Tag: introspection

A Brief Interlude

Rob Says2 Comments
attention caution danger forbidden
Sometimes it’s all you can do.

TL;DR

How are you? I’m fine, how are you?

 

Knock knock.

“C’mon in!”

“Hey Dad.”

“Hey Son. How ya been? What’s been going on?”

Well Dad, where do I start? I get up and go to a job that is like pretty much every other job, it’s a job. It’s not great, it’s not horrible, it’s okay. They pay better than most, but they did decide to install camera’s in the trucks to monitor the guys better. I’m not thrilled with that. I’ve been down that road before.

I’m exhausted most of the time, I’m tense, and I don’t feel like I get enough sleep. I would cry but there are no tears to come out. I’m dried out that way.

I’ve been drinking more than usual, and more often. I’m medicating my way into/out of a funk.

I don’t feel like I can write enough, podcast enough (even though I know you have no real idea what that is) and yet when I sit down to write, there are more times than not that I’ve got nothing and I think, fuck it, why bother. Thank god for automation and the fact that I have a lot of stuff in the queue. Well, at least I did. But we are getting to the bottom of that well Dad, and I don’t know if there’s anymore water down there to drink.

I vascillate between wanting to do a whole bunch of shit and not do a fucking thing but sit and stare at the walls.

I feel like an outsider with my friends sometimes. I feel like I’m an imposter. Most of the things that they enjoy and find joy in, I could care less about. I don’t have a problem with them liking the things they do, it’s just those things, for me, meh.

I use humor in all sorts of ways to take the edge off. I try and find humor in the ludicrous world that we live in. The alternative is to take it too seriously, and I don’t want to go there. I’ll either laugh my ass off or tear at my face and scream and cry my eyes out, except the tears won’t come. So for the most part Dad, I’ve decided to just enjoy the decline.

I’ve always wanted to be an entertainer of sorts, Dad. Have I ever told you that? Do you remember when I was a teen and played guitar? Do you remember when I was in theater? Even now, I tend to get too serious on my videos, my blog, and even my podcasts, but dammit Dad, I have to find the humor in it all. I don’t need to be an entertainer in the way that you might imagine Dad. I just like to make people laugh and point out the absurd.

You know Dad, when I was younger, there were times when I was too serious? I remember many times, the women I was with, they would say that I was ‘too intense.’ That seriousness and intensity scared them sometimes. Sometimes it scared the pants right back on them.

But other times Dad, other times, I could laugh them all the way to the bedroom. I could laugh the pants right off of them. I could laugh and joke and tease them right into an orgasm. I could laugh right along with them into my own orgasm too. Ever done that Dad? Laughed and joked yourself into cumming? It’s pretty damn good Dad. You should try it if you haven’t.

Humor is underrated Dad. I know you know this. I know that I got my sense of humor from you. The dry wit. The occasional sarcasm. The over-the-top slapstick. And yes, even the gross humor. It’s all from you. I know this and can say this because Mom was never funny. Oh sure, she knew a few jokes, but she was never actually funny. Funny shit happened to her and around her, but she wasn’t actually funny. So yeah, I got it from you. Thanks for that Dad.

And some days Dad, some days, the only thing that keeps me from eating a bullet is the thought of who will take care of my cats when I’m gone? How long will it be before I’m noticed as missing and someone decides to do a welfare check, and welp, there he is. No wonder he didn’t show up for work. But did the cats have to dine on my corpse before that day would come? That’s what stops me Dad, the fact that I don’t want my cats to starve to death or die of thirst. So there’s that.

Other than that…

“I’m fine Dad. Not a whole lot going on. How are you? What have you been up to lately?”

 

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Journey Into The Desert

Rob SaysLeave a comment

arizona asphalt beautiful blue sky

“Close Your Eyes, Look Deep In Your Soul. Step Outside Yourself, And Let Your Mind Go.”

One of the things that I love to do when motorcycling is go into the desert.

The feel of the heat of the sun beating down on me, the whip of the wind against my face, the vibration of the machine beneath me.

No radio on, nothing but the sound of the wind in my ears, the hum of the road, and the rumble of the engine.

Nothing to do but ride, be in the moment, and be alone with my thoughts when they show up.

When you are riding a motorcycle, you have no problems, at least for the time that you are riding. Whatever troubles and concerns you have back in the world, melt and fade away.

There’s nothing quite as exquisite as a woman behind you, tightening her grip around your waist with her hands and her hips as you twist down on the throttle and give the iron horse more juice.

There’s nothing as exquisite as riding into the desert. Yes I know that sounds cliche, but the cliche exists for a reason. There really is nothing like riding into the desert. The smell of the hot tarmac, the sand grit blowing against you, stinging, even the occasional bug that kills itself against your goggles as you fly towards it at close to 100 miles per hour. Even spitting sand out of your mouth when you stop for gas or a stretch is a small blessing in and of itself. It may not be a pretty picture or thought, but it’s a blessing nonetheless. Why is that? Why, it’s because you are still alive! Alive.

Alive and in the desert. Where the desert doesn’t know your name, doesn’t care where you came from, doesn’t care where you are going, and doesn’t care if you stay or go. The desert doesn’t care about you or your existence. In fact, the desert is merciless enough, that if you aren’t careful, you may never leave it’s embrace. Just another set of sun-bleached bones slowly sinking into the sand and the earth if you don’t watch your back.

The heat can and will blister your skin lobster red and peel it right off of you in a New York minute. The heat will sap you of all your energy, all your water, your will, if you let it.

But the sights you will see! The sounds that you will hear when you shut the bike down, take a deep, deep breath, breathing in the desert, her scent; the sounds come forth! Sounds you will never hear in the concrete jungle. The sound of silence. The sound of a million tiny things, living their million tiny lives, struggling against the desert itself for their own survival.

The desert is a harsh mistress, but she is beyond beautiful. Look carefully around you and what do you see?

Life in abundance! A million life forms growing and thriving, in spite of the desert. But the desert gives as well as it takes. You just have to know where to look and to look for it.

There! 50 feet away is a spot where there is water. You can tell because of the sparse vegetation that is growing there. Huddled around the hidden water like players on a field in a huddle before a play.

Over in the other direction is food if you dig but a little bit. You did bring a knife didn’t you?

And the nights in the desert. Oh the nights! The stars! The galaxies that reveal themselves in all their majesty! Millions upon billions of them! You never see them in the light pollution of the city.

How small and insignificant we are compared to the vastness above us. How utterly and infinitely tiny we are! No bigger than the grain of sand that we pick out of our ears or hair! And yet, here we are!

Riding season is coming up again, it’s time to get the Machine out of the garage, wake her from her slumber, give her a bath and a wax, and go to the desert.

The desert has a siren song, and it’s calling my name, calling to me.

Beckoning. Come, come, come….

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Ever Forward

Rob SaysLeave a comment

road sky clouds cloudy

Where do I go from here?

All of the things that used to get my blood up, get me going, even give me a bit of outrage, they are all pretty much gone now. They seem pointless.

I don’t say this from a nihilistic, depressed perspective. The shit just doesn’t really matter now.

Men are going to go the direction they are going. Same with women. We are going to do what we are going to do. Either our way or quality of life will continue, or it won’t. Either way we will adapt, we will survive for yet another day or more.

The planet will continue spinning around the sun like it always has. It’ll keep doing that until the day it doesn’t. Most if not all of us won’t be around to see that day when it comes.

So again, I ask the question to myself. Where do I go from here?

I’ve started going back to the gym. I’ve had fits and starts. Some weeks I’m steady going. Sometimes I slack off and don’t go for several days. I don’t have a great track record so far, but at least I am going. At least I’m doing. I don’t beat myself up too bad when I miss a day because I wasn’t feeling it. I just push a little bit harder the next day that I get there. And I get there. I imagine it’s a lot like going to AA or something. Every day is a new day. Every day is a chance to start over to a degree, to start anew.

I want to get back in on the “War on Feminism,” but I’m not feeling it. At least not right now. Maybe never again. I don’t know.

Women are going to do what they do because we as men give them a pass. We allow it. Hell, we condone it. In a lot of ways, we as men have created it. We created it by giving women the rights and privileges that we all enjoy. I don’t have a problem with that. We all should be able to enjoy a good life and be able to mostly do what we want to do.

We created it by giving women technology to make their lives easier. To give them more free time for leisure.

We created it by “liking” and “hearting” their stupid selfie posts and by becoming followers and orbiters of them. I don’t really know for the most part if we as men as a whole, can get away from it. We are biologically hardwired to want sex, so we chase after it in whatever fashion that we can and that we think will work to get us to the sex that we want.

All hail the Golden Pussy, forever and ever, amen.

It really sucks sometimes to be so driven by the sex drive. At least for me.

Where do I go from here?

The problem isn’t that there aren’t enough choices in life. There is an abundance of them. I see many many roads before me that I can take. Many paths to walk.

The problem right now is that none of them seem interesting or worth the time.

Oh well.

I’ve tried a couple new cigars. Ashton makes a fantastic cigar. I highly recommend it if you like cigars or are thinking of trying them out.

I now see what the big deal about smoking cigars is. I get it. I think. It’s not something I’m going to do on a daily basis, a good cigar isn’t cheap, nor is it probably too good for your health, but I’m going to enjoy them on occasion. The trick is, you have to take the time to enjoy them for what they are. Smoking a cigar takes time. You aren’t going to get through one in the time it takes to smoke a cigarette. Or a probably a pipe for that matter. I’m not positive on that one though, as I’ve never smoked a pipe, but I’ve been around friends and family members who are pipe smokers. Cigars seem to take longer, at least to me. And that’s a good thing. Gives a man time to think, to ponder. To exist. To just be.

More cigars and less outrage. Maybe that will be my new motto. Maybe that will be my new path, my new road to follow. At least for a time.

 

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