Damaged Goods
Yours. Truly. | Wednesday, December 28, 2016 -- 12:56 PM EST
I've fallen and i am getting up
Sometimes I think back to the years leading up to my parents separating and me ultimatly choosing to go move with my mom to upstate New York. What might have happened had I not chosen to go live with her, had my dad not done things to make me not want to stay and live with him. Would she have moved back if I had stayed and not gone with her and she was away from her family entirely? I often think of the times my siblings and I would stand at the top of the stairs listening to them fighting, about money, about my Dad's failing business. I remember the dark day when they sat all three of us down at the kitchen table and told us that they were separating. Its funny how something seemingly so trivial, can be so significant.
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I am a mess. I don't think that I'm just saying that to be dramatic either. I think, to the untrained eye, that's just what it would appear to be. But its hard to refute that I am damaged goods. When I was at my sisters wedding in Spain, her future ex husband’s best friend was joking around with me when we were by the pool. I was watching him sweep around the pool – more than likely I was looking pretentious or something, as I often do when sometimes I find myself looking somewhere and going off on some thought tangent, and here I am this ignorant, pretentious, arrogant american looking down on this spanish guy sweeping. I just remember feeling thats what was going through his head.
Then he came up to me and swept over my feet while he was sweeping. I laughed, smiled politely or something to make myself feel less uncomfortable at my befuddlement, after which he explained what it meant. He went on to explain to me in spanish what it meant, then my sister who was in the pool clarified it for me in english: that I would never get married.
I think about that a lot. I think that initially I was curious as to why that would be a funny joke to do to someone, but I laughed and smiled assuming that there was something funny that I just didn’t understand. Then I remember thinking about the self fulfilling prophecy type thing that these 'black magic tricks' people play that manipulate the person's focus, not to say that was his intent.
But today, years later, a girl can't even wink at me without my first thought going to something like 'I wonder if she even knows the occult origins of this gesture' and then going off some kind of tangent wondering if it was even the occult mind that originated that gesture or if it was merely coincidence, the adoption of the most natural gesture to subtly hint at something to someone without the other third person present observing the message and communication you just shared. I think about going out and going dancing, and when the time comes I figure it's a good time to get some things done that I am trying to get done, or to relax and take a break.
But when that girl winked at me, by the time I stop myself from going any further into blinding insights about absolutely nothing that is useful at the time, any useful or clever words I might have been able to conjure to maybe continue any flirtation are no longer there, lost in the moment. Or maybe thats not even the reason. I just tell myself these kinds of things because maybe I know subliminally I'm not ready for a relationship which is why I often rationalize that I am not good enough for someone or vice versa. What a dick, I know.
I saw a quote on a sign in the city the other day. It was something John Lennon said: “Honesty might not make you a lot of friends but it will make you the right ones.” I thought to myself “gee, maybe that's why I am the biggest loner on earth.” But now I think that its more to do with the fact that I'm not honest at all. I tell myself I am just working on something that I wouldn't be able to if I was anything other than a loner, but maybe thats a crock of shit too. Maybe its just because I am the most egocentric bastard, I mean you have to be to even be aware of the notion, the ego. Don't you? Maybe its the fact that asshole swept the broom across my feet. Maybe...
And this is the loop of damnation I often find myself in, this inescapable circle of logic that has ultimately rendered me to the stereotypical 'he who shall not be named' son living at home with his parents. I would likely be living in the basement and fully embrace the stigma were it finished and didn't pose as a health hazard.
I mean honestly. Here I am writing this for what, for me? To make sense of the shit that goes on in my head? Maybe. Sometimes I like to imagine that its because I am special and that I have something to say that is valuable. People must know what it is I know! Indeed I am a dick.
Other times I think, what the fuck is even the point? Existence. Its so much bigger than me. What hubris to think that what I do matters anyways. 'Get control of yourself you cunt. Your destroying your life! And for what?!' Just now I hear what my mom likes to remind me of frequently: “these are your most productive years.”
So I got a severe concussion while training in my kung fu class.... I don't remember what happened but I'm told I just lost control of my body mid kick and hit the ground hard and hit my head hard..... I have 3 broken bones around my eye.. a scar where the laceration was, a jumbled head, and over 8500 dollars in hospital bills now to show for it... I blacked out for a while..... I don't remember the minute leading up to it and I was in and out of consciousness the whole time until I woke up in the hospital..
It could have been worse for sure...
But I was exhausted that day, and I should have stayed home...i should have slept....
But I got knocked the fuck out... Literally right after I uploaded the 'lonely horny and afraid' entry. The next day.
My poor mother. When I said I am damaged goods, I meant that in every way possible. Apart from graduating college with a journalism degree that has been little use in getting me a job where I can actually make enough money to live and pay off some of the almost 25000 dollars in debt I have from college and 8000 dollars in debt I ran up in credit cards since graduating while attempting to live an independent lifestyle, most recently I fell at my martial arts class that I do for my health and well being and knocked myself out. The ambulance ride to the hospital 2 blocks away cost me about 1300 dollars, then I got a cat scan that cost me something absurd like 1500 dollars, then it was like 1000 dollars for a doctor to look at the scans the cat scan produced. I wonder how much they would have charged me for the injections I rejected at the nurses very vocal disgust and vitriolic protest. When I was in and out of consciousness on the gym floor I remember hearing them talking about calling an ambulance and me pleading with them not to. All in all, after the follow up check up with a doctor they told me to go to, which amounted to a couple guys standing over me asking me a question or two and 5 minutes later sending me on my way, I can tag almost 9000 dollars on top of that other debt I've managed thus far.
Lying in the hospital bed, I felt a kind of peace. Not really sure if it was the concussion, or the satisfaction of having succeeded and shitting out the journal entry the day before. I remember all day singing the song “mama said knock you out” and then lying in the hospital bed after being knocked out in awe of the 'irony'. I remember just lying there, not scared, but wondering if the hospital was gonna kill me. If I was gonna develop some illness as a result of hitting my head like my grandfather did. I remember breaking down in tears going over everything; the bitter justice I get for writing that shit about my grandfather when he fell and hit his head, for not being there entirely for him when I was physically there because I was too busy recording it all in my head or some shit, taking mental notes; not being there for him physically, emotionally as much as I could have because I thought there was things that I needed to get done; work I needed to do, convincing myself that the rest of the world was more important than the world that was right in front of me; A bitter death awaits me, I am certain.
I remember sitting there in the bed just thinking over everything that is to come; I remember praying, not to let it come to that, that god spares us and we get our shit together. I remember praying for god to heal me...
My poor mother. I remember calling her with the phone of someone who was in my class who accompanied me to the hospital and surfaced when the doctors determined that I was stable and whatever else. He's a nice guy. I remember the doctor coming in and joking that its not often that the two guys doing the fighting come in together as friends. It was as if the doctor was trying to say that I got hit in the head, because he had heard that I was coming from a martial arts class and we were doing some sparring or something. I told him that I didn't really know what happened and that I blacked out in the moments leading up to being knocked out. The nice guy that came in said that I just went up for a beastly round house kick and just fell over. We do a drill where we just walk in a line up and down the gym doing round house kicks. I remember the nice guy, he was behind me, and his kicks were getting really close to my head. And in between the drill him joking, “I'm coming for ya.” It was always in the back of my mind, wondering if this guy was with those corrupt mother fuckers trying to keep people in the dark, if it was really him accidentally getting close to kicking me in the head, or even if he was trying to kick me in the head while making it look like an accident. Maybe there was some kind of demonic activity going on... Like somehow I was important enough to warrant attention from the demons, from the government, from the secret societies. What an ass hole. What a nut.. Next thing I know, I'm in and out of consciousness on the floor listening to people talk about calling an ambulance.
And Then I just shrugged it off. “it doesn't even matter,” I told myself when those thoughts started to creep into my head as I was lying in the bed alone “he's here now.”
“Only to ensure that you die. Only to ensure that his story of what happened is what goes on record.”
“Fuck off”
But When the nurse came in, after she made the same kind of joke and asked what happened, I sarcastically went along with what she insinuated trying to play tough guy and not that I just fainted from being less than the perfect physical specimen and the embodiment of everything that is manly. What I thought was obvious sarcasm was apparently lost on him when he said “he just keeps telling everyone that I kicked him.”
“See... look how defensive he is..”
….
I don't know what I was rambling maybe while I was unconscious. I don't know what happened. But I didn't care. It was too late. I don't know what it was. Maybe it was because there was something peaceful about losing consciousness. IT brought some kind of calm.
But he was nice and I enjoyed his company. He let me use his phone and I called my mom from the trauma room after I regained consciousness and told her that I had an accident and was fine but will need a ride to get home and, following a first shocking gasp, the first thing she said to me was “how are you gonna pay it!? You have no health insurance! What are you gonna do?!”
I remember lying there in the hospital bed, not upset that she was harassing me already, but more just saddened that this was her conditioned response. She has been trying to push me to get something like a desk job, or go do something that has health insurance. But I just can't bring myself to do it, it feels like giving up, like giving up on whats right.
I've spent the past 4 years in and out of different service jobs, spending my free time doing obscure things and developing my website and for the most part I have nothing to show. Nothing of value to anyone, no credentials, no references to vouge for my charachter. Working 2 jobs at the time when I got knocked out and doing kung fu twice a week and then trying to be productive with this kind of stuff. I was just tired. Seeing everybody go about their illusory dreams ignoring anything of substance for things that are tangible. I was tired of seeing everybody’s selfishness that governs everybody's actions and has structured society and going between whether or not its right. The night before I had gotten about 3 hours of sleep because I wanted to make that push to just get it done that night. “They could kill me tomorrow, and I will never have spoken the words I needed to say.”
….
Then I ended up getting up early to go to work. Then went into the city for kung fu, tried to take a nap in the meditation room but someone needed the room so I couldn't. I just was tired. Tired of the over the top hypocrisy of it all, tired of the skepticism; tired of being withdrawn, guarded, suspicious.
How can we be so blind to it? I mean this week everyone is literally attacking Donald Trump for supposedly/allegedly colluding with the Russians to leak the DNC convention fixing and trump's supposedly conspiring with the Russians to release the 30000 deleted emails in question. Its as if the revelation doesnt even exist, its just the fact that someone hacked the DNC, the content, the context, doesnt matter. It's all about the spin the narrative. I mean, I feel like I am in the trenches trying to get people to break this trance mentality where they just go along with anything that spares them the effort of having to make conscious decisions about what they are saying and doing. Everyone pretty much treats me like a recovering drug addict, like my dreams are the drugs and nobody wants to lend me anything that might help me realize my dreams, no body wants to entertain other possibilities. Come to think of it, I still am pretty tired.
…..
But I am still moving... still breathing....
right now I think about why I am doing this, why I am writing right now, I just need to go easy on myself.... didn't I learn my lesson? Here I was trying to blame not going to kung fu class on my ego or that I was just being lazy or whatever and I would be fine if I went and started going.... and look where I ended up....
now its “ahh you better start writing some more, being more productive, and doing stuff that you think about doing, pen to paper as it were, before the opportunity is gone, before you can't any more, before you forget..”
I have been working everyday for about 10 days now and today at work, after a very stressful day of customers and coworkers going crazy I started getting the first bout of headaches.... I don't know if it was from the glass of juice I had from an extremely expired bottle of cranberry juice my mom tried to pass off on me, or whether its from the booze I drank the night before at my brothers birthday dinner, which was pretty negligible... whether its the fact that I have just been coding hard trying to get my other website up – the one that I have been working on on and off for a couple years – and not resting....i don't know if its the lack of exercise I've been doing now because of my injury and concussion, maybe the lack of outdoor activity and sunlight haha... I don't know... I don't know...
I tend to think its none of these things... I tend to think its myself... or the lack there of....
Why was it that I let these people's insanity and unnatural ways get to me the way they did... why..... was it because of my job... was it because my desire to serve them... does serving them necessarily mean doing what they want when they want it...
goddamn... I'm rested... I'm fed... I have energy.... yet it can appear to be such a daunting task to try to get out the words … to express..
Why do I view is as a task... what will get done will get done right? Whatever else needs to get happen will happen, someone else will pick up the “mantle”...
I got up this morning and went on amazon browsing some books that I wanted to buy... I literally have this massive library of books that for the most part I have never read. Yet I get the information somehow on the internet through whatever relevance functions youtube, google, and amazon have built into their websites...
I explore the various topics on the internet I suppose... I come across the information over time.... and I want to delve into these topics, get into practice and not just documentation...
I tell myself I am building up this library for a time in the future when the information is no longer accessible for whatever reason... for those who cant just log into a cloud, a digital sea of data and access whatever topic they feel like exploring...
I don't fucking know why... I mean I looked up my family crest for my last name and it does have a book on there so I don't know maybe its in the blood, the name...
But for years now I have invested tons of money in getting audio cds and various books...
one day maybe I will get to implement them... who knows...
I cant say that there is a reason for it, maybe it qualifies as some mental disorder, some obsessive compulsive thing...
I like to think that I am just a building up a “restore point”, a back up for society … but sometimes I just think about the grand scheme of things and wonder if it really even matters....
I mean all of this “work” I am doing, this writing I want to get done for whatever reason, I feel like I want to get this done for what? …. All of the projects I have envisioned for the future... whats the point?
I mean some tidal wave comes in and destroys modern society and I end up having to leave all my books behind.... it destroys social infrastructure and the internet no longer is working, maybe there is no electricity.... how am I going to access this information on my computer without the internet... without power?
The ocd documentarian in me is thinking of saving up for a tablet to carry around in a water proof, electro magnetic pulse proof case and bag with a hard disk of as much information as I can to carry it around mobily.... (says its not a word but fuck it) Sure maybe there is a better word out there...
… what a bunch of nonsense this is... why the fuck am I writing this... is there some point....?
….
I mean... say one day I have to leave my house and have to go mobile.... maybe there's a war and bombings destroy my house and books, maybe I just have to go into hiding.... how will I be able to carry around my mountain of books......
….
“well the logical thing to do is to get a tablet and digitize as much media as you can of course.... … then get a solar panel with portable batter charger too so you can use it without access to a grid... I mean isn't it obvious!??!?”
What a fucking loon ball I am......
…....
Is it this stuff that really matters? I don't know....
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I feel like I have been saying “i don't know” a lot … and I just thought about my grandfather lying in the hospital struggling to speak, sobbing, face to face with his own mortality, torn between his desire to live and his desire to die “i don't know”, “i don't know”
….
Sometimes I worry about making what I am writing coherent enough for anyone, let alone me, who reads this in the future.... to accurately express whats going on... with me... I try to note these specific thoughts or whatever, topics that I want to remember to try to explain that I just fucking shutdown and don't do anything...
I mean write now I am sitting here writing this after taking a break from reading what I wrote last night and trying to put it together to accurately express what it was I was trying to say last night in my exhausted stooper....
Now I am trying to think how I am going to accurately work this in to what I wrote so that anyone reading this in the future can understand the flow of time, or whatever... but to be honest fuck it...
So in the spirit of absolute chaos ill jump back to the topic of me busting my face.
I remember editing a video with the song by Sam Smith “Money on My Mind” in it, and I am all amped up about working for a good cause that I know can't be leveraged and corrupted, “doing it for the love” and what not and not the money. And I am sitting there singing to myself “I don't have money on my mind, money on my mind... I do it I do it for the love” my phone rings and its some guy calling me for collection about the hospital bills I cant afford to pay. And I laugh to myself at the irony. So much for not having money on my mind, as I contemplate how I can somehow manage to pay off the debt without going to work at some job that I absolutely despise that is contributing to the machine. Deep down I know if everyone didn't give in to doing something that they knew was wrong for them to do, no matter what incomplete rationale got them to go along with it, then the world would be a better place.
Its like when I was watching the Marco Polo show and the emperor Kublai Khan was trying to convince Marco that it was people who do “hard things” or things that they don't want to do that make it so life can go on for the rest of us. He was referring to killing the Chinese boy emperor who, if he had been allowed to live, what have given legitimacy to the Chinese rebels and further propagated the conflict because he sure is shit isn't going to stop. I am sick of people telling me that if good exists then so must evil. What a crock of shit. 'No good deed must go un punished.' what the fuck!? Right? Why do we buy this bull shit? It's of course later revealed *spoiler alert** that it was this line of logic that was coming from one of his advisors who it turns out was trying to overthrow Kublai. He was actually making the easy choice, he wasn't doing anything hard, anything brave.
I want to be able to love, and feel love in a constant unfoldment. I don't buy this whole suffering shit, like its necessary or something. I can picture the scum of the earth telling themselves “The world needs slaves and masters otherwise everything would be destroyed, THERE WOULD BE CHAOS!”
I am sick of people telling me how it is, when they have no idea, they are just going by what someone else says. I recently posted something on facebook about some guy hooking up a hydrogen gas line to his carburetor from water that gives something like 80 % better highway milage and 33 percent better city mileage to your car because it causes for a clean burn of the fuel while only using the hydrogen from the reaction of water with an electric stimulus with baking soda. It was something along those lines, and I don't want to get into how I know this is a true thing. Apart from being able to go on the internet and find tons of people doing this on their own and having their own testimonials about how it works. I know its true. Then someone hops on my post and tries to tell me that its a scam. To be honest i'm not sure if he was referencing some other product made by someone else surrounding the same but it doesn’t really matter. He then proceeds to tell me to hypocritically, indirectly tell me what I was doing on facebook by, not only posting the video of this guy explaining the science and showing how it works, but also he tried to tell me what I was doing on facebook in general.
Maybe he didn't even realize he was doing it, and just speaking at large. But still. And I as much as I wanted to disagree with him, I couldn't help but feel maybe he's right. I mean I am being pretty hypocritical trying to tell people how it is on here, trying to tell myself how it is. I mean doesn’t sharing really define what it means to be alive; to share in the collective reality. We are all in our own dreams, perceiving things in our own way but we only survive by maintaining a continuity of our perception with reality. This is undeniable. I remember my physics professor in high school showed a movie called “what the bleep?” which entertained the concept of perception, and that when the native americans looked out on the ocean and saw the european ships, they didn't see the ships because they didn't know what it was. Like because they couldn't fully realize exactly what they were observing they couldn't observe it at all. Come on... you don't believe that do you?
Its funny because I joined facebook in an attempt to share with people. At least I thought I did. I don’t think I did it as a means of being validated as was pointed out in a video I just watched by a blogger talking about how social media has led to perverting peoples perceptions of reality. I did it to connect with old friends and family. To help people who were curious to know what I was up to be able to know exactly what that was and vice versa. I did it because I thought no one cares what a random guy has to say, as is the case with my 'anonymous' blog, so maybe, just maybe, the people who are close to me...
And now, when its not random or anonymous, it gets dismissed as 'its just someone's vein attempt at validating their own illusions or projecting their own image... or hes just a man like me, what could he possibly have to offer beyond what I can offer myself. He's just the same guy I knew him to be... Its just another catch 22.
I mean I think thats in part why I write the shit I do. Because part of me agrees what this guy posting on my facebook was pointing out. My heart went out to the guy because I understood what he was going through, what he was seeing: people don't want to hear about the real shit. They want to know the naughty, dirty little secrets. They want to rip on the politicians.... they want to 'project onto others their flaws' …. They want the hate... they want darkness... they want their own validation, the justification of their own actions or the absconsion, the illusion of the denial of responsibility for anything that they do, the contributions that they make. I thought it was because I was going through something that I thought others go through too and I could offer them a way through it. I thought maybe I could make a difference....
I haven’t been doing much writing lately because frankly it bothers me to write the shit I do, to have to give that dark shit the validation of being written down and giving it that much more power when say its misinterpreted or taken out of the context.... I invariably manage to offend someone when I speak, joke or pretty much exist.
When I got onto facebook, I thought it was because I wanted to take the battered and bruised vestiges of my life and offer it as a means of solidarity for whosoever it would serve in the future who might be going through something similar, even if it was just one person. I thought I wanted to do it so people who might care enough to want to know 'why' or 'how' might have enough breadcrumbs for them to put it together.
I remember when I put up the crucifix as my profile image I could literally feel people hating me for it. “Oh no, another brainwashed lemming... another addition to the mindless horde destroying the world” “look at him flaunting that shit, what a hypocrite..” That was the predominant feeling I got when I did it. I got one person that liked it, and I was surprised but not surprised that it wasn't even someone in my family. But why I did it was because it is something that is a more accurate reflection of me than any photograph of me flashing a fake smile could portray. I did it because just maybe somebody might recognize how pivotal what the symbol of the crucifix over lapping the earth and surrounded by white space might be to my own life and maybe decide to investigate it themselves. “Typical european american mindlessly throwing up a symbol of oppression being boastful of a white man's culture. Another sap that thinks throwing up a symbol legitimizes his passive aggression, his self serving, egotistical bull shit.”
Its just that I am sick of being told what I think, what a symbol means to me, what I feel, how the world is, why I do things, who I am....
“Oh great another global warming denier, tree hugging, flat earther”
….
It saddens me when I think about how caught up people get in symbols that they can no longer feel meaning. It saddens me when I think about where we are as a culture where we have to try to demonize or in some cases even physically destroy people who, just by their very act of living differently than someone else, may make people question their own way of life their own choices.
I remember I was working at the bar at one of my past jobs and some balding guy in his 50s comes in and sits down with at the bar with some woman who it seemed like he was trying to impress. “Whoa, don't YOU have a beard.” He said in a way that made it seem like I was some how committing some kind of crime.
“Ha ha. Yup I do,” I said laughing fake enough and stating it matter of factly enough to point out that I was well aware that he was being a dickhead and that I can be a surreptitious dick head too.
But I could tell that he was offended that I didn't choose his gold watch, soft yellow tennis shirt, freshly dry cleaned and pressed khaki wearing life that he covets so dearly. Maybe those feelings are just a projection of my own perception, but I don't think so.
So he proceded to try to make it seem like it was because he was more intelligent, he was deserving of this great life that he has made for himself, by trying to make me look like a buffoon.
“Would you like sparkling or still water?”
“I want a drink, this is a bar right? What do you think I want?”
“what can I get you?”
“Tanqueray and tonic” he said quickly then pointing to his companion queuing her to order. She ordered and when I got to making the drinks I found that we didn't have any tanqueray. I offered him some other gins that we had, but he just dismissed me. “Just get me a scotch.” Troubled that I wasn't aware 3 seconds before when he ordered it that we didn't have tanqueray but only informed this after I checked the selection, he said it in a way that implied that making a gin and tonic might be too difficult for me.
“Macallan 12 ok?”
“Fine.”
“Would you like that on the rocks?”
He gave me some kind of response like, 'are you kidding me? How dare you ask me if I want ice with my scotch.”
“No. Just 2 cubes.”
The rest of the experience went on something like that. And yes, most people aren't that bad. In fact there were two other couples at the bar that I was waiting on that were kind of in silent awe listening in amazement to this guy go on. Until when they had heard enough decided to go back to their conversations and avoid talking to mr Awesome. They each left me pity tips for me having to put up with this jack ass' rude behavior, which ended up offsetting the terrible tip the jackass left later. When I was talking with others and he overheard I was from his town he kind of changed his tune a bit. Not because he realized that I was a guy just like him or anyone else, that I was a human just like his son, but because I might know someone he knows and it might backfire on his social and business relations.
When I said I am damaged goods, I meant it.
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