Stay High

14 02 2016

mc5I wrote “stay high” in one of my stoner girlfriends’ yearbooks in my Jr. year of high school. And she left her yearbook behind in class one day and the teacher opened it and started reading the comments.  So dude called my parents and said we needed to do a drug intervention with me, just because I told her to stay high.

I didn’t do drugs like those chicks.  They were way more mature and older than me.  I started school a year earlier than I should have so I was always with older kids in the same class and I witnessed things earlier than I should have.

They would come to school on Monday, after the weekend talking about taking LSD and Cocaine and having sex with their older boyfriends.  I just listened and let it roll off my back because I knew I was way too young for that business.  But they liked me a lot so they would travail me with these stories of slutty-hood and debauchery.

So I knew they liked to party and they were my friends in school so I wrote, “stay high” in her yearbook and the adults all freaked out on me.  And her too, but she laughed it off because her parents allowed her these luxuries.

But not mine, and not that I would have wanted to do that stuff at such a young age, I wouldn’t have.  They would tell me that I needed to take LSD with them and then they would “take advantage” of me in the bedroom.

Sounds about what every high school boy dreams of, it actually happened to me but I just put it out of my mind because I knew I was going on a mission for Jesus Christ when I was 19 and I had to remain pure as I could.  But I smoked a lot of weed, and drank alcohol and made out with a lot of chicks…I just never went all the way like those crazy chicas wanted me too.

And after the discovery of “stay high” in the yearbook, I was grounded for two months by my parents.  Man, that sucked.  I got grounded a lot, and for long times too because I did some stuff I should not have done, but it was never as severe as my parents imagined, and during lecture time I never said anything, just listened to them tell me what kind of trouble I was getting into for coming home smelling like smoke.

Man, I must have driven my parents nuts in my latter high school years.  They have no idea I was merely the celibate stoner.  I just liked my brain escape from the harshness of home, but I wasn’t out womanizing or anything like my other buddies were.

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Cure For Depression In The Year 2015

19 06 2015

Put down, get away from, or unplug whatever screen has your attention and go create something of beauty, anything, but do it without your electronic device.

Cook a meal from scratch out of our imagination, make something new.

Draw a picture of yourself, then do it again.

Get out of the slavery and bondage of the Internet!

It is a web that is catching its prey.

The World Wide Web.

always watching

always watching

And it has caught humanity as its victim and they don’t even realize it.





Sources

5 03 2011

During all the controversy I’ve created among my circle of friends and family with my thoughts and opinions I’ve come to find that they want sources for my insights.  I have failed to provide the sources of my research, therefore I am being accused of lying and making things up.

In the future I will start to cite my sources but for now I’ll say that all of what I have gathered has come from the study of a combination of sources.  Many of which will go against the  grain of many peoples comfort but these are my conclusions based on research of the best books I have found in life.  And one of the things I was taught as a child was to find truth from the best books, and I have held on to that as a standard of guidance for my life, to answer the questions I come up against throughout my trials and they have served me well as I now have inner peace and calm and I am in balance with what I believe is divine nature, God.

People in my life accuse me of many things but I have come to this by work, research, experience, living life, making mistakes, making choices, exercising reason and applying these things to my daily life.  These are all the things the people in my life who are accusing me of wrong doing are telling me to do, and I do them, and these are the results.  So why are they pointing fingers at me?  I think the confusion is with them, not with me.  I am fine and I am free.

My primary sources are the cannon of scripture from the LDS church.  The King James version of the bible, the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price, along with many translations of ancient Egyptian writings from the times of the pharaohs.  I also follow after the philosophies of the ancient Roman philosopher Marcus Tullius Cicero, coupled with the reason and integrity of our founding fathers, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, John Adams and George Washington.

Recently I have been privileged to have been enlightened by the teachings of Dr. Bruce Lipton, a microbiologist who has done stem cell research  since 1967 and who has pioneered the new bio-science of epigenetics.

Thanks for following along.  Comments are welcome,  please check your anger at the door.  This is discussion of important matters that pertain to life.  Humor is welcome always!

(top image used without artist permission)





Eavesdroppings

6 01 2011

I got on the train this morning and the first thing I heard was a woman talking to a blind man.  She was saying something like, “I don’t put on a dress and ask him, does this make me look fat, I ask him, how does this look, and if he says it looks too tight I say OK”.

Why do women do that to us?  Our bodies get out of shape.  We can’t all stay at that 15 year old physique all our lives and when that perfect slimness and optimal body fat content thing starts to go haywire on us we leave it to others to validate our unsightliness by putting them on the spot with unavoidable questions like, “how does this dress look?”

I don’t talk about anything but the dress.  She asks me, “how does this dress look?”, I talk about the colors I see or the cut of it, I’m not getting involved in any of the “I can see your fat rolls”, or “your kankles are showing”, discussion.  Leave that to the suicide squad.

Now that that’s off my chest…

I went to Karaoke last night.  Not something I recommend if you’re looking to broaden your cultural horizons or if you have any appreciation for real art and music.  But if you like to sit back and feel like a complete snob watching mediocrity fail, it’s a real good time.  I’ve done Karaoke, but when I do Karaoke I go balls out.  I’m not going to get up there and sing Alan Parson’s Project, get the arms waving back and for the Eye in the Sky.  It’s a good song for its time; some say a classic, but for Karaoke?  Who wants to go to all the trouble of getting out of the comfort of their personal surroundings and go watch some dude whose artistic inspiration starts and stops on commercial television?  And that’s about the time I start telling myself, “I’m such an ass.”

Karaokeists are just trying to have a good time, they’re playing around, their friends are laughing, it’s all part of camaraderie and good clean fun; it’s like playing house or having a tea party when you’re four years old.  When you see life through the lens I see life through it’s not that simple.

I see over in the corner of my eye this dude, obviously a dude, and my gaydar is pretty good because last year when the census takers knocked on my door I was given a voucher for a gaydar upgrade and I just had it installed last week, so it’s a guy.  And I don’t even know if this qualifies to be in the gaydar range of discussion, if I’m treading on some homophobia sacred ground of discussion or if I’m just being an ass again, but I’m saying to myself, that dude looks like a lesbian.  You know, he’s got the butch haircut, baby face, he’s kind of chubby, little bit of the man boob thing going on with a puca shell necklace, having a little too much fun sweatin’ to the oldies.  And he’s wearing the same clothes those chicks who are trying to look like dudes wear.  So I mention it to a friend of mine just to check and see if I’m really a total and complete ass or if it’s actually kind of funny, and she starts laughing.  I say yeah I feel bad for saying it out loud, or even thinking it, but look at the guy.  She validates me by saying yeah, you’re right, that’s pretty funny.

Then he starts slow dancing.  It’s not bad enough that it was Karaoke but they took a break and started playing slow songs to give us a little chance at romance, and Charlie Crooner gets on the mic.  It was like American Idol reject clips, but I’m trying to be good about the whole thing.  These people are having fun, no babies are being punched and no new diseases are being designed by our activities, it’s just good, clean, wholesome fun, right?

So This guy is slow dancing with some girl, she’s cute, no big deal, but the whole time I’m seeing this out of the corner of my eye I’m just laughing inside and I lean to my friend and said, “those two chicks are dancing with each other.”  Now, that’s not even funny, it’s nothing to laugh about, two chicks dancing together, no big deal.  But I’m sitting there feeling like such a pompous ass being so condescending to this bull crap music, trying to make it an uplifting and enjoyable time, finding joy in people lip syncing to the worst of the worst of the top forty from 25 years ago, as though they’re doing us a favor dragging us down memory lane with them.

I hated this crap then and you’re not making it any better for me.  It’s like putting miracle whip on a bologna sandwich.  It’s still bologna and it’s still miracle whip, sugar infused mayonnaise.  It’s like the nutrition of junk food for the soul.  And all I can do to keep myself entertained is think how much this poor, innocent, young man looks like he’s trying to fool us into thinking he’s a dude, when really already is.  And the tragedy that he looks like that is something I’m starting to feel guilt for, but then at the same time it’s the only thing keeping me lightly entertained, enough to be able to scrape a little joy off the bottom of this bucket of preservative packed soul junk food, then I look down and in front of me is a bowl of cheese puffs.

It was like a sign from the gods telling me this is where I’m supposed to be.  It’s cheesy and it’s full of fluff with no real substance but if you munch on them long enough you can learn to enjoy.  Somewhere safe, not going to find any trouble, certainly not going to stir up any shenanigans, and I begin to realize that I really like to rock the boat and if it’s not rocking I’m not comfortable.

Then I see lezbo boy again in the corner of my eye and it just hits me and I double over in a fit of laughter and I start clapping and giggling like a giddy little school girl at the silliness of it all and the whole time it’s so loud and there’s so much going on that nobody knows what I’m carrying on about and they all think I’m just joining in and having a good time with everyone crooning to the sounds of rock and roll pabulum.

Then somebody puts on ‘Give it Away’ by the Red Hot Chili Peppers.  And I’m thinking OK, this is a song I can get behind, but he’s reading the lyrics, there’s no soul, no groove, no funk, and certainly to busting out of anything Chili Pepper style and my friends know this about me, that I’m a huge Chili Peppers fan so they’re like, go on out there man this is your song.  But what am I gonna do, go out there and do an Anthony Keidis impression with this guy who started the song?  That’s not cool, to go out there and show him up.  And then I’m back to thinking again, man I’m and ass for thinking that if went out there it would be showing him up, like what I could do would be some ‘in your face’ to his effort at entertaining us.  It’s not a basketball tournament.  So I just sat back and watched it unfold.

Karaoke is a weird thing, it makes me feel squirmy.  I’m such a critic and such a snob when it comes to any sort of art form.  I like to express myself but there are so many people who do it in such better ways than I could with the mediums available, but so often if I had the skill that they had I would do it in such a different way.  And that’s why I wish I could express my emotions through a medium I had complete mastery over.  So it’s time to start practicing again, because it’s time to express things in the right way.

I think it’s important that we all create something of beauty, that we work hard to express what we find colorful and lovely and beautiful around us, to reproduce what we feel; what evokes emotion within us, in one form or another for others to respond to, to bring them life and inspiration and to bring to life that inner spirit that creates and loves what is intangible and beautiful about art and the greatness that surrounds us, that which we all want to be a part of, where we can find common ground and build together.





Oh, the intellectual heights you can reach with text messaging!

26 10 2007

This is a conversation I just had with Lance via SMS using Verizon’s vast wireless infrastructure.

Lance: Let’s get together, put on leather helmets and club each other to Yanni’s greatest hits.

Me: I agree with all of that except for the part about Yanni’s hits being great.

Lance: It’s a comparative way of ranking Yanni’s songs differentiating his master works from lesser filler efforts within his wide, all encompassing catalog. It’s not a personal assessment of Yanni “the artist’s” degree of suckitude.

Me: Well, if the ranks are based on the scale of suckitude then greatness is relative whether good, bad or suckish. His greatest suckiness would indeed be considered great among the greatest of sucks.

Lance: Well, sure. That’s a given. I’m not arguing that. I’m simply saying that I have the helmets and clubs right now.





I can’t kill a guy for you today…

4 09 2007

Last year around my birthday I had a celebration that lasted several days…OK, weeks. Here’s now it started. My friend Lance and I went up to Park City for a little celebration on Friday night. We had planned on ending the evening with a trip out West to the Bonneville Salt Flats and a little overnight in Wendover. We were a little too tired so we crashed out about 4am at his pad.

8:30 the next morning rolled around and I woke up bright eyed and ready to rock. I wandered into his room and kicked the side of his bed and said, “dude, I have a huuuge favor to ask you.”

He replied, “what?”

I said, “let’s go to the salt flats.”

In a slighty irritated voice he calmly responded, “gimme a minute.”

He roused himself and we drove out for an incredibly epic adventure that I will blog at some later time. On the way I decided to ask him what he thought when I first asked him for a huge favor. His response still makes me laugh my ass off. He said, and I kid you not, “I thought maybe you wanted me to kill a guy for you, but then I remembered I left my trident at the dry cleaners.”








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