On My Brief View of Fame

On My Brief View of Fame

Also posted in An Evening's Entertainment.

FAME

I have had a very brief fling with a sort of fame. Three of four years I attended the Santa Barbara Writers' Conference. Two years running, I won awards for my writing there. I got to go up on stage with several hundred people watching, and collect my award. I skipped a year, then attended the conference again.

I wrote a prose poem that year entitled Are You Listening? The poem was about the death of my grandfather. I remember, a workshop leader at the conference—my mentor, did not ask me to sit near her in the audience as she had when I won awards for my writing. I should have known something was up I suppose.

My poem did not win any awards. Nor did any other category of my work. Another fine workshop leader in writing non-fiction using fiction techniques said she had considered putting me up for another award, but a woman who's husband had died also had a piece that ultimately got an award. So, dead husband trumps dead grandfather. I have no problem with this. Her work probably surpassed mine, and deserved an award. I'd gotten my glory. Subsequently, I received a nomination for a Pushcart Prize, which is a national award for writers published in the small press. (Of course, I only got nominated by the publication, and I did not get onto the short list for the award. As such, I might as well have not received the nomination at all as far as the committee for the prize was concerned.)

I have been searching for my Are You Listening? poem. When and if I come across it, I will post it here. It used to be online but is alas, no more. Guess no one listened.

Found it. Yes, my name is misspelled.

Christmas Memory I'd Like to Forget

Christmas Memories I'd Rather Forget

Crash Christmas

Like the previous story concerning a loved one's last Christmas, the season may have bittersweet memories for some of us. For many years, I suffered from a bad case of after-Christmas blues. Sure, I loved watching my two daughters open their gifts on Christmas day, but soon after, I'd lapse into depression. It took me awhile to figure out the reason. I finally figured it out. My mother's second husband, the man who I once called Dad, managed to wreck the family car at Christmas time more often than not it seemed.

This man, an inveterate impaired driver, got too many chances to cruise the roads stinking drunk. I know that sounds impossible these days, that someone could continue driving while intoxicated and stay out of jail, or keep his license, but in the 1950s and early 1960s, laws weren't what they are today. So, one year, let's call him Dan, drove through a gas station with my mother's pink Thunderbird. When I say "through a gas station" I mean he drove through the station--its walls, its office, etc.

The first year I lived with him in Las Vegas, he wrecked the family's car again, and since he was a regular in the emergency room of the hospital, he managed to renew his acquaintance with the orderly there who had helped him the year before. (I don't know how many wrecks this was for him.) He managed to slide on his ass across the road, tearing the skin off his back, the back of his head, his legs. Unfortunately, he hit another car that year. I don't know what became of the people he hit.

Crash Christmas did not miss a year. The next Christmas season, we lived in Cardiff-by-the-Sea, California. Drunk again, Dan drove over an embankment on Pacific Coast Highway. After a crash that left him with broken ribs, things got ugly between my mother and Dan. I never even got to finish the year at my school. We moved back to Las Vegas with about a week left in the school year. I remember the teacher in Vegas looking at me like, how in the hell can I grade this kid. I guess I had no transcripts. Gee, I hope I at least got all "A"s. 

The point is, sometimes the holiday season rings the wrong bells. Remember, giving often involves understanding. I got over my post-Christmas blues. If you are, or know someone who is afflicted with the holiday blahs, be kind and do your best to create a tradition that does not include the problems.

WRESTLING DEMONS-- BEWARE THE FULL NELSON!

I have a friend who has been diagnosed as being possessed by demons. That the individual who "found" the possession is some sort of "psychic healer" makes little difference. My pal is both proud and distressed by her supposed affliction. No, she's not involved in devil worship, but she is an epileptic, and perhaps the healer is more possessed with a stereotypical view of my friend's real problems than by reality.

Most of us somehow wrestle demons. My most vulnerable time is at night, when my pain medications battle my mood and the other medications I take. I seem to have the situation well-in-hand at present, but there have been times when the demons threatened to overwhelm me. When I began a new pain medication about a month ago, one night, late at night, when I could not sleep, I got up and went into the bathroom and cried. I felt overwhelmed, frightened, and helpless. This match-up with the demons proved to be most difficult.

While my issues may be different from yours, our problems do tend to build up. We may wrestle with the demons others bring to our lives. Perhaps it is in the form of a spouse's alcoholism or drug use. Maybe we are dealing with a child who is self-destructive on some level. Or maybe we have no employment and little hope of finding any. I know people who I consider in a worse situation than I am. There are those across the world who suffer, without an end to their suffering in sight. Want to feel fortunate? Take a look at the problems of your friends, neighbors, and fellow world citizens. But when the demons are attacking you, none of this matters. Your distress may seem insurmountable.

Here's the thing, sometimes all we have is hope. Prayer, spiritual meditation, friendship, or even your dreams can help put your problems in perspective. The presence of demons makes every problem seem worse. When all else fails, try a headlock. Demons are suckers for the headlock. Remember, do not compound a bad situation by making bad and harmful choices. It's exactly what the demons hope you will do. Fight them and make sure any decisions come from a mind that is "Wise." Demons hate wise minds. Good luck.

A Happy Little Halloween Poem--Oh, surely you cannot be believe me capable of that.

Upon a Mountaintop in Greece
FC 10/19/13


Orpheus
singer and poet beyond all others
offspring of Calliope
and perhaps the son of a god
began his climb
to the temple of Dionysus
though he worshiped none but the Sun
As he ascended
some maidens joined him
forming a procession
some walked behind him
and some led
The maidens wore gossamer robes
that sometimes shimmered in the morning light
and sometimes the light shone through
Some of the women
carried cages full of doves
or birds of song
one led a lamb
another a fawn
and one pulled geese behind
another led some ducks
and even a swan
came along
golden baskets laden
with all manners of fruit
and vessels full of wine
the maidens carried
Thus the poet
passed the hours of his climb
in conversation with his fair companions
One, perhaps the most lovely of them all
asked him
“Are you the one called Orpheus?
Who sings and speaks such sweet words
and harps so well
that none can ignore
your godlike spell?”
Without a hesitation
he replied,
“I have no equal
in music nor in verse.
I have beguiled all souls
of Heaven, Hell, and Earth.”
So gazing at the maidens
he walked up the mountainside
No, he was not blind
though he took no comfort in women
since his bride, Eurydice succumbed
victim of the satyr
and the serpents
She, taken down to the underworld
and left behind
But atop the mountain
near dusk
Orpheus and the maidens
at the temple of Dionysus
sat in a meadow
kissed by all manner of spring flowers
The poet sang
and spoke words of beauty
beyond what all others might speak
The maidens gathered round him
listening, it seemed
as he sang
recited
and stroked his harp
Though the women, feigned delight
in their eyes
no worship could be found
for Orpheus
or his arts
Then the full moon rose
blood red in the sky
Orpheus sang and sang
and drank wine
more and more
as the fires roared
The maidens undulated
to some unheard sound it seemed
the moonlight shining through their robes
the colors gem-like
green, red, blue, and silver
reflected off the cloth
As the night wore on and on
Orpheus hunger began to grow
as if by magic
the maidens seemed to know his mind
Within his view
one reached inside the cage of doves
then, while staring in the poet's eyes
she snapped the neck of the bird
so that he heard the “crack”
then she yanked the feathers off
and with the sharpest knife
gutted the creature
and when she had done
licked her fingers
Three doves upon a spit
were prepared for him
And he asked
the most beautiful maiden
who kept near him
all through the day
and the night
if she were not hungry
for three doves
fed barely one that hungered such as he
and certainly not two
But she shook her head
and said, “These are made especially for you.
I have no love for the flesh
of doves
touched by such fiery flames.”
So, Orpheus ate
while the women waited upon him
filling his cup with wine
every time its contents vanished
Then sated
again, he sang and sang
spoke his poems
harped
Again the women danced
again, the music not his
but as if they moved
to some rhythm of the moon
until, too drunk to sing or stroke
another note
he stopped
With that
his most beautiful companion
straddled him
and took his hands in hers
her eyes promised much
as did her thighs
Though Orpheus thought
to keep his love for his wife pure
What harm could a kiss or two do
On such a night as this?
The mist had begun to settle on the mountaintop
and would not such contact warm him?
The beauty leaned down
her mouth swollen with desire
her lips red
and wet
closer and closer she leaned into him
but instead of easing toward his lips
she found his neck
and ripped the thin skin there
with the sharpest teeth
Orpheus tried to escape
but the women then swarmed over him
He tried to scream
but one woman bit his lips
and silenced him
They pulled and pulled at his limbs
as if he were one of the doves
and no matter how he struggled
he could not move
from their clutches
Then, in the moonlight
with his eyes
grown huge with fright
Orpheus saw
one of the maidens had a knife
she carved away at him
he felt his arm give
and pull away
and another arm
and a leg, and another
all this he saw
until his eyes
were filmed with blood
Then, he breathed his last
as a maiden
carved away his head


The maidens spent some days
upon the mountaintop
They sent the head of Orpheus
downstream
floating
where two women found it
first imagining it a dream
For some days
all the voices of nature
unheard
for the wailing of the mortals
for the greatest of the bards.

Depression is a Disease!

In no uncertain terms, I tell you depression is a disease. It is a vampire if you will, sucking the blood (and the soul) from its victims.

I am doing well a majority of the time, but nights are scary sometimes. My mind races when it should be resting. I worry. I work on poems, blogs, or my books in my head. Unfortunately, I am a pain patient as well as a depression patient. As I chase the aches with pain medication, I’m never quite sure of what my body’s and mind’s reaction might be to the ingestion of these pills. Sleep is never the immediate result though. I chase the pain, and often, I chase the mental pain as well, just seeking rest. It doesn’t matter if I have napped during the day or not. Sometimes—and yes, this is weird—sometimes I am too tired to sleep. I ache, am uncomfortable, and I get stuck on one subject buzzing my cranium.

Sometimes my soul goes on a trip to hell. I pray for release. I look at my being as reprehensible. I lose track all the tools I possess to deal with these feelings of sadness. I’ve tried a million different things to cure the insomnia and the night depression: the hot tub in the middle of the night, midnight snacks, a stiff shot of single malt Scotch, surrender, stretching, pain patches, etc. Nothing works long term, not even changing up what sometimes works. I had sleeping meds but I quickly needed more. My tolerance for pain medication must be prodigious. (Once, when taken to the hospital with severe pain that attacked my lower limbs out of nowhere, the hospital gave me seven shots of morphine before it had the desired effect. Seven!)

Look folks, this is my day. I am used to it. No worries here. It is the day long depression that scares me. Luckily, I am currently out of that cycle. But damn, it is a disease. If I could will it away, or pull myself up by my bootstraps, trust me, I would. I am one lucky guy. Think I don’t know that? But I got this disease that plagues me. No, it’s not boils or raining frogs, but nonetheless, it is a modern plague.

Be kind to your friends and family who suffer. God bless you all.

BEGUILING MERLIN

Of course we are beguiled. The world of social media, news at your fingertips, and up-to-the-minute stories on your favorite stars keeps us glued to screens whether on the phone, tablet, or computer. So how much is too much?

Does anyone still notice when people in the stores and out on the street go about talking into their Bluetooths? How about standing in line at a take-out or fast food joint and having the person in front of you taking orders over the phone, meanwhile, these orders have not been “hashed out” (pun intended) as of yet? How long does that take? Everything is now in this new world. And instead of looking at each other, we stare at phones and tablets, wasting time.  Ever watch the teens anyplace on a date? Can you imagine staring at the phone instead of each other? Wow, not in my day. (Maybe she’s just not that into you?)

Books, movies, videos, news—everything comes on a small screen. Our attention is focused on four to 11 inches of our surroundings. (Easy to steal that Smart Phone? Damn right! You used to have to pay attention to where you were walking.)

They say the world is getting smaller. We can Skype friends across the world--we used to marvel at such futuristic technology fantasy when we would watch some 1940’s Buck Rogers serial at the kids’ matinees at the movies. Yes, the world has gotten smaller. It is all encompassed in a few square inches of our phones.

So we are beguiled. It is magic. And meanwhile, we don’t look at each other. I admit, I am often guilty. Perhaps it all started with television. I was glued to that little screen as a child, and yes, the screens were tiny despite the fact that a piece of furniture that weighed a ton housed the tube. I faithfully watched cowboys in their white hats on TV on Saturday mornings, well, even later if my grandmother didn’t toss me out of the house. Our channel six smoking cowboy played those movies all day. The cowboys rode pass the same rocks on the Hollywood movie set, probably near where old Charles Manson and family had their digs.

We are all guilty of not paying attention, to the world, and to each other. Our universe has gotten smaller, no doubt. Expand your mind friends. Stop reading this and go look out the window at least.

Respect and Disrespect, Forgiveness, and Surrender

I have recently been a part of a couple of discussions when respect, or more accurately, disrespect has been the subject. The issue doesn't resonate much with me. In my years with the U.S. Postal Service, disrespect whizzed about constantly. One man's disrespect is another man's insubordination. I admit to being disrespectful and insubordinate at the Postal Service. For many years, my job there made me nuts. But more accurately, I was just a angry guy put in a bad situation. I bear a lot of responsibility for some crappy behavior over the years. It doesn't make me proud.
Hey, you know what? I'm not wild about working. I never much liked the Postal Service. I've worked as a reporter and writer, either part-time or full-time, but even though I learned a lot from it, I gave those jobs up. While I liked working on articles about 90% of the time, the only writing I would do for free is the book, story, or blog that I want to write. I expect my dislike of "working for the man" made me unhappy. It hadn't much to do with whether I thought my boss was an idiot and  he disrespected me.
There is no sure way to be respected by everyone. No matter who you are, expect "disrespect" at one time or another. So? Who cares? Disrespect is not a big deal. Your mate might disrespect you at times, surely your boss will, your kids, the checker in the grocery store, the dude who cuts you off in traffic and flips you the finger... Need I go on?
More important to humans is self-respect. Self-respect comes from a source far more important than some nitwit who cusses at you in a fast food restaurant. Who cares what he thinks?
The right to respect is not in the Constitution. In the middle ages, earls, dukes, princes, etc. could come to your land--whether you were a free-man or not--and take food, goods, and sleep with your unattached daughter without paying or even a thank you. If you felt disrespected, you could take your case to a court filled with more earls, dukes, and princes. The little guy usually lost these suits.
The rudest billionaire in the world might disrespect you, but what does it matter if one has self-respect? "Disrespecting" is no reason for fighting, arguing, or even comment. It is a fact of life, and such behavior only demeans the individual who acts rudely or insensitively.

Next on my list is forgiveness. Tonight, while watching television, a special on the Amish community mentioned the 2006 murders of ten Amish children in a Pennsylvania school. Some of the families of the victims attended the funeral of the killer of those school children. They forgave him. Why? Because they left their anger behind and put their trust in God. This is a very powerful notion. Forgiveness is a very liberating action. It's not always easy. But imagine the freedom forgiveness brings. I am going to work on this. If a group of men and women who lost their children in a senseless act of violence can forgive, then who am I not to forgive the wrongs that I perceive have been done to me?
Forgiveness goes along with the freedom that surrender brings to the human spirit. When one surrenders to emotions, and to the sadness or despair brought about by depression, it is the first step to figuring out what's wrong. Fight depression all you want. If a person fails to accept that there are reasons for depression or anxiety, how can the feelings be examined or resolved? Sometimes one has to surrender to move forward. Self-examination requires a clear head. Fighting depression often means accepting that something is wrong.
Finally, there are no easy fixes here. Becoming a better person takes a lot of work. If I happen to find the magic pill anytime soon, I will let you all in on the source. Until then, try surrender.