There are many failures in my life. If one is to judge their life as being goal oriented and productive, or not; Mature or not; Revolutionary, enlightening, dedicated, committed, or not, I was a dismal failure. I was self and over indulged. I was blind, drugged, ignorant, selfish, stupid, addicted to stimulation and lost. I was bliss and narcissistic. Now, for the most part, I have to look behind me to see that demon ridden corpse, and more than I realize he should have never lived my life , I know he never will again.
Life is lived forward, and there is the triumph; I have thrown demons upon myself and carried them until I knew them, indulged them, paid the price for their association and divorced them. In the end of our relationship, I knew what we were all about, and I would not be consumed. At least not further. I've been there and done that, and pay a price for the experience. In some way or another, I pay the price for the experience every day.
The sum total of my knowledge:
If there is a Heaven it is in one's smile. Hell can be anywhere. If you have survived it and are stronger, look forward. Your failures become your triumphs when you overcome them.
There are those in the world whom willingly remind you of past failures.. They use what was as a means to control and manipulate. They use one's failures as a means to judge and oppress long after the mistake has been committed. Once an individual has triumphed over their mistakes, matured and changed, there is little reason to allow this oppression. The triumph includes understanding life is lived forward and mistakes in the past must be understood for reference and knowledge, then left in the past as not to handicap the future.
Life and Time will weaken and discourage some, others it will strengthen and make more determined. The path we choose and it's evaluation is all about perception. Other's perception is important to help us set our parameters, but only our own perception should determine how we feel about our path and where it has traveled. For all the lowlife, ugly, stimulating, depressing, crazy, wild life I've seen; For all the years I worked a rut; For all of life, I can not now be sorry for having been there, just as I'm not sorry for not living a life that was driven, motivated, religious, righteous or more acceptable to the judgmental.
The mistakes I've made, were made knowingly. I chose to do things. I chose how to live my life. The price I pay for bad choices is extracted every day, but, I owe the past nothing and take all of it forward only as reference. My failures are now my triumphs, for at almost 53, still breathing, I am only stronger from the battles with myself. Obviously they didn't kill me. Why would I let others now kill me over choices in the past I cannot change? How can I be sorry for living any moment when there are so precious few to spend.? Every breath we get is a small triumph over the inevitable day that's coming, so breath deep and enjoy the ride . Avoid the ruts. Make amends where necessary. Live forward, Enjoy, and know that whom you have been has everything to do with whom you will be, or whom you will not be, but the choice is yours and life is lived now and in the future.
Happiness is mostly perception and if there is a Heaven it is in your smile.
I was restless the night before my Uncle's funeral. Uncle Harold had died Monday of the previous week and today, eleven days later, the memorial was held in Anderson California. I was supposed to be there. I intended to be there. It was a bad day.
Tired , unable to get my normal three and a half hours of uninterrupted sleep between trips to the urination bowl, I rose at four thirty and hurried to begin my journey to Anderson 220 miles away. It would take three and a half hours minimum to get there from Bradland and I needed an early start to make my Uncle's memorial at ten AM. The night before I had packed a suitcase, planning to take the dog and the jeep. I polished and packed dress shoes, unworn for two years. I dusted off the shoulders of a semi-ironed white dress shirt suitable for a funeral. I brought out slacks unworn for more then two years and tried them on to make sure they still fit, then packed them and the shirt. I trimmed my beard and wished I had given myself a shave before the sun went down the night before. The sun shines into the shower during the day, I can see better for work with a blade.
In the morning I changed my mind. I was feeling broke because I had to buy a new cell phone last week, and construction expenses have been adding up on the Octoberfest (living) room for the shack. I decided to take the motorcycle. My jeep has 254,000 miles on it now and would use twice the gas of the motorcycle. I worry about the jeep. The dog couldn't go, but it was probably going to be too hot for him to hang in the jeep anyway. I didn't want to explain bringing my dog to the funeral either, though those that know, know he's my significant other 99% of the time.
I had worried all night about taking the jeep. The motorcycle had a bald rear tire. Now I worried about taking it too. In the end I decided to race down to Anderson, attend the memorial, and return home on the motorcycle. Save gas money. Do the seven hour round-trip ride and grit it out. No change of clothes. No slacks, dress shirt, or polished shoes. Just Bradman with some love for my Aunt. The important thing was to be there. That was the plan.
Normally a motorcycle ride on the Road-Monster is a more pleasant thing . However, I had ridden down the valley the previous week for six hours going, and returning, and I was plain tired of road tripping. Nevertheless I was rolling down I-5 at seventy miles in hour at six thirty in the morning, 80 miles from home and right between Grants Pass and Medford, when my rear tire blew .
I've been riding Honda Goldwings for 28 years now. I bought my first one in Texas in 1981, and have owned and ridden six others in the interim. In twenty eight years of riding I have never been broken down on the road. I was lost. I felt like a Harley Davidson. I decided to ride the flat tire to the next off ramp. A mile and a half later I wound up in the Rogue Valley rest area. It was there that I flagged a Oregon State Policeman. He called me a tow truck , and the rest of this story is about a string of expenses that depleted my savings account and destroyed all hope for a new jeep anytime soon.
It was a bad day and I hope things are good there, All my sympathy to You and the Girls and the Family .
PS I thought I was going to ride those tires all summer. I had no idea the rear one was showing cord. It must have worn out very quickly in the last hundred miles . And to think I got a ticket last week doing 87 miles per hour.
How's the trip to OZ? Justin called and said that he and I are lagging in the world travel department. The two of us need a little catching up with You and Brad. When this property sells or is paid off, I think it'll be time for the world tour. Meanwhile we are forced to positions of envy waiting for a someday that may never come. Someday, when pigs fly and I grow hair again. On my head. Justin isn't forced to my position, he's going to Chicago to watch some Ball games. meanwhile it's time to add a "living room" to the shack for me. A room where " we" , we being the local boys that have forsworn the common path, or been asked to leave, can lounge around on a sectional with a coffee table for the bong and watch the NBA. Maybe that swimmer\smoker can come up and hang with us.
We cool. We are the counter-culture, black market, earth news, mother earth, got dredlocks, Barter? Whom blew the towers?, Bradland , Bradman, Bradlaw, Peter Pan culture that rocks in Na Na NaNaNaNa live for today land of OZ everryone wants to balloon to. Australia is probably different too.
Santana jams while I start to put the foundation in; A couple of pieces of eye beam I'll cement into the ground vertically shouldn't rust away in my lifetime. Then a 2x12 crosspiece to support the floor joist running off the house, lay some 2x8 floor joist, then some inch and a quarter tongue and groove plywood and we'll be drinking and waving to tourists from the new deck next week. Haul out the Barbecue, and the stereo, because these mountains rock.
Walls will go up in July. Lots more mirrored windows. And of course I'll adhere to that custom look that says, No carpenter experience and No permits throughout. Everybody will love it , the tourists will stop and take pictures, like they do now, and we'll print postcards and send them out With the caption, " IT COULD BE WORSE" .
And of course it could. We could have nothing to look forward to. Thats the trick of course, to have something to work towards: A trip to Australia, a cubs game in the city of the Bulls , a big room for Octoberfest, better Gumbo. Life is soooooooooooo wonderful. Aren't you glad we were never afraid? Now just be smarter than I was. Intelligence does encompass apprehension too.
Here's hoping Dorothy is giving you the tour of the Yellow Brick road and the wicked witch of the south is a mistress in black, jand not a widow.
The Flat
Orders are being shouted out over glass breaking in a busy Italian restaurant. Erin sits across from me and tells me her story. At some point in the conversation I see a waiter and think to myself. How did he get to this point in his life? He’s clearly in his forties and the many lines on his face want to tell me the stories of how they got there. I sit and wonder what was his drug of choice. Did he ever kick it and if he did when was the last time he had to fight the demon. Was it over a woman, the lost job, or the simple yearning that he has carried all these years that just caught him at the right time. Erin poses a question to me but I was off in my world again. I say something silly then blame it on jetlag. My responses to all her questions are in this fashion and it starts to come off as charm.
A light stroll by the Beautiful Darling Harbor leads us getting into a more personal conversation. I soon realize I could take the turn here and set myself up for some sort of intimate encounter. I think to myself, I didn’t come across the globe to hook up with a girl from San Diego and if I did it would be with this girl? Sure she had a nice body but other things about her just didn’t fall into place for me. Now do I do it just for the story sake? At this point I figure I will just leave it be. I also like to look as if I don’t care about what she has to offer. She seems the type that likes to test a guy's patience- aka a cock tease. Our walk leads us back to my hostel. She informs me that she lives one building over. Then she tells me she has seven flat mates to a two-bedroom apartment. I have got to see how this works
The Door Swings open to the flat that is small but modern in look. It looks just like a hotel room. On one of the pleather blue couches sits Fabian, a 24-year-old French guy from Cannes. Fabian has a crew cut and a brow that makes him look almost wolfish. If he gains another 5 lb the wolfish look could end up looking piggish. Sitting next to him is a Korean girl named Sky. Sky could be the mascot for blind happiness. I say that because she doesn’t ever speak, only smiles, and runs around the flat handing out hi fives all day for no reason. I can see her doing this during the apocalypse. Just across from her is a French guy also named Fabian. This Fabian is the type that would come to the states and clean up. A bedroom door opens and two fools pop out. Brian, a 30-year–old dude from San Diego that happens to be Erin’s brother. Next to him is a dark guy name Mattose, from Brazil, that only talks threw his top front teeth. Oh, did I say talk? I meant yell, because a yell is the only volume he talks in. In the kitchen is a girl with dirty blonde hair and black thick-rimmed glasses From Sweden. I forget her name because she ducked out before I really got to meet her. Also in the kitchen is Reynaldo, making drinks for everyone. Reynaldo came from Brazil just like Mattose, but he is polar opposite from him. Erin asks me if I want a drink. I respond no but for some reason I have one in my hand before I even finish my response. I have wanted a drink for the past 2-3 weeks and it’s the one drink I wanted too. A Jack and Coke... light on the Coke. I hold it in my hand and think is this how day one in Sydney is gong to go? You bet your ass!!!!!!
New Friend
I’m ushered into a car I have no idea the make of. It looks like a typical middle class get you to point A to B. We drive off into the city and I stare at this new landscape from the car window, I size it up like an ex’s new mate. Sydney is gloomy this Wednesday morning and I can’t wait for the rain to return. The city smells like sidewalk that has been freshly hit drenched in liquid sunshine. It takes me back to my days of walking to school in the rain. On the walk I would daydream of being back in bed and listening to the music the rain created outside. I jump out of my memory when lissett announces to me that we are at my hostel
Slamming the car door shut I make my way across the street to my hostel. I check in, get my key, and hear the run down. I quickly step out on to George Street and light my last cigarette. I walk about 20 minute in all four directions just so I have a decent feel for the land. I take a look at endless shop signs that I will have to remember just as well as the street names. When traveling it’s just as important to know where you have been, along with where you are, and where you are going. Traveling is way different than a vacation. When one travels they must be alert at all times. You must know your surroundings, remember conversations, recognize places, and constantly analyze everyone. The mental part of traveling is just as taxing as the physical part. It starts to rain harder and makes this gorgeous city even more so. The city is painted with rainwater and the streets now look like they are paved in marble. I head back toward my hostel to meet up with a friend I meet through a co-worker. As soon as I walk threw the doors she is there to greet me.
The first thing anybody will notice about our new friend is that she will have a lot of back problems when she gets older. These things are ridiculous and to top it off she has a small waist that accentuates her upper torso. Now in most cases a good upper half means the back yard doesn’t have enough room to run a full court game. Now, I said most cases, but not this one. The only thing about her is that she is 5’3 and 24, so I know that that waist will fill out and her coke bottle figure will turn into a 2 liter, but as it stands now... it’s time to play ball. “Hello I’m Erin.”
Flight Q
You Never Know who you are going to end up next to on a flight. You could get that talker who really has absolutely nothing to say. They talk of people that they know and think are interesting but are really aren’t, along with a sense of humor that would creep out a priest. I can just see it, he leaves the confessional ‘Thank you Father” the priest takes a moment then lets out a breath and says “Ehh Now there’s a kid I wouldn’t touch”. I totally forget about this part of the trip, it doesn’t hit me until after I take the walk down the corridor. I see my seat and there is no one in the row so far. There are three seats so this means I could very well get the talker and the person who never put soap to skin. Now I play the waiting game.
Your flight partner will determine the type of flight you have. Knowing this fact scares the shit out of me. I’m looking at a 14-hour stint inside this economy-sized coffin. I start to size up every person coming down the aisle. A big guy is headed my way and all I could think is find your seat soon PLEASE! With every aisle he passes I start to accept my fate of an uncomfortable flight. Now he is standing right next to me and pauses. In my mind I let out a NOOOOOOOOOO!!!! Like we all did after we found out sex and the city was in its final season. I’m in for a flight of pasty ass forearm brushing up against me every time he tries to dig himself into a slumber, not to mention the heavy mouth-breathing that is currently occupying the whole left side of my face as he stands next to me. Luckily he was just waiting for someone to put away something in the overhead compartment. A sai of relief comes flowing from my rib cage. I was a new man! We the jury fined Carlos rodriguez… not guilty, he shoots he scores, goooaaaaalll!!!! Oh by the way just a side note this flight has four of the ugliest babies on it. It’s like a reverse baby pageant on this plane. One ugly baby is ok but four at the same place at the same time just aint right. This plane is doomed. Well the flights damn near packed and no partners on this trip. I dig into my pocket for my ipod and that’s when I hear a voice. “Excuse me I’m the window seat over there.”
Before I even get a chance to see the mug shot of the perp that just hijacked my perfect flight. One of the ugly babies lets out a hell cry. It catches my attention as I get up to let the passenger get their window seat. I can hear the beast from a far. I come up on the horizon of the seat in front of me like some rescue chopper coming to the aide of a forest fire that’s way out of control. It’s eyes where on the sides of its gigantic head. The slobber seeping threw the gaps of its half set of teeth. Everything fell silent I stood in fear I stare at the kid and this type of ugly makes the world move in slow motion for me. It lets out this devil like deep roar. It felt like I was in some kind of bad dream. I thought a bear was going to walk on the plane and announce that he will be our captain for this flight, then jump into a seat and turn into a case of beer. Not to disturb the baby beast any further, I slowly eased my way out of its view. The same way you would when you see a dog on a street at night. Back in my seat and upset by what I just witnessed, I try not to look at my new flight mate. My luck they would be the person that has a fear of flying and tell me all about it before take off. Like I need that right now. Just as I get my head straight my thoughts are interrupted by an introduction “Hi I’m Lissett.”
She held out her hand and I stared at it for a bit, still shaken up I mutter out my name. I reach out for her hand. It was so soft that I don’t feel it on contact for the first second or so. She gives me a gentle smile and goes on to ask me the simple inflight questions. I ponder giving her all lies and then living them out right there in my seat. I decide not to for some reason. The moment I realized I liked lissett is when I asked how old she was. She responded just like a teenager would who is about to lie to the opposite sex about their age. “How old are YOU!!!” Lisset was a slender woman with a pecan complexion and rich dark hair. She had a very pleasant beauty to her face, you can tell she never really had any use for make-up. I find out lissett is a Puerto Rican from Lancaster PA, who has been going to school in Sydney for the past 3 years. I explain to her how I’m dreading to see who is going to sit with us. Now we both play the waiting game on edge. We sit cheering every time we see someone find a seat that is not next to us. She tells me when we get to Sydney she and her flat mates will give me a ride to my hostel. As soon as I start to thank her we hear the captain speak. “Everybody. Prepare for take off.”
SFO 5:30pm
My stomach is full of some food that came out of a bag with a symbol on it. I can’t remember what it was but wherever it came from its still the same as all the others. I sit here in an airport seat waiting to get my boarding pass to make it to the next spot for the hurry up and wait part of traveling. I stop to think are these shoes even ready for what is about to happen to them? They don’t even know what they are in for. I’m about to let them live like a young car thief lets his latest vehicle live. Taking’em to their limits, hitting corners hard, and running wild all over parts unknown. Just thinking about it brings a shit eating grim to my face. My Ipod Shuffle jumps from a serene track to a hard hitting deep cut from an album I once listen to over and over again in Paris.
I arrive a day late after a detour I took due to me being a new traveler (but that’s another story). Jumping off the train I laid my black & white shelltoes on the Gare De Noir pavement. The dank air of the station clings to me like a girls perfume after a deep hug. The Song is booming in my headphones, I try finding out which direction the way out to the street is. The track gets to that point in the song where is just vocal and one string. I walk closer to the train station door to get my first glimpse at this city I‘ve heard so much about. The morning sun is blaring threw every window I couldn’t even make out any part of what was outside. I make my way closer and the track starts in with that lone drum build up they always have. Every time the rubber from my shoes touches the ground the song gets more intense, as soon as I get to the door and feel the morning air. The track lets loose with and avalanche of instruments raining down along with a hard yell from the lead vocal. My vision of Paris was equally matched, a cavalcade of people coming and going in all direction, buildings big and wide that seem to go on forever in every way. It felt like being in one of those movies where a guy wakes up in the future and everything is alive and moving. I stared for a bit and then I took THE NEXT STEP.
For two weeks (not nearly enough time) I don’t have to worry about deadlines, my keys, Bombing, getting there, problems, Talking, gas, answering questions, perception, the future, expectations, trash day, staying sober, the past, how many licks it takes, the clock, them, my car, meetings, The snooze button, you, and the rest of the shit I left behind on the drive here to SFO. FUCK IT!!!! One last drag off this Newport before I head back inside and get ready for ANOTHER STEP
There are many failures in my life. If one is to judge their life as being goal oriented and productive, or not; Mature or not; Revolutionary, enlightening, dedicated, committed, or not, I was a dismal failure. I was self and over indulged. I was blind, drugged, ignorant, selfish, stupid, addicted to stimulation and lost. I was bliss and narcissistic. Now, for the most part, I have to look behind me to see that demon ridden corpse, and more than I realize he should have never lived my life , I know he never will again.
