notanotherphony.

a new year is upon us and, this year, things will be different. I said the same thing last year and the year before that too. each year getting older. each year getting stiffer and more wrinkled. another year closer to death and I never want to die. I LOVE LIFE with all of it’s ups and downs and never ever want to “not be here.” that being said…it is inevitable. we all are born. we all grow up and then we all die. leaving loved ones behind the way loved ones, once, left us behind.

I am now fifty-three years old and I am still struggling to figure out life. my life. my family’s life. my dog’s life. I am now taking Zoloft and feeling better but I am also constantly tired and constantly bored. I get torn between going off my meds altogether and going back to my stimulants. why has this process of trying to figure out what mental illness I have and trying to figure out what meds to take been such a long process? forty years and counting. highs. lows. excitement and hope followed by doubt and despair. is this Bipolar? back to CAMH next week with hopes of getting a thorough diagnosis which will then help me get proper treatment. proper help. do I have a mental illness? is it made up? do I take it too seriously or not seriously enough? life was much easier when I was younger and getting drunk and fucking and fighting and getting arrested and then getting let out and doing the same thing all over again because I had nobody to answer to. nobody to love. nobody to love me. life was easier even with all it’s pain and even with all of my shame.

how did all of this happen? was I born this way? was it from the head injury I suffered when I fell off the balcony at The Heights Drive and was in hospital for three days with a concussion? was it from my Dad dying so suddenly? but if it was from my Dad dying then why was my brother not affected in the same way? was it from my Nana dying a month later? my Mom overdosing on tranquillizers a month after that and we were taken away for a month while my Mother attempted to recover? and did my Mom ever recover? was it from being molested by that old Greek man after a night of partying while lining up for Bruce Springsteen tickets? drinking? drugs? lack of love? lack of direction? lack of a Dad? lack of confidence? lack of stability? so many questions. very few answers. I’m fifty-three years old. still lost. still confused. still hopeful.

this year will be different. this year will be the year. this year will be action and less talk. this year will be filled with discoveries and commitments and discipline and excitement and exercise and creative endeavours and love. LOTS OF LOVE. LOVE. UNCONDITIONAL LOVE. is there such a thing? I hope so. always hope. hope. hope. hope.

I’m fifty-three years old and I am, now, beginning the journey of figuring out my life. one day at a time as they say in AA. I was there a few times too. always looking for answers. but maybe the answers are in the doing. the writing. the creating. the acting. BE ME.

It all started for me on March 23rd, 1967. I was born. we will end there for now. more to come. more to follow. more to learn. more to discover. more to write.

more to fix?

STOP FIXING AND START WRITING.

up and at em early.

morning routine is HUGE.

bedtime routine is HUGE too.

everything HUGE. Everything BIG.

a life filled with extremes.

focus much better.

use the better focus to plants seeds. set goals..

set routines.

build self esteem.

build confidence.

let go of perfection.

let go of fears.

one life to live.

live my authentic life.

be my authentic self.

BE ME.

in the never ending quest to get better we, sometimes, become worse.  facebook.  wordpress.  movies.  music.  sports.  with new technology brings new tools.  new formats.  new ways.  but many times the new ways are just confusing.  more busy but less effective.  more flashy but less deep.  less practical.   a never ending quest to get better.  why are we on a never ending quest to get better when we are, many times, just fine as we are.  confusing times for confusing minds.  arguing over maggots while time keeps passing.  time passing while faces are falling and skin is wrinkling.  advice comes in all shapes and sizes.  advice comes from books.  comes from parents.  comes from friends.  comes from enemies.  comes from teachers.  comes from egotistical maniacs that project their problems onto many while showing old pics of old women’s snatches on their phone.  snatches and tits.  who takes pics of their snatch and tits and then sends them to some married man in his fifties?  what has brought someone so low that they feel the answer to happiness and respect is to send ugly snatch pics to some disrespecting man?  what a sick world we live in?  in a never ending quest to get better and to get approval we have become whores and slaves.  slaves to a shitty system that counts your worth by how many “likes” one gets on IG.  love has taken a back seat to “likes” and authenticity has taken a back seat to phoniness.  was I born in the wrong time?  do I live in the wrong town?  it is dreary outside and I hear the phone ringing.  it sounds like the ring from Linda way.  a place where I grew up.  a place where I met many great people and had many great times.  a place where I called home for many many years.  a place where I had two cats that died and a great Dad who passed away so suddenly that I never got a chance to really say “GOOD BYE.”  a great man with many friends and many interests.  a man who loved everyone and everyone loved him back.  people speak of great dads and great men but my Dad truly was the greatest.  if I could be just half the man he was I would be doing well.  stop hate.  inspire and bring love to the world.  bring hope.  but what happens if I end up old and alone?  unable to talk.  unable to see.  unable to feel anything but pain.  what happens if I grow old and die in Orangeville.  a man with many talents and many friends living a lonely life of suffering.  slowly descending into nothing.  nothing in life and nothing in death.  a never ending quest to get better.  but what if I am good enough just as I am now.  what if I have it all inside me but I have a big brick wall stopping my flow of emotion and flow of knowledge that could help others.  help myself.  how does one break down the wall without breaking down?  breaking down walls the way I used to break down scripts and break down.  simply break down.  breaking down is easy to do.  building up is much harder.  but do I need to build up or do I merely need to tell stories?  tell my stories.  raw and powerful.  sad and funny.  painfully real and painfully raw.  emotion over thought.  PLEASE.  PLEASE.  PLEASE!!!!!!!!  stop thinking and feel.  fuck phonies and fuck fake friends with fake advice but the advice should be directed at their painful lives but rather than looking at themselves they project vermin and ego back onto me.  let it go.  LET IT GO.  LET IT BE???  Not so sure.  be me.  not he.  not she.  not thee.  not…well…we???  we is good.  a collective always more important than individualism.  but get the right collective.  join the right team.  or create your own team.  a team wanting to better the world with love and compassion and empathy.  an artist takes a difficult task and makes it easier to understand.  a peasant takes a simple task and makes it more difficult.  politicians are the scum of this earth.  bringing chaos and hate.  FUCK THEM.

this new format on word press is just another example of taking something that works and then just fucking the whole thing up.  JUST LET IT BE.  LET IT LIVE.  GET AWAY FROM MY WRITING AND LET ME WRITE.  OR MAYBE IT IS TIME TO SWITCH SITES.  IT IS TIME.  PUBLISH MY NOVEL.  WRITE A BOOK.  DO.  ART.  BE THE ARTIST THAT I ALREADY AM.

another poor sleep.  mind must be racing but I am unsure of what it is racing about.  I had a great day busting my ass doing construction with my best friend.  we always have great talks and bring up stories from the past in between our heavy lifting and heavy cursing.  our society is consumed with owning homes and lessening their mortgages.  trying to be mortgage free at the expense of life.  I would judge these people and maybe I do but I am also fifty-three years old and renting a shitty townhouse in a dull shitty town without culture and without life.  I judge thee more harshly than I judge them.  a life of judgements and a life of plans that have become more pressing and more urgent.  every decision appears to be HUGE when you are over fifty.  a mistake and a choice now that goes wrong could spell years of doom and gloom.  more years of doom and gloom.  periodic excitement and periodic fun in an otherwise life filled with stress and boredom.  “what to do?  what to do?  I am always trying to figure out what to do.”  I need to “do” and stop thinking about “doing.”  action.  action.  action.

lots of awards shows.  lots of awards.  lots of trophies but what do they all mean?  lots of shitty shows and shitty movies and shitty books.  and shitty food.  but what does it all mean?  is our society consumed by shitty product?  and if it is consumed by shitty product do we ever ask ourselves why it is consumed by shitty product?  has it always been consumed by shitty product?

a shitty sleep.  now I need to take a shit.  off to do a shitty Covid test.  driving in my shitty car with a shitty tire on a shitty road.  a life if shit and piss and more shit and more piss.

where is the love?

where is the life?

live life while living NOT while dead and alone.

the Catholic lie.

Monday morning and it is cool outside.  I am still feeling the effects of heavy drinking on Saturday night where I chased fun and chased demons the way that I used to chase fun and used to chase demons back in my twenties and thirties.  I’m in my fifties now and the morning guilts and shame do not go away.  trying to piece the night together now is similar to piecing the night together then.  why do I poison myself when I know that poison is bad?

I woke up yesterday alone and hungover.  drank two coffees and then jerked off.  put on a movie but couldn’t sit still.  scrolled facebook and Instagram and then jerked off again.  had some leftover steak and then tried to watch a movie again.  restless and tired.  confused and sad.  wanted to run but didn’t want to leave the house yet.  didn’t want to be seen yet.  “did I offend anyone the night before?”  I texted Tim and he texted back.  good sign and he said he had a fun night.  no mention of “being too drunk”  or no mention of “YOU WERE A MESS!!!”  I used to hate hearing those words when I was in my twenties and thirties.  I still hate them now.  when will I learn?

I tried watching another movie and made it through a half of it.  still restless.  still worried.  no sign of human beings.  it was dark in my house.  I finally had the courage to go for a run but didn’t want to drive anywhere in case I was still drunk from the night before.  “was I really that drunk?”  the night started off quite calmly listening to music with my buddy but it ended at a party filled with young people and great food.  MY SHUT OFF VALVE HAS STILL NOT MATURED.  I opened my garage door and began to run.  I was tired.  My mouth was pasty.  miraculously no headache but my body was sore and my brain was unsure.  I ran and I ran.  up hills and down.  my shoes falling apart.  my back aching.  my face sweating.  my mind racing.  my mind wondering.  my mind and body filled with guilt and shame.  shame and guilt.  are they not the same thing?  and why do I always default to guilt and shame?  “DOCTORS ARE YOU THERE????”

The run was good for my heart and great for my soul but I still did not feel great.  One night of heavy drinking can bring down months of great inner work.  it is amazing how life works.  back to the movies.  still restless.  hungry but not wanting to go the grocery store.  “what if I see someone from last night?”  hide.  stay inside.  stay in the guilt and stay in the shame.  not allowed to make mistakes.  not allowed to let go.  not allowed to fuck up.  not allowed to do or be or say or play.  HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP ME!!!!!!

I had a shower and put on my clothes.  I built up enough courage to leave my house and drive to get gas.  I then grabbed a coffee and then picked up a pizza and came back home.  Medium Brooklyn Pizza from Domino’s.  not many options up in Orangeville.  with so many beautiful places all over the world why am I living in Orangeville?  inner work.  inner healing.  communicate.  listen.  listen to listen NOT listen to respond.  grabbed my pizza and came home.  put on another movie.  sat down and ate my pizza.  turned off the movie.  did the laundry.  vacuumed the living room.  drank lots of water.  jerked off again.  third time.  one day.  fifty-three years old.  sex drive still alive.  how sad will it be when it is no longer alive.  no longer functioning.  life.  young and vibrant to old and depressing.  what happens to people?  DO NOT LET LIFE DRAG YOU DOWN!!!

after jerking off for my third time I was finally able to relax and sit.  a good friend of mine recommended a great movie and I sat and watched it.  I ate some chips and drank some wine.  I laughed.  I cried.  I cried some more.  and then cried some more.  but tears of inspiration.  tears of hope.  and then some tears of lost years and lost purpose.  such a powerful movie for me.  BLINDED BY THE LIGHT.

PURPOSE.

LIFE.

WRITE.

FEEL.

DO NOT GIVE UP.  EVER.

WRITE FROM MY HEART.

WRITE FROM MY SOUL.

BE UNIQUE.

DO NOT BE A PUPPET.

WHAT IS ART FOR?

MY LIFE IS A BLESSING BUT IS ONLY A BLESSING IF I SHARE.

I drank another glass of wine and then went to bed.  midnight.  I tossed and turned all night the way that I tossed and turned all night every Sunday back in my twenties and thirties.  never learn or rather sometimes learn.  live and learn but LIVE.

Monday morning has arrived and I feel better than yesterday.  the guilt and shame have subsided a bit.  achy belly.  a little sweaty.  still a little foggy.

BUT TODAY IS A NEW DAY.