For some this would seem like a perfect scenario. I have all the time in the world. A room where I can keep my guitar, art supplies, computer and other creative things.
My dear deranged father instilled in us boys a terribly distorted work ethic. My dad worked hard his whole life doing something that he hated doing and worked even harder at the same time trying to become something that he loved. He worked in that damn Westinghouse factory for twenty two years and went in one day and said I quit and at the same time he helped different farmers well being farmers which is what he truly loved doing. Once Westinghouse became a ridiculous chunk of time spent on doing something he hated and he quit he also knew his dream was never going to happen either so he became a janitor at my high school. Ironically a job I think he loved. He worked this until Parkinson's became what finally took that away.
Dad believed you worked hard and you worked hard even if you were not following your dream. The idea of work is all that mattered. I worked ten years at that damnable Scotts in Marysville with this concept boiling in my head. After ten years filled with despair and drugs I finally had a complete nervous breakdown and have spent the rest of the time trying to follow my dreams but then I was following hallucinations. I am still satisfied that I did not die in that god forsaken warehouse.
I guess I also believe in destiny. There are some who visit this planet to live lives of comfort and wealth with a completely different set of lessons to learn than those of us who are brought here to struggle and learn. Even though it has been a a real struggle at times the lessons I have learned have been gifts, each and every single one of them.
O. M. Scotts and Sons in Marysville was such a terrible ten year trip that I have not been able to write very much about it. I spent the biggest part of that ten years wasted either on alcohol or a variety store full of drugs. It's all just a blur.
The drug years had some very enlightened moments of looking beyond this reality into another but the addictive behavior took all of that enlightenment and turned it into a long frightening nightmare that I could not wake up from.
Yea, some would think this is a hell of a good gig. Got all the time in the world to do all of those things that I love doing but I really don't have anyone to share it with. I miss that.
I miss just hanging out with people of like minds. I miss playing music out in the coffee shops. I miss getting stoned on pot. Or is it pot on stoned.
My room has become a sanctuary filled with cool lounge music and exotic plants with all of my art and toys and distractions.
The last fifty years have been a high speed roller coaster that was going up so high that when it finally did start the decent down there just was no cushioning the fall. There was going to have to be some damage. I am grateful the damage wasn't as bad as it could have been.
I can't get the thought, images out of my head when uncle Melvin and I got into an argument over what I was doing with my life and I told him to fuck off which I had wanted to do for a long time but what I didn't take note to was how upset my grandmother was over the whole thing and how upset my wife was and my daughter. Another trait of my father’s was not caring what fallout there might be from my actions and how many people can be involved. Years later, so many years later I am sitting in a nursing home thinking about these things.
I loved my grandma. She was a good and kind woman. Maggie and Sunflower also loved her and even after the divorce Maggie went to visit grandma. Maggie has no idea how special that is to me that she did that.
I eventually went back to see grandma and just didn't acknowledge Melvin that much but nothing was ever quite the same and in many respects I had to go through what Melvin had described as my downfall.
Even though, he may have been right in some ways, he was still a prick of a man. The only reason I ever gave him the time of day was because he was always good to my grandmother.
Nothing prepares us for this thing that is our later years which can last for a long time. Nothing gets us ready for this. When the change happens it happens without any help from us. The destiny, the path is continued and followed and no matter how we may try to veer off or even at times swerve off onto another side road we always end back up on the main drag on a rainy night with the leafless trees lining both sides of the road and the sound of our wet tires on the pavement going ever forward.
I'm still floating along on the Yes music train but tonight I'm listening to solo works by Wakeman, Howe and Squire. Wakeman's “The six wives of Henry the Eight” is a brilliant piece of music. I've been listening to it since it came out.
It is truly an amazing album. I just sat here almost motionless taking it all in. There are only a few records that do that for me. This one has always been one to accomplish that. It's just beautiful music and so rich and full of sound.
There's a new couple at the facility. A husband/wife team I would assume. They are in the same rooms. The woman has not stopped crying since they got here and the man basically just yells at her.
The woman's voice is a child like squall sound that just grates through you. On top of that she is always crying and wanting to know when they are going home. The husband basically tells her to shut up.
I get strange feelings from these two. My radar is on high alert that the man really has been abusive to the woman but there is really no way of knowing unless the woman finally tells the truth as to what ended them up here.
We got a male aid on third. Nice guy. To nice really. He just makes me nervous with his pleasant down to earth attitude and his manner in which he changes my roommates shitty diaper.
My roommate, now there is a pathetic human being. They shove a suppository up his ass every other day and he promptly shits himself two or even three times and they clean it up. For the last four days he hasn't been able to shit so they are shoving things up his ass and he is waiting patiently for someone to clean him up.
I am eternally grateful that I am not this man but I still can't let go of the fact that he is still a pathetic man. He has given up and I just think giving up is the worst thing that can happen in a place like this.
And so, there is no hope in humanity. We are vicious an cruel creatures that spend most of our self-centered lives satisfying our own whims and desires and when we do find a good kind heart, well we turn them into a pet. Leave them outside in the cold weather.
cool peace
hippy mike
love
spirit
cool uber groovy cool