviolent faces into the icy crap?

How it can inflict pain and rash upon the skin, rivaled only by sunburn?

How it can freeze, bursting pipes and ravaging roads treated with salt?

So, to all you dreamers out there who think snow, the white reaper of winter, is the romantic cousin of a gentle spring rain, I’ve got one thing to say to you…

Get help.

Send help.

If you want to experience snow, take your chances traveling somewhere void of human life. Come prepared for anything. VISA might take you there, but it won’t get you out. And, good luck meeting a pretty yuki-onna while you’re lost in the blinding, freezing wilderness.

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