Thirty one, sun, and fun, and it has all just begun. with one smile. for a while my face was stuck. in place. with a frown.

The sound could pulse and vibrate through all synapses. pleasure receptors firing on all cylinders. life’s moments. snap shots. frozen in photo album library glory.

categorized and chosen, decades passed and I amassed one blank tough guy stare that did not fair well on anniversary candle light memory spells. Easter Sunday 2006 was the first day I smiled from ear to ear, and did not fear.

She held my hand and guided me.

No Comments »

Vacation station. Sitting at another desk. Clicking another mouse. At another job soon. Life is a series of multiple choice questions. I choose everyday to be better. To improve myself. I do one thing a day to improve. I do not make lists. I do not try to make my goals impossible to achieve. I do not know how you should live, but today I will do one thing positive. And if I can get one good thing in then it’s just a plus if you can get in another.

I’m going to pump some iron this morning and skip church. Try to get my heart rate up, and shed some unwanted calories. It’s Easter Sunday and I’m a little upset that I don’t want to go. A little. My family will be there and I should too. Right? Well to each their own and I have not been feeling Churches. Especially the one I grew up in. My father was an active part of the church. He was a youth minister and recreational director there. He taught the majority of adults there how to play basketball, baseball, and tried to help develop in them a sense of morality. My mother is a deacon and sings in the choir. As did I for many years.

My life has changed. I am an adult. By all sense of the word. With a family of my own and health problems to boot. It’s hard to be around all of those people and know they know all of my secrets. That they have asked my mother how I am doing and she has told them everything, most likely. They aren’t secrets really, but to me not everyone needs to know everything. So there they are thinking about me, praying for me and my family. Hoping we would return to the church as we are heathens by now. Praying for our souls. If God does exist and the power of prayer is legit then I’m glad I have them in my corner. But I’d rather not play any sort of social game in order to get a leg up in heaven. If it exist?

If I showed up they would all want to know how I am doing? How is the baby? Where are you guys living? If I had the gumption to go today, I would be prepared by having a taped conversation of me telling all the sordid details of my life. Where we live? How old my baby is? What her name is? Where do I work now? Etc. Etc. Then I could play it over and over to all of the folks who ask. I’m not too sure if they really care about me, or if they are just asking so they can tell their friends and carry on the soap opera that is most Churches.

I hope they care. I hope it is not all a lie. I hope that we will die and go to heaven and that Jesus did rise from the dead. But on this Easter Sunday I will carry on that hope as a personal reflection on religion, church, and my Southern Baptist upbringing. And I will do it from the comfort of my garage pumping iron. Thank you Jesus.

No Comments »

I am sitting down with my friends tonight. They are in the box and they are from the seventies. I feel like I am taking my brain out of my head and putting it in a blender. It’s liquid. And I like it. They sit in their basement and talk about nothing. Talk about getting laid, and making money. About nothing really. Nothing has any real content. I’ve been wacthing it for three hours. It’s a Seventies Show marathon. And I’m still running. Not finished yet. Making good time. Haven’t hit the wall.

Another episode is starting. They are my friends tonight. I must watch. They could be my friends forever. I could buy the DVD collection soon. Watch them on my death bed. Decorate my house like the show. Raise my kid the same way. Talk about nothing but the show. My friends could assume Seventies show identities and we could go to the Seventies Show Convention. We would all love Kelso. We would wonder how he got such high cheek bones? We would wonder why Mr. Foreman was such an asshole while his kids are smoking pot in his basement. We would think about Point Place. How cold does it get there in the winter?

What was that decade like as a young adult? I could remember watching Star Wars when I was a rug rat. How it was sold out and I had to sit in the isle. Remember the white copy rolling across the screen and the stars behind. Remember Elvis dying and how our mother’s cried. Remember the Space Shuttle falling out of the sky and how we all had jokes about it the next day. Remember how we all were just a little more naive back then.

Remember how good it felt to not worry that much about your government’s choices. About where the next meal was going to come from. About where your next billable hour was going to come from. Remember? That wasn’t heaven. It doesn’t even come close to my own personal definition of it. But it was much better than this extreme awareness that we are all trying to practice. Who are you to have a valid opinion? Your opinions have been programmed. Your opinions have been brought to you by a local advertising agency who sit in their war rooms forcing fried chicken down your hungry impatient throats at a new low low price.

No Comments »

Reality show flow. Three hours ago. I sat my ass on the couch and tuned it all out. Singers. Documentaries about race. Becoming a Super Model. Or going to space.

How can your life be turned into a show? System flow more indie bandwidth dial temple dragons. On candy tile garage pad lock all systems go.

I’m voting for my favorite model. I think super models could save the world. I’m thinking our President should be a super model. Sit there and be pretty and don’t speak. Smile really big and show your bleached teeth and reconstructive surgery cheek bone temple pilots.

I’m hoping Jade will win now. She’s a real super model. Like a super hero. Real. Just look at her photo shoot. If she only had super powers man. If she could fly and eat bullets. We could win the war. Sick our super models on the insurgents. Sick our super models on our enemies. Problems solved.

No Comments »

I’m planning to be a hero now. I have a garage in my backyard with my dad’s old weight bench. I started pumping steel. Looking in the mirror I listen to angry music and pretend to fight shadows. I need to hang a punching bag so I can practice what I would do if I caught a bad guy. I wonder who the bad guys are? Are they my neighbor? Are they you? What would make you do something to hurt someone? What would make you take something that is not yours?

When is that line crossed? Is it crossed gradually? Do you inch closer to that line daily? Or do you cross it daily? What is the line? Who defines it? Is there really a wrong and a right? Or is it defined differently for each person and each culture? I don’t know or I know then I forget or I redefine it. Or all at the same time. Sometimes I’m liberal. Sometimes I’m conservative. Sometimes I’m good. Sometimes I’m evil. Sometimes I’m plain confused.

When will there be point blank judgement? When will I look at something and know exactly where I stand, all the time? Never wavering. Always solid. Standing fast.

I know my little girl is an angel. She is pure. Perfect. Untainted. I can look at her and believe in virtue. Truth. I can look at my wife and know that what we have is meant to be. Real. Kismet. Cosmic. I can define wrong and right according to them. That all I want is the best for them. That they deserve something holy. Sacred. That through my love for them I can define myself. That I can look at them and know that something is real. Tangible. Concrete. I can hold them in my arms and know that they exist. I can hold them in my arms and know that I exist. Sticky. Sweaty. Flesh and bone. Family.

No Comments »