Thursday, October 22, 2015

Love's Hallows All...

In the cold November night
She had given us a fright
So we ran arm-in-arm away
Running towards forgotten days
And the sorrow of that
    woe-begotten light

We had told her what we'd done
And she'd said I'm not her son
Then we'd bolted out the door
Left your bootprints on the floor
And were gone before she'd
    leveled out the gun

The shots rang high and loud
And I swear that we were proud
To have made the Beast so pissed
To be the Devils atop her list
Of all the evil Hell hath spat
    on this gray shroud
Into the Night we ran and played
For we had met our Judgement Day
Burned it down with light and love
Killed the monster, came the dove
And forever on we knew
    we'd have our say

There's no one could tell us "No"
If our Way wound to or fro
Our life at last was ours to live
And Death our gift to give
So we'd return for her at sign
    of year's first snow

And return for her we did
Deep in the cellar where she'd hid
Her thrusting cross and sobbing loud
"In Jesus' name I cast you out!"
For all the good that useless
    trinket never did

She wept and screamed and prayed
Hoping she'd at last be saved
From this night that wouldn't end
And her faith that wouldn't bend
And these children with their teeth
    like razor blades

We ripped and tore and fed
While she cried and shat and bled
Until her flesh began to cool
Her life now just a crimson pool
Puddled under her like Satan's
    marriage bed

We left her there on that stone floor
Behind us closed and locked the door
Our mother's blood across your face
Looked to me a veil of lace
In all our endless life I've never
    loved you more

Thursday, October 1, 2015


At the Great Frederick Fair, there is a tent down by the tractor displays that sells old-fashioned candies.

And every year, I go there and buy a roll of Butter Rum-flavored Lifesavers, because they remind me of you.  You used to keep a roll in your car, and sometimes you would give me one, and so they remind me of you.  The version of you that raised me, and loved me, and schooled me hard, and whom I thought of as Father, with all the meek adoration of an ascetic at the feet of his Creator.

As silly as it sounds, I have to get them every year, and I love them, and would be wounded if I couldn't find them, because those little sweet rings of amber candy remind me - they remind me that I am your son.

Friday, June 26, 2015

A Great Day In America...

So proud of my country today.  We are one step closer to becoming that nation we always believe ourselves to be.  It's a good feeling.

And it's a strange feeling.  I'm suddenly all-too aware today of how rare a moment like this is.  The good guys won.  People's inherent humanity has been recognized, and enshrined into our law.  The evil has been banished from the land.  It feels like it should ALWAYS be like this.  But it almost never is.

Sorry to be so melancholy about it.  I'm really ecstatic, truly.  Just wish we could feel this more often.

We are a better nation now - a better people - than we were yesterday.

Here is hoping, sincerely, profoundly, that the trend continues.


Thursday, May 28, 2015

Her Heart's Apocalypse...

an extraordinary girl
In an ordinary world
And she can't seem to get away 
lacks the courage in his mind
Like a child left behind
Like a pet left in the rain 
She's all alone again
Wiping the tears from her eyes
Some days he feels like dying
She gets so sick of crying 
sees the mirror of herself
An image she wants to sell
To anyone willing to buy 
steals the image in her kiss
From her heart's apocalypse
From the one called Whatsername 
She's all alone again
Wiping the tears from her eyes
Some days he feels like dying
She gets so sick of crying 
She's all alone again
Wiping the tears from her eyes
Some days he feels like dying
Some days it's not worth trying
Now that they both are finding
She gets so sick of crying 
an extraordinary girl 
an extraordinary girl 
          -"Extraordinary Girl"
           Green Day, American Idiot

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

Final Summation...

Goddammit I hate memory sometimes.

And everything it leads to.  Nostalgia.  Reminiscence.  A concrete sense of Self.  Rambling, confessional blog posts about supposed childhood sexual traumas.  And so forth.

After all that, after my whole humiliating confessional frenzy here in my last few posts (holy crap, was that all the way back in February??), I have to admit now that I'm not entirely sure my memory of these early experiences is even correct.  And I've wanted to write and post this explanation for a good while now, because those posts are still sitting there on the front page, like a severed head at a dinner party; but I've been alternately too busy, or, mostly, too embarrassed by the whole ordeal to want to return to it.  But I can't just leave that shit up there for anyone to read without any context or resolution.  I have to put this to bed.

So here's how it all started.  I was driving to work that February morning, and there was a discussion on the radio of how children respond to parental abuse.  I don't remember what it was exactly, but something they said reminded me of this childhood friend (I'm going to start calling him "Bill" just so that I have a name to refer to him by).  I hadn't thought about Bill in many, many years.  I remembered some of our experiences together, and I remembered his big, angry father.  And that's when I suddenly made the connection and realized, "Oh!  Bill was abused by his father!"  And everything else just followed from that.

I still believe that to be true; I believe Bill was abused (at least mentally and emotionally, if not physically or sexually) by his father.  But the rest of it, I must admit now, I am significantly less sure about.  I know that Bill and I "played doctor," but I don't remember all that we did.  I don't actually remember how far our sexual play went. And, I am forced to admit to myself and all of you now, I don't actually remember who suggested what.  I thought I did at the time, but I've since realized that's not true.  It was just too long ago now for me to remember it clearly.  It was so long ago that even the things I do remember clearly are suspect.  And through my research I discovered that I would be forced to admit something else, something much worse:  it is entirely possible that I am the one who abused him.

Reading through literature on the subject, I was surprised to find out that one of the more common, and yet least often discussed, forms of childhood sexual abuse is to simply educate a child about sex too much at too early an age.  (It had never even occurred to me before my research that this could possibly be considered a form of abuse.)  Sex is one of the most complicated and complex of all human interactions, and a 4 or 5 year-old child is simply too underdeveloped to be able to fully understand it (hell, a lot of adults are too underdeveloped to be able to fully understand it, for that matter); and so therefore giving a child that age too much information on the subject can often lead them to act out behaviors that they are not able to fully understand, process, or deal with in a meaningful way.  That's the basic idea.

My mother's policy was that if I was old enough to ask the question, then I was old enough to hear the answer.  And she was always very quick to let me know that if I ever had any questions at all, she would do her best to try to answer them truthfully and completely.  And she lived by that statement.  And I was a very curious boy.  I had a lot of questions.  And she answered every one she could.  So I remember that throughout my childhood, basically until high school, I always knew more about sex (among many other things) than any of my friends or classmates seemed to.  I was proud of that, actually.  It made me feel grown-up.  It made me feel strong.  And superior.  (Realizing now, as I type this, that this may have something to do with why I value intelligence so highly, in both myself and others.)

But in terms of my memories of my experiences with Bill, that throws everything into a new light.  I only actually remember one thing we did that was definitely Bill's idea, and while that was a little dirty, it also wasn't exactly sexual, either (we were naked, but there was no touching); it would fall squarely in the category of "normative childhood sexual play."  I don't actually remember what else we may have done, or who might've suggested any of it.  But I know that in my memories of all the other boys (and some girls) who came after Bill, I was definitely the aggressor.

The hard part to admit, is that when I suddenly realized that morning that Bill had been abused by his father, I didn't then "realize" that he had actually been acting out his abuse on me, as I originally wrote.  No, the truth was that I actually just assumed that was the case, and didn't recognize that I was making an assumption.  "OMG, Bill was abused by his father!  What do abused children do?  They act out that same abuse on others.  He must've been doing that to me when we played doctor!  So that's why I then went on to do it others; I was acting out his abuse on me!  That's where it all started!  It makes perfect sense."  And it does make perfect sense.  But that doesn't automatically make it true, either.

I still don't know what happened back then, and I probably never will.  But I have to admit that the much more likely scenario seems to be that I was actually a victim of childhood sexual abuse, but the abuser was my mother, not Bill.  And it seems much more likely that I was acting out my abuse on him (and all the other boys and girls that came after him) rather than the other way around.

Bill moved away before we even hit puberty.  I haven't seen or heard from him since I was a child.  I have no idea what his life has been like.

If you're still out there, "Bill," I hope you're okay.  And if you're not... all I can say is, I'm so, so sorry.

It wasn't my fault.  I was only a child.

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Please help...

My wife's sister, Kirsten, is one of the strongest, smartest, most courageous, and incredible people I've ever been lucky enough to know.  She moved across the country to put herself through med-school, then lived in Alaska for two years for her residency, and then moved back across the country again to open her practice as a Doctor of Naturopathic Medicine.  I admire her and love her in a way I can say about few others.

Earlier this year, just as she was struggling to get her practice on its feet, she began experiencing some difficult and debilitating health problems.  Between the medical bills and the lost work, she needs help right now.

I don't know who reads this, but whoever does, I hope you will be able to help Kirsten.

Please donate any amount you can through her GoFundMe site below.  And either way, whether you donate or not, please share her site through your social media; there are links to share over Facebook or Twitter on her GoFundMe page.  It only takes a couple of seconds, but could help out more than you know.

Please do what you can to help.  If not for Kirsten, then do it for me.  And if not for me, then do it for yourself.  There's no wrong reason to help someone.

Wednesday, February 11, 2015


Why am I telling you any of this?!

This isn't a diary, for fuck's sake.  This is a MEGAPHONE.

Jesus christ, I'm such an asshole.