love keeps coming to my door with a sleeping roll, and i keep telling it to fuck off

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i am a conflicted soul of the highest order; the gap between (a) what my heart tells me i should feel and do; and (b) what i actually do feel and do, has been insurpassably vast for as long as i can remember--and it just keeps growing.

and whenever i nut up for the good fight against my dark side, the backlash can be intense and immediate.

a former roommate summed it up this way: "you know, mike, whenever you start talking about the emptiness of hook-up sex, i know it's time to get ready for one of your famous four-day fuckfests."

thing is, he was usually right.

[this would be the same roommate who would equally-famously go on to sneer "spare me your gutter morality" at me in front of lots and lots of people, but that's a story for another day.]

whatever--when i was younger, the therapists i consulted called this phenomenon "resistance," and they all told me i had an awfully strong case of it.

in other words, there's something very strong within me, that--no matter how bad it might fuck me up in the long run--not only likes things just exactly the way they are, but, when faced with a strong pull in the other direction, will go to inordinate lengths to maintain that uneasy equilibrium that keeps me where i am.

such is the case today.

i won't go into it all now; suffice it to say that, no matter what comes along to pull me up to the light, all i can seemingly do in response these days is kick back down towards the dark as hard as i can.

i'm feeling you strong tonight, joni--while i'd like to believe you've long since left your city of the fallen angels behind, i can't help but wonder every time i listen to this song if i'll ever let go of mine.

the whole susan boyle thing

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several months back, i consulted with a local healer who'd come rapturously recommended by someone i respect, only to find yet another of those gibberish-speaking, spirit-channeling types that seem to gravitate to southern california.

fifty minutes later and $300 poorer, i got up to leave, another dead end explored--when, as a parting shot, she sat up, her eyes focused and the only coherent thing i'd heard in our entire session came outta her lips:

"whenever you come across something," she said, "a puppy or a baby or a sunset, whatever--that touches that part of you that you think you've lost forever, even if it's only for a moment--i want you to grab it and hang onto it for dear life."

i paused, hand on the doorknob. was there something to this crazy bitch after all?

"because here's the thing," she continued. i waited, interested for the first time. "if you can string enough of those moments together, you'll start to feel again, i promise."

i took that little insight with me as i left.

today i experienced one of those moments she was talking about, courtesy of a dowdy and unloved little mud-hen of a woman who had hidden her light under a bushel for far too long, finally ventured out into the cold, cruel world and risked ridicule of the highest order, only to instead find the validation her heart had always told her she deserved.

i'm not gonna link to the clip--you've all seen it, i'm sure--but know that i've watched it at least a dozen times today, and my clenched fist of a heart has swelled and i've teared up every goddam time. and i'll probably watch it a dozen more times tomorrow.

even if it's only for a moment, it's nice to feel a part of the main for a change.

mkf posts a comment

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doesn't really matter which blog, or which topic--tonight, for whatever reason, i'd suddenly had enough, so i posted the following:

you know, whenever [insert gay/leftist blogger here] throws fresh meat like [insert middle-america-bashing topic here] into the pit and i sample the resulting comments, i generally find they're of the sort that most of you faggots would bend over backwards to get hate-speech laws passed to prevent the other side from making about us.

in other words, you guys are no better than the people you hate.

i'm posting this here tonight because it pretty much sums up everything i've ever tried to say in this blog regarding my feelings about the extremists screaming at us from both edges.

in other words: shut the fuck up, all of you.

sober update: perhaps a better title might've been "screaming from the middle."

a little perspective always helps

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in honor of tax day [and because i always try to follow a horrific story from my train-wreck past with something bland and inoffensive--you know, balance], i offer the following for you to contemplate as you write your check and send it off to our wise leaders in washington.


one hundred dollars:




ten thousand dollars:




one million dollars:




one hundred million dollars:




one billion dollars:




and finally, that most casually tossed-about of phrases these days...

one trillion dollars:


and yeah, the guy in the red shirt's still there--he's just awfully small.

[h/t to deliveries galore, from which the graphics in this post were lifted]

it got pretty bad, alex

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so how was your thursday?

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i come in as usual, drop my shit and head downstairs, only to find the always-impeccable queen susan not behind her desk as usual, but in front of a copier instead.

"there's nobody," she explains, as i laugh, grab half the pile outta her arms and head off to another machine.

later, it gets more real as i find myself in document-clerk mode--sorting, collating and indexing shit that i'd never have bothered with in my old life.

and still, i smile.

on saturday, management (and i) will gather with a crew of movers, roll up our collective sleeves and compress the three former floors of our firm down to two.

and you know what? we'll do it all cheerfully--if not with the ebullient, carefree cheer of yesteryear, then at least with the grim cheer of those who have somehow survived the latest round and lived to work another day.

sandy and i are obviously soulmates

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i've never been much of a letterman fan--there's something about the guy raises my hackles.

so i rarely watch him--unless, of course, i happen to be flipping by and he's got animals on--then i'm totally there, because his craven, irrational terror of animals is always fun to watch.

tonight my drunken synapses, casting randomly about for some warm memory from my past to latch onto, found a hit. i immediately went to youtube, searched for "letterman" and "monkey in a dress," and lo and behold, there it was.

if the following clip doesn't reduce you to helpless fits of laughter, then either you and i are not soulmates, or you need another drink.