2017/07/31

ECHOMAZE : 2017-07-31 Divided And Splitting




Wrote this yesterday. Was having one of those days. Today. Already better. Hope you’re well. Namaste.

Divided and Splitting
Those days when survival

Don’t seem guaranteed

Those days when your

Engines

Only run when you bleed

Those days when your circus

Has nightmares that speak

The crypt and the viscous

And the rat

And the geek.

Those days when the goblin

Is you in the mirror

Your skin green or dusty

Or else oil slick fear.

Those days when survival

Is an idiots chase

You dig thru the mud

That’s all over your face

And you crawl up to zero

And you hunch over time

To begin negotiations once

Again with your mind

The crutch and the crucifix

Who’s been talking? What’s true?

The elegant jig saw

Always puzzling you.

You’re made up of pieces

But there is no real core.

Something manufactured

From the sky and the floor.

A smile the laughter

You’re nervous. You laugh.

As you stand there divided



And splitting in half.

ECHOMAZE : 2017-07-31 With A Grin Evil Wide


The work
Is recognizing the love

And believing that your word counts.

The work

Is looking after yourself

When the darkness mounts.

The work is forgiving your death

In the hold out of days

Both hating and loving yourself

Thru out the echo maze.

The work is looking this kooky world

Straight in it’s eyes

Understanding all the time

It won’t apologize or

Try to explain

It’s idiot rake

That scrapes you up into

Skeletons break

dancing

on old English roads where Shakespeare was young

Drunk with a whore

Who then sold him a gun

And told him to write

Or else shoot himself dead

She said “die by the sword

Or the writing instead!

Die by my love

The angels have bled!”

Shakespeare just laughed

And drunkenly said

“I may as well write

I’ve got twisted eyes

That can slingshot the night

And open up thighs.

I can turn ancient screws which no one can see

Running horses or time

On the track of the free.

And whose broken words

Would come if not mine?

All those stories of death and life yet to find

This life don’t mean much

If my vision is gone!”

He gave the whore back her gun

And then sang her this song.

“Hamlet was me

Othello was too

I’ve always wandered

In the blood

Painted shattered

and blue.

I’ve always wandered here

And never been home.

I’ve always wandered near but

wandered alone.

So it’s in these words

I finally land.

The language of minions I guess

It’s at my command.

I bleed into this

It drips from the page

I capture my life

As it slips from old age

My name isn’t Shakespeare

I made that all up

If you knew who I was

You’d only empty my cup

So now I’m a phantom

Behind this big name

That stands for the drama

And humanities pain

Stories of betrayal

Lust and old greed

That pin point the core

Of the lowliest need. ”
The whore just looked up
With a grin evil wide
And said “cmon man

Who you trying to jive?

We make up our lives

I’ve made up mine still

Tho I lay down with strangers

Just to pay my food bill

And you want me

To sympathize here ?

To give tales of the rich

Harpooning their fear

Any real sanctions

In my emotional place,

After having a pimp

Back hand my face?”

Shakespeare said

“Yes

Yes

Yes I do

I want you to see

That Hamlet is you

I want you to know

Your betrayal was true

The blood sacrifice

The ghost



And the dew.”


ECHOMAZE : 2017-07-31 The Weird Way I Met Charlie



The weird way I met Charlie

I woke up in london unexpectedly on the bottom of things. And why should have I been? I shouldn’t have but I was.

Any toxic entry in this early stage of healing

And you go back to ground zero.

But it’s only an echo of ground zero

You know it’s not a permanent change. You can feel the throttle to kick yourself back into gear. And so you know you can escape it and you know how. But the fall out within comes when you wonder why you still have too? Why you still need the total discipline just to keep at even? When you elevate your consciousness or try to. It’s hard to stay there. It requires more of you. You wonder when you can just ease up or drift, only to find out you really can’t. This is daunting. The realization that to live this life to the full. Much is required of you.
But as I sit here writing this

I’m no longer daunted by it. Sleep is the savior here.

A clicking over of the attitude behind it all. If that’s in line. If that’s correct. My attitude about things I mean.

Then I perceive the challenges as fun building blocks on the way to doing and giving great things.

If my attitude is wrong. Well then it all seems a futile march into blackness.
This is why. Who you let in. And how much you let who you let in. Is the very most important decision of your life.
We are sponges. We are soft things. We soak up energy. We soak up beliefs. We are porous and open things. Even the most closed off pose is only that. A pose. We are far more susceptible and vulnerable than we ever like to think or imagine. But we are. And the predators among us are aware of that. And they take advantage of it. From the ones who are less aware.
On the healing journey

I’m awed by the influence even a single toxic source has on me.

It’s waking up this awareness which allows me to understand more fully the vacuums for my soul that toxic influences have been in the past.

Things you think are no big deal.

Like the people in your life who refuse to acknowledge certain achievements.

Or who never give it up to you. Unless it’s awkwardly on their terms. A little insignificant slice here. As a means of confusing your mind when they don’t see the big picture.

You say to yourself. It’s no big deal. Maybe they’re just insecure. You half feel sorry for them and so allow it to continue. Besides why create a fuss right?

And besides that if you even bring it up. Won’t you look like the insecure overly sensitive one?
I’m sure many of you know just what I’m talking about.
Well I’ve come to find that not only is that not a big deal

But it’s a rather large deal. It’s the biggest of deals. There really are no deals bigger.

Because this refusal to see you. The whole you. Is a refusal of you which bleeds back into you. Your acceptance of which on any level is then seen and taken in by you. And believed by you. You become less in your own eyes. By accepting what they see in theirs. Even if in your own mind you don’t believe it. By allowing it. You still feed it. It takes you down. Way more than you might imagine.

I woke up broken in London. But I knew why and I knew the steps to take to quickly unbreak myself.

The things you learn on this journey that give you ever keener eyes. The shocks to the system. The jolts that wake up your eyes. The painful crawl to a clearer vision. It’s not a kind or pretty one. This place is not particularly kind or pretty. Just because it could be. Or perhaps even should be. Does not make that so.

The strange way I met Charlie.

I flew all the way to San Diego from London. That alone should have folded me. But it didn’t. I look at these things now as fun games.

Can you keep your spirit up thru that ?

I found I could and that did a lot to revive my spirits. Plus coming into this great situation of playing shows for large crowds again. I’m excited and up for the challenge. Fear is here but it’s in the backseat.

I showed up at my hotel but something went wrong with the booking. And I didn’t have the cash on me to make it good. The hotel said I could leave my gear there. So I charged my phone and packed stuff to sleep on the beach. Laughing about it to myself. And then really seeing something. As I dug out some protein bars and a jug of water. This is the new rock star I thought. One that isn’t afraid of a little homeless action from time to time. The ups and the downs. But my smile kept me going. The fact that I wasn’t melting down. But rolling with it.

I had Jaco on the brain.

He slept in parks all the time. There had to be music there. Plus I’ve already camped so this would be no big deal.
The people at the hotel said there was no cheap rooms around. There comic book festival in or something. The town was booked solid. But as I charged I looked and found a cheap room on the outskirts. Crisis averted. Called a cab. And pretty soon I was on the patio of some strange motel smoking a spliff with Charlie. Talking about Jaco.
Riding the elevator up I asked God. Is this part of the journey? Does this somehow make sense?

The elevator opened up to this patio and cloud of spliff smoke from Charlie.
Jaco was my hero. Is still I guess. I think of him a lot. But mostly don’t walk around with a head full of Jaco.

But I thought of him to romanticize my way thru a night sleeping in a park. So he was on my brain rather a lot just then.

I said hello to Charlie and his cloud of smoke.

Is that what I think it is.

Yeah. You want some?

Sure.

I sat with Charlie and smoked.

Charlie was a resident of the motel.

“I’m the only one” he said

“But I’m getting a boat”

Charlie worked on the boat yard and was a drummer. He looked like he came out of a story written by Hemingway. Tough and lean. Sun soaked. Aged by sun. Dark red and brown.

“Boats are my passion. I go to bed dreaming about them. And wake up with them on my mind first thing. ”

Then Charlie said out of the blue

“You ever see that concert footage with Joni Mitchel and then I finished the sentence for him.

“With Jaco playing bass?”

His eyes got wide and the wrinkles around his smile expanded

“Hell yeah. I love Jaco! ”

Charlie was a drummer. He was in a band with someone who later joined Rat. Could have been big at one point but found boats instead.
When Charlie brought up Jaco I had my answer from the universe. I was where I needed to be. Why or how? Who fucking knows? Who ever fucking knows? But when you ask the universe a direct question and it answers that directly. Well maybe pay attention.
Charlie went on

“Sometimes in life you have to find your purpose. Everyone of us has a purpose. Your pain has a purpose. If by your pain you can help others with there’s then you have served your purpose. ”

I’m paraphrasing but he went on like that. Like a Man set about delivering a message. He went back into his room and came out with these old corn cob pipes that he carved by hand.

“I find that I can smoke dirt weed in these and it actually makes it taste quite delicious ”

The things you learn.

We smoked from Charlie’s corn cob pipes. He had a collection of three.

Then we talked about Jesus.

Charlie was a believer. We had similar views in this arena.

He said let’s have a party in a yacht tomorrow. I look after one. We could invite a whole crew there after your show.

We’ll see Charlie. We’ll see. I may have to drive straight to LA after the show. I gotta play there tomorrow.

But you helped me I said.

“The words you spoke. That’s what I needed to hear. So thanks for that. And the smoke”
Prayer works.



Angels are here on earth. You have to recognize them tho. You have to be out of your phone and in the actual world to see them. And you have to be open to trust just enough to still let them in.



2017/07/29

ECHOMAZE : 2017-07-29 Marbles Broken Planets




We are hereAmongst the chaos

Amongst the confiscated garbage

We are here

Within the love

And the breakfast of our wattage

We are here

Like tiny Tramps

In the rock n roll of things

We are here

Like ones and zeros

Or maybe straight up human beings.

We are here

The candle wax drips as time just burns away

We are here

I’d love to love you but it’s not going much that way.

We are here

In times like these when screaming faces open wide.

We are here

Though you were there

When I was far less

than alive.

We are here

Tho you could see

the angle

left for you to take

We are here but to be fair

There was more

than one lane you could make.

But never mind

Just have fun with it. Tho

That’s a strange way to have fun.

We are here

I never thought of it. Would you believe that i’m that dumb?

We are here and now without you

Life begins to dream. The sadness lingers cause this place is rough

And baby I know it’s not your scene.

The place I’m going it’s open wide and there ain’t no time for tired blows.

We are here

so now I follow

a different train that always flows

We are here

you gave us life

But life was given once to you

You once young

and in the hands

of other forces trusted too.

That’s the way the cookie crumbles

Always crying in spilled milk

It’s hard surviving what I’ve survived. I don’t mind saying it’s been built.

The ability to speak

to not impose

on any shame.

But to give voice

to my background

in my inner child’s name.

Respect must go at once to him

To

Survive a chance to heal

And recover

what they knew

Breath in the light

they need to feel.
For we are mostly victims here.

Those out laughing into beer

As ever shattered as they fear

Walking mazes echos smear.

But accepting it. takes us out of

“the victims atmosphere”
Claiming in your story

sets the whole and sad lot free.
Fuck anybodies judgment.

I forgive what has to be.
Surviving from abuse

Is a fucked up thing to say.

Any victim here will tell you

It’s betrayal all the way.
There’s no way to avoid it

if you’ve woken up to this

either betray your abuser

Or the blood

that’s in your wrists.

I’m afraid it’s no surrender

but now

You’re the one who must forgive

As forgiveness becomes their burden

They can meet you there or skid.

And either way your shadow

Now gives you peace at night

There’s no more spiders longing

To exaggerate the fright.

No more needles worry

You’re not wasted anymore.

They’ve let you pick your marbles

Off their linoleum lime floor.

Marbles broken planets

Kicked under wood and stools

The fruit bowl and car keys

And old messages from fools.
Oh my son please listen to me

I would call you in the rain…

Oh my son please brace your heart

It’s a wind up here

Of pain.

But pain turns into struggle

And struggle will release

Your power into progress

And your progress will bring peace.

We are here

And left inside you

We are here

But I’ve moved on

We are here

Of course I love you

We are here



And standing strong.





2017/07/27

CONCERT POSTER : 2017-07-28 WOMAD, Malmesbury UK




ECHOMAZE : 2017-07-27 The Finish Line Of Evolution


The Finish Line Of Evolution
Or
Trumps ban.

Ugh.

Dude is despicable.
I don’t want to write an angry rant about that tho. Snore. I mean I reserve the right but I don’t want to get all uproarious about it. Everybody knows what it’s about and how stupid and cruel it is.

What kind of message that it sends to all the kids and people in the world coming into and making terms with their own sexual identity. Both Gender and preference

Their identity.
Who’s to say what anyone else’s should be?

That place.

The place where you decide what and who you are.

That place is wide open and free.

That place is untouched by anyone

That place is as wide open as outer space. And an outer space that keeps expanding outwardly.
That place is your place and your place alone.

If only.

If only that were just true.
It is true intellectually speaking. On a conceptual level it’s true.
But in practice.
I’d say it’s the very struggle which defines all of our lives.
And the point of freedom here might just be the finish line of evolution.
It’s the very battle field of the npd/empath blood sport.
Your identity. Your voice. Your dignity. Your self respect. Your autonomy.

Your self expression. Your gender. Your sexual identity.
Just how many external forces are you allowing to dictate those areas of your life?
Who in your life catches you off guard and shocks you into a strange silence? Pay attention to whoever does that. And then get the fuck away from them.

I know I unconsciously and otherwise allowed all those things to be defined by external forces one way or another.
I don’t regret it because I was simply blind to how powerful and destructive those forces are, and how damaging it is to your self esteem, which in turn manifests by you destroying yourself and your life thru whatever vehicles of self destruction suit your fancy.
To slap the transgender community this way is to start a war.

In the state of consciousness we are elevating into at this point. I mean collectively. A move like this just doesn’t pass anymore.
A very dumb move on many levels.

On one level tho. Just a more silly one I guess? But trans people are warrior spirits.

I mean think of what they endure. The extra attention. The impossibility of fitting in. At least in the time and place I grew up in.

Personally if I started an army. I would want mainly trans soldiers. A trans army. Would destroy whatever army trump could muster. My money would be on them.
And which of us isn’t trans?

I guess I’m projecting because I do more and more identify myself that way.
Because outside of the stigma (much of which is coming from the trans culture itself tho I can’t blame them.)
And outside of whatever it’s supposed to mean thru dress and other wise about what it is or was to be trans.
On the level of spirit which of us when fully formed doesn’t have a healthy female and male side?

And if trans isn’t about sexual preference which (I guess) it’s not. Then the level of the spirit is all we are really talking about.
Or is trans when you are sure that you are only the opposite gender of the one allotted you physically?
I don’t think that’s totally it either. (I’m not faking dumb here either. It’s hard to keep up with how these words and groups define themselves “officially” the whole architecture of human evolution changing so fast now. It seems to me. That everyone is everything. So I’m confused as to all this hate and stupidity.

I have a trans friend I’m thinking about who actually had the surgery to really change physically and she identified with her masculine side still as well. We could relate that we both felt like both at various times. And why not?
I think all these distinctions need to blur more rather than less in order for us to find peace in this realm and I think the key to it is the populist to start to be more open to their authentic selves to the sides of themselves they maybe repressing and to learn that you can be many people in many different ways. And in many different days. Identity doesn’t need to stagnate and I don’t think gender roles should be expected to either. And I think the trans community could maybe be less sensitive. To those of us authentically trying to understand the structures or if there are any. For instance I’m afraid to post this now. Not for what the straights in my life will think. But for what the kinda terrifying (to me because will I offend?!?) LGBQT community as well. A community let’s just say I’ve passed the audition for.
So I shouldn’t be scared!!! It’s my community too damn it!

So that’s why this ban makes my blood boil. Because it’s drawing the line in stronger. It’s separating more. It’s making people who maybe feel awkward about certain confusing aspects of themselves to feel more afraid and that way instead of less. It helps lead people back into the shadows rather than out of them.
It’s also just obviously to me anyway a misdirection of the part of Daffy Duck. He knows we’re all gonna go apeshit talking about this. Instead of paying attention to the other ways he’s looting the free world.
The free world.

Let’s just be a free world

Let’s just be

Let’s just be free

Let’s keep rocking



In the free world.




2017/07/26

ECHOMAZE : 2017-07-26 All That Jazz


All that Jazz.
I saw it tonight for the first time. My friend invited me to the film forum.
I thought I had seen it.

“Is that that one with Barbara Streisand?”
I didn’t know what I was in for.
Reading the reviews (after the fact) knocked the wind out of my perspective on the film tho. It won some academy awards and other awards. And yet reading the reviews on Rotten Tomatoes tells a different story. When you read the bad reviews It seems like everyone is mad at it. That’s how you’d call it. The reviewers don’t dislike it so much as seem too take personal umbrage with it.
One reviewer wrote one that went on the whole time like this.
“By the time the film is over, the movie has degenerated with a jaundiced vengeance. Fosse’s sour, grandstanding cynicism imposed an intolerable burden of self-pity on his talent, our compassion and the tradition of the backstage muscial.”
I was reading that going. What the fuck? Did we see the same movie?

Maybe I’m an idiot I started to think cause I thought it was one of the greatest movies I’ve ever seen. Why this rage at it? Why do they take it so personally? Is it because the main character is so obviously based on the director and is showing us his life as a womanizing speed freak director and choreographer where he never sorta “gets it” and makes light of death ,in a way, at the grand finale with bombastically musical numbers which frame his surrender from this mortal coil?
I kept reading other info on the film

and on Wikipedia it said that when Stanley Kubrick saw it he said he thought it was maybe the best movie he’s ever seen.
Ok great I’m not a total moron then.

So what’s this disconnect? On one side we have actual rage at this film. I still don’t get that.

It’s like they’re mad at the main character and taking it out on the film. Because the main character is kind of a piece of shit.
So because the character it depicts is based on the real life guy

And in this tale. He tells his tale about chasing tail until his heart does bail.
And he does this with humor and panache
Yes it’s about a wretch living a wretched life for the most part. But I saw a story about a guy who might make it. Who had a lot of real love around him played by the woman who were angels of light in my eyes. The character of His daughter especially. To me these characters floated around him like the hope he could be redeemed. The fact that he had them meant there was a chance.
Spoiler alert.
I don’t mind that the ending was not a happy one. It was a stretch of the imagination. Those musical numbers in front of him on his death bed escorting him beyond.

I watch stuff like that and I marvel at the creativity behind it. The fact that Mr. Fosse is digging deep to reveal himself. The ugliness of his life and state of mind. Is something I totally appreciate. Think of as brave and totally inspiring and even fun.

I don’t take my judgements of the main character (based on the real life man or not) and then superimpose them on top of the whole film.
What else explains the real disconnect in people’s perceptions of this work?
I mean the rage from this reviewer which I saw reflect in quite a few. Even the really good ones called it self indulgent.
Because it’s about a self?

What movie isn’t about a self?
Who gives a fuck if the self is really directing it or not?
Would Indiana Jones be self indulgent if it was directed by a guy named Indiana Jones?

Or would it still be fun as hell?

Personally I think it would still be fun as hell.
But these reviewers get so mad because the character is a wretch and in the end finds no redemption really. Just an exit. Their mad. They take it personally.
Excuse me Mr. Reviewer. Movies aren’t real. Stop being so mad.
So it would be more like if silence of the lambs was directed by Hannibal lector.
No cant be that. Cause then it would a film about a murderer who eats people and then if the director was the guy it was based on. In that case I could see giving it an angry review or two.
If the self indulgent card wasn’t bad enough they gave him that uppercut known as the misogyny card. Calling the film itself misogynistic. Like in that angry way. Mad at that film.

But

It’s a film about a womanizer. It’s not a film saying it’s great to be a womanizer. I think the end underlines that fact.

Yes we know the director is letting us know that he is basing this lost soul character. Played amazingly by the Ryan Gosling of the 70’s

Roy Schneider (dude resembles him in this) but just cause it’s based on him why take it out on the art? The arts not the artist. No matter how personal. It’s art!
The review rage continues
“Gideon is portrayed as a notorious womanizer incapable of being comforted by the largely adoring women who surround him. How seriously should we take his self-doubting remarks about “not being good enough”? Why does he find it so much easier to derive inspiration from a death-wish than the emerging beauty and nimbleness of his little girl? It’s difficult to escape the conclusion that Gideon’s form of show-biz egotism, presented as a gallant response to a high-pressue existence, is not only self-deceiving and hateful but also artistically crippling. “All That Jazz” might have been called “Bob Fosse’s Heart of Darkness.”

Lady tone it down a notch.

It’s a movie.

“Presented as a gallant response”??? We didn’t see the same movie. In the movie I saw the guy died a stupid death and lost it all from this behavior. Lost all that could have been real and the chance to redeem it. You see that as gallant???

People get so crazy about this shit it’s wild.
I mean

don’t like a movie.

That’s fine. But damn. This shit got personal.
I guess he made it personal. Bob Fosse I mean.

But I guess this disconnect in perception is real interesting to me.
It seems like whenever anyone goes outside the box into inspired and a bit mad creativity. They get hit with the self indulgent card. But if you make more conventional type shit. Then that’s ok. That’s not self indulgent. I think Bob gave it to them on a platter. Because he did that. And presented himself in a mostly unlikable albeit sorta charming way. Blueprint to garner the vitriol of certain types I guess.
He

Went deep and far into fun inspirations played off really well. So much beauty and fineness. That the make up was like paintings across glittery chorus line dancers heaving to strange beats and cuts.

And then head first into savage comedy. Sex and drugs. And love that’s sweet between him and his little girl.
But it’s the story of an addict losing his battle against addiction.
That’s all it is at the base of it.
I guess that’s the dead in the water moral of the story

And so for people who can’t fill in blanks it becomes a document of rage and self aggrandizement rolled into one. Just an ugly thing according to them.
But it’s art. It’s not real life. Even tho it’s based on real life to the point where Mr. Fosse died of a heart attack eight short years later.
But still the film is a film. Don’t be mad at it cause you don’t like the choices the maker of it made in his real life. Because it’s
So clearly a cinema masterpiece.
Over all it’s reviews are positive I guess.

It has 85 on rotten tomatoes

But when you go there. There’s just like four green bad tomatoe reviews and one or two red ones. Some Good ones. And then a fan saying it’s the best movie he’s ever seen.

He agrees with me and Stanley Kubrick I Guess?
The reviewer goes on…
“Gideon’s stripper trauma, which may or may not explain the curious streak of misogyny in this movie, surfaces again when poor Joe is in the hospital. What finally sends the old Ticker into distress is the sight of a TV reviewer (played by New York TV reviewer Chris Chase) mercilessly panning his new movie. She is the only one who hasn’t raved.

Is Fosse really telling us that he’d find it unbearable to be panned by, say, Rona Barrett? Some heroic resilience. Were Fosse’s feelings hurt by the failure of a movie critic like Pauline Kael to rave about “Lenny” or the failure of a dance critic like Arlene Croce to rave about “Chicago”? Their opinions would matter.”

No lady. Fosse is not telling us that. What Fosse is doing is making art out of his life. His life has things in it like tv reviewers not understanding his art similar to how you don’t. And then he has to watch them rip apart something he has actually died for. Clearly he’s not defending his character in anyway. And none of that really matters if he were. Because he’s turning the bullshit of his life. Self created and otherwise into art. Into something which may be self indulgent to you. But to me reflected my journey so accurately that I couldn’t stop laughing. I thought it was hysterical. And then more than once I thanked God that I escaped that fate. That trap thats easy for artists to fall into. It’s a cautionary tale. Not a celebration of debauchery. But partying is fun. There is fun in it. It’s stupid to act like it’s not fun. It’s a nightmare in the end. But there is some good times on the way.

The trap of speed. Drugs. The allure of an easy escape which makes itself easy for you to fall into and the delusions that go with it. The toxic souls that drive you down along side with it. Your own soul. Your addict soul leading the charge. The trap of speed. The speed trap of extra energy that can maybe give you that competitive edge. That horrible lie that apparently did much to do Mr. Fosse in. The fact that he has this document. Or that we do, is a sad form of genius. But genius just the same.
What’s that quote about if you really tell your story. You tell everyone’s story. I guess that quote needs to be amended. To something like.
If you tell your story. You tell everyone’s story. Provided everyone has the imagination to meet you there half way.

Apparently Stanley Kubrick did. But hey that 2001 space oddity film was mad self indulgent so he can’t be trusted. Don’t get me started on the shining.
I knew I shouldn’t have googled it before I wrote about it. Because I wouldn’t have thought it had received reviews like that at all. I like when art gets personal. I think that’s when it’s it’s best.
So something like Star Wars. Is that egomaniacal too? I honestly am asking. I don’t know. Doesn’t a film always reflect the director? When is art not egomaniacal? Isn’t it always on some level an expression of self? John Lennon got hammered with that with the plastic ono band album because it was all about himself and his life. But that’s why I like it. I don’t listen to that and go. This guy. He keeps going on and on about himself. No. I listen to that an identify my own journey with John’s and just love John Lennon. Doesn’t everyone?

Was Shakespeare an ego maniac? Who did he think he was ? Shakespeare or some shit?

It’s not egomaniacal if it’s fiction but is if it’s not? Is My Dinner with Andre egomaniacal? I mean the writer of that must’ve really liked how he thinks. Must have gotten off on it.

But I like the way that writer thinks too. So

Should he have not written that cause it would come off as ego?

That would suck. Cause then we wouldn’t have My Dinner With Andre.
The self indulgent criticism is a tricky one.

If a story is big across many characters like game of thrones then it’s not ego? But if it’s personal and small it is?

If the story is about a redeemable character that learns his lesson at the end then we can like it. But if it’s about a wretch who doesn’t make it. It’s ugly?
I’m just trying to understand the disconnect.

I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Or the projector.
I projected hope onto this hopeless story I guess. I saw the woman as signs of hope for his character rather than an indictment against him.
And the title. All That Jazz.
The title that prevented me from seeing it all these years.
(I thought it was a musical about jazz staring Barbera Streisand)
But the title. Came right before he met his maker.

Said by the tv host introducing him for the final big musical number about his demise.
The tv announcer talked about his mediocre career and attempts. (In fact totally Self depreciating and funny as hell)
I’m paraphrasing but
The tv announcer while announcing him and framing the mediocrity of his art,

said that he sacrificed real life. Real people. Real love.

All that jazz.

For it.
All that jazz.
The title proves my point. The title he gave the whole film. Which isn’t about jazz at all.
All that jazz.
Everything showbiz is not.
All that jazz.
All the real

He never arrived at.
The most important aspect of the film is the title. And I think Bob Fosse knew what he was doing and knew what he was saying.
And it spoke volumes to me.
The big regret. All that jazz.

Everything that was real. Everything that he lost. Everything he never had.

All that jazz.
Hardly the stuff of an empty headed egoist.
So if he was (let me paraphrase the long winded take down review/reviews in a sentence)

a tired hack who’s lost up his own backside (and what an ugly backside that is)

If he was

Just that.



I doubt it would have inspired the hell out of me. Or Stanley Kubrick.



2017/07/25

ECHOMAZE : 2017-07-25 To Make Peace With The Batman


Or
And From On High
Or
The Caped Crusader.
Adam West.
What’s the moral of the story?

You have to transcend “fair”

And embrace what is.
Adam West was as good looking as the big ones in his day. The Steve McQueen I mean. The Clint Eastwood. A couple others in that time in the Hollywood system. Contemporaries of which he was at least their equal in terms of potential. The magic elixir of looks and charm and that off beat thing which makes up a movie star.
Adam had that at that level. At least had the right part

Come his way

the picture could have been different.
But some of us deal with bats.

And Adam West was Batman.
The original. The real. The classic.
Na da da da Na da na da na da na da na da na da BATMAN!
It’s a story about sour grapes converted.
The doc I watched on him was a bit of a puff piece. Hardly the stuff of the Evel Knievel doc. Where they ultimately embraced and loved the man but showed some real darkness.

I guess with his that was much more difficult to avoid. It becomes that way when you do shit like break your biographers arms with a bat. Who’s bat man around here anyway Evel? We only need one Batman and we got him. His name is Adam West.
In Evels doc we see a man who literally got broken by his ego. And in old age regretted it. Wanted to set it straight. But those pins were already in those bones.
In Batman. Or Adam West we get a guy who figured it out before it was too late.
Before he lost the family. And the plot. Or least forever more.
They skirted over his dark night of the soul. Just a single black and white shot of the man in black and white. Wearing a ridiculous mustache. Cut thin like a villain.

And slits for eyes that have that wet reflection inside which screams from a ledge on high “hey I’m fucked up”

They skirted over it.

For 20 years he was a bitter drunk I guess? Am I wrong about that? Y’all skirted thru that so fast I missed it and now I’m assed out for accuracy and it’s blog thirty.

Let’s say twenty years. They spent about 20 seconds on those 20 years.

Book ended by a story about a young and beautiful actor who had the raw potential to become an over night sensation.

Once he went in for an audition on the Warner Brothers lot. They wouldn’t let him leave. He was in a bunch of westerns. Then things dried up. Dried up a lot. And then came Batman. The roll of a lifetime.

His excuse. His legacy. His success. His doorway both into and out of a world of opportunity that didn’t all the way match up with the course he saw for himself.
Cut to. Those twenty seconds. Those twenty years. That thin mustache which says loudly and from on high again. “I’m the creep here”
But Adam is no creep. Not by a long way. That’s why I wish they would have taken the gloves off a bit more.
There was a story about a car crash and the family is interviewed and acknowledged and acknowledging that shit got real. But still. The dark part in the story of Batman is glazed over.
I guess that’s fair. They do go into it. They do show that picture. Now that I’m really thinking about it. They let me know it happened. You can leave the rest up to your imagination and the guy does seem to be genuine and cool and smart and funny and decent and warm. That all seems totally real and I totally believe it.
That’s why they could have given us a shocking tale or two more rather than just leave it to the general. He got drunk for twenty years. Crashed a car. And probably screwed a bunch of people. “Probably ?” They didn’t say that. That’s my word. My riff. They didn’t talk about that. Much.
But what else do you do when on a twenty year drunk. Good looking and famous in Hollywood? The mustache says it all. The mustache might as well be saying and from on high. Again.

“Hey I’ve screwed every hottie in Hollywood”

But again I forgive the filmmakers their choice here. And I’m totally protecting. And Dude still has his family. And he all the way made good and came clean. So…
(Side note his kids are hot. I mean as adults you perv. The daughter is drop dead gorgeous and the son can do his thing as well. No significance whatsoever in this side note but to high five Adam west’s kids for their hotness. )
The daughter led the way to get him his obviously (like insanely obviously by ANY DEFINITION) deserved star on the Hollywood walk of fame.

Please…they were trying to hold out on Batman? And on that huckster train of a monument. Let’s just say there a faded stars a plenty on that walk of fame. And they were holding out on a legend? With legions of followers and legacy of a massive industry based on a character he was the originator of? The best Batman for sure. Not even close. That low voice. The campiness. The humor. The sexual ambiguity. Batman in Adam West’s hands became what it became.

So easy and natural. So perfect his characterization of this bat obsessive man who loved gadgets and fought crime.
And that costume. (I’m not giving him the credit there. I doubt he designed. Who knows maybe he had a hand. Probably not) but those lines on the mask. They make it strange.

That whole colorful Batman world. Those electric purples and fluorescent greens. The penguin. The riddler. The joker.
The joker.

Why is he the one?

The villain of those genius line of villains.

A list of villains that easily set your mind ablaze in all kinds of ways.

Why is he the villain which does that the most?
The joker.
Narcs are all jokers.

“I’m just kidding. Don’t be so sensitive. It’s a joke”
Many a truth is said in jest.

But this ain’t a piece on the joker.
It’s a piece on the best.

It’s a piece on Adam West.
I love documentaries.
(Side note watch ‘documentary now’ It’s funny as shit. The first season anyway.)
I love docs cause they usually inspire.

Evel’s was better in just straight up doc terms. It’s easier when the subject is gone and it’s easier to avoid puffiness when the subject has done time and shit like that.
But we all do time one way or another.

I would have liked to have seen the inside of Adams cell a bit more clearly.
I mean the mustache and eyes say a lot. And from on high. In that flash. But it’s not enough if you want that fully formed feeling the Evel doc gives. You. About a man in total.

None of us have totally pretty stories.

They just don’t make them that way on the planet called earth.

None of us get off Scott free. None of us have avoided trying on that mustache and looking thru those bleary eyes.
Some don’t get their eyes that way thru the bottle. For some those eyes come just from letting go of the real.
You can let go of the real in a whole lot of ways. The bottle is just a straight up way. An upfront way. A way where you’re not even hiding it anymore. The disillusionments.
Adam couldn’t get a role after Batman.
And wound up on the huckster circuit. He went back to Evels “Honda jump” days.
But after riding the crest at the very top of the Hollywood waves.
The mustache starts to make sense now. So do the faraway eyes.

That’s a tough road. The road of big success and back into the huckster circuit.

I know something about that. I know a thing or two about those type of feelings.
(Sidenote to the kids and the one thing that bugged me. About what they said. It was in talking about the days when Adam was back on the Honda circuit.

The circuit of going to fairs dressed as Batman. Malls and what not. Driving a car thru a wall. Did I get that right? It flashed to the daughter and she said. Something judgmental about it. On the surface it was a totally fair judgment. But for those of us who grind it out in show business. Those of us who still deal with the Honda circuit. It sounded a bit a judgy. (She was still mad hot when she was saying it tho. )

But she said she thought it was sad that someone would do that or think they would have to do that to make a living. There was some acknowledgement that that’s just what it takes. And from what I can see the daughter loves her dad to the end of the moon and seems to be nothing but the brightest of lights so I’m not making a judgment on her judgment. And like I said it’s a fair judgment. The Honda circuit sucks. It’s no ones idea of a good time. But don’t take the dignity from it child. That’s not for you to do. We don’t take the dignity from the miners. Or the factory workers. Nor should we for those of us who have to clown on the Honda circuit.

He did his time there. And not only that. He does his time there. He meets his fans. And enjoys the exchanges.
The best part of the doc for me was these two things.
When he converted it all.

When he realized he could pay attention to what was

rather than letting the mustached villain run the show any longer

with his diatribe about how unfair it had all been.

Adam could have been Clint.

Adam could have been Steve.

That’s what he wanted. And he could have had that. Had things only gone a little different. If only the bat hadn’t shown up.
Isn’t it funny how the things that define us can victimize us this way. The things that make us have the power to break us too.
I know something about that too.
My show biz. It’s made me in ways. But it’s the architecture that brought me down.

Fame is a funny thing. A transitory thing. Even within it. If you’re embraced by it for a time.

Right with it

comes the pressure

to keep it.

And there in lies the rub.
You can’t really get comfortable in that. And it confuses your judgement like nobodies business.

For instance you won’t find an accurate mirror. The world is full of hucksters glamoring you as you glamour them and why throw a monkey wrench when the party is in full swing? When everything’s clicking. When the world is your oyster. Why knock it? Why question it ?
Why question it when the party rolls? Life’s interferences don’t touch you up there. At least not how they do down here.

When the stars are shining you ain’t pawning your gear.
I’m not Batman. But I live in a bat cave. A fortress of gadgets which protect me and are specifically designed to fight crime hey come to think of it. I do have a body suit which fits me like a glove and is ultra functional. Oh who am I kidding. It’s mad FUNctional.
(Side note. I’m typing all this thru a cracked screen. So the words splinter and then don’t know what they mean. Happy means sad. On this broken gadg.

Et. ‘S screen)
Maybe I am the caped crusader after all.
I’m afraid of bats tho.
I ain’t gonna lie.

Never road a motorcycle and I’m afraid of bats.

I got the campy sexual ambiguity thing going pretty good tho. The deep voice. Not exactly a square jaw. But hey Michael Keaton made good. He was def second best. To Adam west. And I’m a fan of Christian Bale too. I’ve watched that Batman most of all. The one where Heath is the joker.
I met Heath once. It was a New York hip dinner thing. Other famous people. Whenever I’m in scenes like that I feel like the faker. Not the joker but the faker
Did I just come up with a new villain in Batman land? I believe I did.
The faker.
(Side note. I’m not a comic book nerd so if there is already a faker don’t get your panties in a twist. To me I’m just making it up)
I think the faker wears bright orange. With black trim. An homage to holloween. His dark power is that everything he does is fake. The faker. His power is that tho he is completely fake he can make anyone believe him. So deep is his charm. So seemingly rich his character. The faker.
In my fantasy play Batman faces the faker.

The faker makes Batman believe that he is the Batmans friend. And a great friend. A true friend. And trusted friend. The Batman still being a man and susceptible to the fakers charms just like any of us would be. Blindly trusts the faker who sets Batman up time and time again. All the while never letting on that he’s behind it. Using batmans blind trust against him. and remaining convincing that whatever suspicion batman might have. Are simply products of his own worn down perception. But not actually real or valid. The faker. A worthy opponent indeed. (Yes I know. I’m making an obvious comparison here to npd. Duh)
But in those situations

I feel like the faker. Because I always feel like I’m outta my league in some kinda way. It’s weird cause I have a big ego. Duh. But also a fractured one. Duh. I guess they’re the same thug. Duh.

Heath was cool tho. He had that same thing. I could kinda tell. And he sat next to me and so we ate dinner together and got to chat. He was a sweetheart. At least he was to me that night. Rest In Peace Heath.
His joker

Goddamn.

His joker is the one that sears into the mind.

His joker was the real deal.

It’s tempting to think it killed him. The romance of art and all. But I don’t think that’s what did it. Just dumb pill shit.

When I think of all the pills I swallowed without a second thought. All the booze I washed those pills down with. All the speed I took to keep it going. It’s a miracle that that fate didn’t find me. I’ve woken up more than once surprised to wake up at all. Surprised after the fact. I was never angling for suicide. That’s not how it goes when the party is flowing and you’re just looking for one more crest to ride. One more wave to catch and come crashing down with and in. It. Her. Them. Whoever. Whatever. 20 years Adam west. That mustache those eyes. You escaped it too. That early demise.

Thank God for that.

You seem such a sweet man. And you’re family too. (Insensitive judgments aside )
Adam got his star.

Of course he did. But I love the way Hollywood made him bleed for it. I love the way they made his family beg for it.

Or actually more accurately display their wide and deserving love of the man and their dedication to make sure he is done right by. For it.

So why do I love that Hollywood made him pay blood for their superficial honor?

Because I love struggle. I love stories. I love drama. And I love the spirit that gets provoked when the world decides to bitchslap you.
I fill in the backstory. My imagination goes wild on a seed like that pic of him they flashed for instant. The dark Adam. The Batman we don’t like to know about.
And so I invent a back story. Where his shenanigans are what’s lead to this wild stonewalling of the walk of fame.
He got his star. And it was a celebration. But the shadow of why and how they made him wait looms over the bat cave still.
That story never gets told. And maybe there’s no story there. But what else explains it?
The acting community
Never took him seriously. Or didn’t for a long time. After the meteoric rise of the Batman.

After the burn out. The pudge. The Honda circuit.
He moved all the way out of Hollywood. Into the mountains
And just like all great Buddhist

Warriors. Discovered the spirit of the mountains within. And transcended that dark Adam. Beat the mustache out of Adam the mountains did. The Batman slipping back into his real costume.
But funnily enough it was then that he slipped out of the costume.
It was then where the real interesting part of the story transpires.
When he discovered his authentic self. When he no longer allowed himself to be defined by the horrendous cartoon structures of show business. But rather allowed himself to be defined by the mountains. And his family.
He then decided to have fun with what was.
To make peace with the Batman.



He made the leap. The leap of faith.
He took off the costume.
He finally presented himself just as he was.
And the fans and the world and his family and himself embraced him for it all the more.





ECHOMAZE : 2017-07-25 These Were The Days When It Was Still Possible To Be An Honest Thief


Or

Evel Knievel

I just finished the doc about him on amazon

I love Johnny Knoxville. He’s so weird and cool. I don’t know him at all. But he’s one of those guys I gravitate towards. Didn’t know why. The jackass shit is funny and cool to me but I was always a step removed from shenanigans like that. I don’t think of myself as daredevil.
(But this blog is like that to me. A real chance I took. )
Evel tried to jump a mile long canyon on a steam powered rocket with some Makeshift parachute which deployed upon take off. Rumor had it that he pulled the lever on take off. But the doc shows different. Who knows?

That doesn’t matter.

The part that matters is that he had the idea to do that and went thru with it.

That total break from sanity or convention.
What makes a guy willing to be Evel?
He was abandoned as a boy. Brought up by the grandparents. He was a great salesman.

Before that he was a thief who got away on his motorcycle. He road a wheelie almost all the time. When no one else did that. That alone got him crowds early on. Created a stir.

Talk about a four minute mile.

Now a days

You could randomly see a whole group of bikers on rice rockets dart up a highway on nothing but their back wheel. Doing other tricks too. Going about 120 mph.

All over America.

They’d look cool doing it too. Probably stay in total control and cause no harm to anyone at all. Just provide a little bit of excitement. Usually. …
But the point is when Evel did it. It was as rare as a diamond. No one had thought to do it. Or at least do it riding up and down the Vegas strip.

The wheelie

time would show

was somewhat easy (I suppose with practice I mean for how common it is. Personally I’ve never ridden a motorcycle once. Just on the back once with Mike. And that scared the fuck out of me. He was a sweet dude. Ended up getting shot and killed somewhere in Akron. Random shit. May he Rest In Peace. Thank you Mike. I still remember that ride. It was fun as hell)
But the wheelie was evidently another case of the four minute mile.
After being a thief and selling insurance at a clip. He quit all that and set up shop selling Honda motorcycles. To get business he started setting up jumps. The first one over snakes and panthers.
This fucking guy. Who thinks of this shit?

Even now in the extreme sports world which makes Evels jumps seem small and even Amateur. None outside of Knoxville have those kind of flairs. People are doing bonkers amazing death defying shit. Shit Evel couldn’t have dreamed of because the bikes that could do it. Didn’t yet exist. Someone has jumped an entire football field and landed it. But not on a Harley.

Evel did it all on a Harley. A big ole fucking heavy as shit. Harley. He was making up this entire industry. He made that shit up. The forefather of extreme sports. That’s a big legacy.

He blew that snake and cheetah Jump on the Honda and snakes went flying thru the crowd.
Evel could frame a story. Story tellers are rare. A steam rocket over a canyon? No ones tried that again. Not yet.
I’m writing you the cliff notes of the doc I just saw. I’m reiterating in my way exactly what the doc was saying. These aren’t my brilliant insights.

The doc was mad inspiring tho.

He became a thug of his ego but came clean at the end. Lived long. (After all that throwing to fate. Dude lived to be a ripe old age). Lots of pain from all the broken bones. It’s not fully a happy ending by any stretch but what ending here is fully happy? Not sure that’s in the cards.
What I’m interested in nowadays tho is those that dare the impossible. We need them here now.

I think it’s a good time to think about Evel Knievel again.

Listening to Knoxville talk about him makes me realize why I like or am drawn to Knoxville. We connect on the spirit of Knievel. I’m roughly the same age as him so the part where him and his crew were talking about loving and worshipping Evel back in the day brought back my own memories. I worshipped Evel too. I just thought because of the motorcycle and the jumps. But now I see it differently. It was probably communicating to me about hope for the future. That the seemingly impossible could maybe be possible. And how daring the impossible can define you in the best of ways.
Freeing my voice up here has been like riding a steam rocket across a canyon. At least for me. And let me put to rest right here and now to the rumor that I pulled the make shift parachute early or not. Cause I did. And the rocket landed in the canyon just like with Evel. But just like with Evel. I survived and I lived to jump another day. Another way. This time back on the Harley and over a shit ton of buses.
The song Ghost Riding was about that spirit. The spirit of jumping and trashing your bike. Risking it all for hit of the air and adrenaline.
So why did he do it? Why did he do what had never been done? How did he surpass the chorus of naysayers along the way. Along the whole way?
Fuck knows?
But my guess is it’s cause he couldn’t stand the status quo.

Was revolted by it. Repulsed. At war with it. Look at his history.

A motorcycle thief no cop could catch. These were the days when it was still possible to be an honest thief.
(Maybe even chewing on a cocoa leaf )
Then he was kick ass at selling insurance but made a wild leap to become Vice President or some shit. The boss said no so he bailed.

Left a big career. Just like that.

If it was gonna be status quo well then he had to go. Not wasting much time. Mr. Knievel.

I wasted a shit ton. But as fate would have it. I’m somehow still young. Younger than my years. That’s for sure. Looking at Evel when he was 38. Looked like he was a 58 year old nowadays. People got older quicker back then. I think that’s a result of mass consciousness deciding basically what ages are supposed to look like. Stem cells define us and we implant on them the narratives in our minds. So if we all walk around thinking 38 is supposed to look like 58. It will. How else do you reason that people just do look a whole lot younger in general than the year by year comparison of say the 70’s. Right?

I’m not talking about me here. Or just me. I’m talking about everyone.

But that’s a digression based on vanity. The worst kind of party foul. Excuse moi v.

So after he left the insurance racket. He found Honda and the snake jump and the rest is history.
And at war with the status quo.

Ok motivated to make a buck. Sure. But he coulda got rich in any number of ways as his early life was certainly showing. So why the death defying stunts? Which half the time he wrecked in chaotically dramatic ways. A showman to the core.

What motivated it?

Not just simple thrill seeking. This was extreme. None of it had ever been imagined much less done.
I believe for it to have gone off the way it did. That he must of had a purpose driven motivation behind it. Maybe a sense that he wanted to inspire.

He conned his way on a big sports abc show. The wide world of sports. Con is a strong word and possibly not totally accurate but for flow let’s keep moving. And then became a huge star over night after trying to jump the fountains of ceasers palace in Vegas. And wrecking so fucking hard. The footage of which is legendary. The slow mo of his front wheel not quite reaching the ramp. And then him going over the bars. Breaking his pelvis. And sixty yards across that vegas parking lot. Like one of those dummy’s they use in crash test cars. His body seemed to float fall across the pavement in a kind of beautiful way. Like a dance of chaos. The bike still his dancing partner tangoing just behind and in perfect step. To land on some breaking leg. Just when the drummer hits the splash.

Pttschhh !
Or maybe that was just the slow mo?

Nah. Something special about how dude crashed. I’ve seen other daredevils crash. None crashed like him. His crashes were insane. A man truly leaving it to fate. No question about it.

To look at the rocket that misfired. Looked like it was built in some nerds garage on the wrong side of the tracks. It wasn’t the stuff of fancy extreme sport nowadays. It was hodgepodge as fuck. They were making that shit up. He put his buddy in a white coat and told the crowd he was a vet when he did the Honda snake jump. He was inventing an industry. Running four minute miles every other day.
You can’t do all that just cause you want to make a buck. I’m sorry I just don’t think you can. You don’t get inspired like that. Somewhere between genius and madness if your soul purpose is to make a buck.
He was flashy with his money. And was a charlatan with the ladies. No kind of saint. But that’s not what Evel was here for. To be a saint I mean. He fulfilled his purpose and it was a huge one. And not for the industry he left behind either. But for the idea.



The idea that it’s possible to do the impossible.




ECHOMAZE : 2017-07-25 Letters To A Young Hacker


Or

Life Begins At Self Expression

Or

It’s Ok To Be Wherever You Are At
Or
‘How do you reflect against the council of the world? ‘

I’ve got no idea what that sentence means but as I was trying to meditate it kept coming up.
How do you reflect against the council of the world?
Does that even mean anything? I don’t know

I just love the way it sounds and what it implies.
I lost it during the meditation. Couldn’t remember the sentence and had a little panic. As it led me into a train of thought I couldn’t have found otherwise. And I knew because it was to me (at least consciously and at least for now) a sentence that really didn’t make sense. At least not on its own.



How do you measure up against the council of the world?
A meaning is coming into focus now.
How do you measure up against a cacophony of naysayers ?

I empowered myself.
I didn’t really mean too. What I meant to do was have my basic rights back. Was have my truth known and documented. And to stand by it. For better or for worse.

I told a friend yesterday that no matter the result. At least I had gotten real. My perceptions are what they are. A single view. My perceptions. That’s it. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Crazy how we have to fight the bloodiest of battles just for that. Just so your perception can stand as an equal among other perceptions.

And…

Let’s not pretend that that

isn’t the blood sport

that it most certainly is.
It takes great courage to stand by your perception of things. To stand naked along side your perception of things.
Your singular and insular perspective of things.
Look no further than your cracked phone to see the very cracks in your perception of things.
And yet

Try not voicing those things. Try not standing by them. What kind of cracked perspective do you slip into when that becomes your habit?
You slip into the cracked perception of others.
And who are those others? Who are those others that are wildly invested in you seeing the perspective of their cracked perspective? In the over all perspective of things.
How do you stand up against the council of the world?
I love trans people. I think of them as a kind of ideal. At least one my ideals. (My ideals change frequently in this realm.)
They are the essence of not fitting in but also being secretly (and not so secretly) admired by many both sexually and otherwise.
I count myself among them.

And not just admiring them. But as identifying myself as one of them.
The mix up of gender. Man or woman. I very much think of myself as female in spirit. And male in spirit as well. I love my female side. That side of me is hot. But I can be a big bad ass alpha male too.
And why should there be shame in that?

There shouldn’t be. We all know that. And yet there is.
I don’t even wanna write this because.
I know it’s gonna be good and have cool insights that I’m gonna be dying to share and yet…. look how writing will trick me yet again. Yet again make me more naked.

Fuck you writing. Fuck you.
But writing gave me power back. My voice. Empowered me.
I don’t mean as any reflection in my standing in society. I mean just in how the universe within me now has room to expand and explore itself.
Life begins at self expression.
I should write a book called

Letters to a young hacker.

A writer music critic friend of mine and I considered writing a book together in the spirit of Rilke’s biggie. ‘Letters To A Young Poet. ‘
But whereby I give rock N roll wisdoms instead of poetry ones. Ain’t they the same tho? I think so.
As a bi sexual. Queer. Whatever the word is.
Things are in flux. Attractions change. Sometimes I think oh I’m gay and like that I become entranced by women again. Always actually. But I get confused. My sexuality is a confusing thing. I’m learning to be ok with that.

It’s been hard won that.

But eliminating toxic shame out of that equation is the key.

Cause when you eliminate toxic shame

What you can deal with

What becomes present

Is healthy shame.

The shame that keeps your game in check without damning you for whatever you happen to dig at that moment. No judgment. No fucking judgment. Between healthy adults. It’s whatever. Be careful but it’s whatever. Enjoy. Get your thing on whatever that thing May be.
And with the elimination of toxic shame.

Sex I think just finds its proper place in your life.
Mine lately has been mostly non existent. Which serves me right now. It enables me to clear away the confusion and really consider what I actually want moving forward. Let me say that I still really don’t know. And I’m finally ok with that. It’s ok. To be wherever you’re at.
But that brings me back to my attraction to the transgender community.
They’ve embraced this surface level confusion to the point of making it a big part of their identity. And why shouldn’t they? I think it’s beautiful. And I think people shouldn’t find any shame in it whatsoever.
I shouldn’t have fear about writing this and posting it. But I do. But I won’t let that stop me.
Because it’s those very things which attract me to writing. Those reveals. You can’t manufacture them but you don’t need to. You simply need to embrace your authentic self and give that self voice and then stand back.
How do you stand up against the council of the world?
That sentence is making more sense all the time.
In my neighborhood now. I’m embraced.
I think it’s cause in the absence of having a traditional family for going on a year now. The world becomes your family. Where as I once walked thru the neighborhood (protected or so I thought) by some kind of cloud.
I don’t walk thru the neighborhood like that anymore.
Now I’m open to the people and the scenes around me. Looking for warmth where I can find it. The way a starving man looks thru a dumpster for a scrap to eat.
But it’s not a greedy approach and that analogy is too dark for what I mean but still it reflects the point.
In great need. It’s natural to re approach life. And when the old approach has leveled you. Well then what are you protecting? Who are you protecting at that point?

At that point

Why not stand naked? Why not embrace your actual self? Why not let the world see who that actual self is? And then carry on my wayward son.
In my neighborhood people just give me things now. It’s weird. I feel like it’s a reward for the writing I’m doing. It’s easy to feel that way. I often write in front of them. My morning ritual. Going to get coffee and writing. But when I write. I go in. I get lost in it. It’s not unusual for me to sit at that coffee shop or on a bench near by it and write for two hours at a clip. Like everyday. And when I write I get emotional. Often I cry. I cried when I wrote that piece on Batman. It doesn’t even have to be wildly personal for it to evoke emotion in me. Writing is deep practice that I take seriously. It’s introducing me to me.
But when I cry I don’t make displays of it.

The tears all on there own just fall from my eyes like tiny streams. In silence. Just a flood hits. And then you know you’re tapping in. Something essential is happening and you don’t know what it is but you follow it. Dogs will come up to me and sit down like I was their owner when I write. Like the energy it gives off. Some kind of light.

Mrs. Lee walks by and says “I’m gonna make you a Greek coffee. Then she comes out and gives it to me. This is the lady who runs the bodega. I went to for years. Locked in my addictions. I bought five million beers from Mrs. Lee.

I used to get confused looks from her and her sweet as can be husband. Mr. Lee. And rightfully so. I was a total mess.

But they embrace me now as if I was their family. And I feel that way about them too. I’m totally blessed.

Also the Mexican place where often I write on the bench outside.

Today writing about Batman for a couple hours. One of the girls from the Mexican restaurant came out and just gave me food. Surprise she said. And handed me a bag. Taken aback I said thank you. That’s so sweet.
But shit like this is happening more and more. I’m not saying it to brag but im saying it to pinpoint that cliche that if you smile at the world. The world will smile back at you. We communicate thru energy. The words are secondary.
I couldn’t stomach another lie. Another false approach. I never meant to be false but I was. Not all the way of course. But just a lot of the way. I didn’t know better. The toxic shame wasn’t allowing me to really embrace who I was. The toxic shame eliminated too the healthy shame. And that’s what leads to self destruction on steroids.
That’s your powder keg right there.

The toxic shame.

Isn’t saying

You did a shitty thing.

The toxic shame says. You are a shitty thing. The absence of healthy shame. Means the wheels are off the tracks and your behavior becomes unhinged and then the toxic shame is reinforced and reinforced hard. It’s not even lying to you anymore. You actually are now a shitty thing. A piece of shit. But you don’t mean to be. You’re just running like hell away from yourself. And that’s doing all the work of being a piece of shit for you.

I hope I haven’t offended trans people here in anyway. I know it’s a sensitive realm to discuss. But can I offend trans people if I count myself among them? Shouldn’t I now be offended at whatever I said?

I am.



It’s all offensive.
It’s offensive to my old perception of myself. It’s super offensive to that. But luckily for me. I’m no longer in the business of protecting that guy with the false ways he thinks he needs protected. I’m in the business of showing him just how wrong he was about all that. And that he never needed to be ashamed of who he was at all.



2017/07/24

ECHOMAZE : 2017-07-24 Based On Spirit More Than Blood


Based on spirit more than blood.

Ps to the last post.

It came shadow boxing. And I started “editing” it in the word press app. Wrote a ton and then my phone died and it was.
All gone.
So when I plugged it back in I gave y’all the version I didn’t write into. Or “edit”
I gave you the short lazy mans version. (Sorry about that)
And there was a part I just remembered that wanted to touch on.
It came in a comment I read in a YouTube recovery video.
(Side note to that. I don’t always look at those videos. But when the cognitive dissonance dials back up. You have to check back in to remind yourself that this shit is actually real. Being “right” about this stuff. Well… talk about a booby prize.

I’d practically rather be institutionalized than to be “right” about this. But I fear the institution ain’t where I belong)
In the comment a man said.

He broke thru when he stopped defining this or that. And just realized. And simply realized that many people just don’t operate in a healthy way. And to leave it as impersonal and as simple as that. Break thru advice he called it.
I get it. It is breakthrough advice. But

But

But

But

But what?

Well
Who the fuck is healthy?

Seriously

I’m out here on planet earth

And no offense to my readers who

I’m assuming are primarily human (one can’t be sure but)

So no offense to y’all

But

But

But

None of y’all are shining examples.

Not at least that I can see.

I’m not saying I’m one either.
But I know I’m not trying to fuck with anyone.

(And I know many of you aren’t either. But. But. But. )

That doesn’t mean I don’t. Accidentally of course.

And you could say

Yeah but aren’t you sometimes antagonistic in this writing.
Yes and no
I’m defending myself in this writing. This writing came because I was put into an impossible situation. I aided and abetted that situation like nobodies business. So I’m not an innocent. Let me repeat that. #noheroes.
And specifically I’m defending my expression.

And the forces I’m defending against are big. Dark forces. Forces that aren’t human but that use humans to turn expressions like mine silent.
When I say I’m Jesus’s bitch

It’s a fun way (to me anyway)

Of saying. I’ve chosen a side.
It’s the only side that would have me

And allow me

And encourage me

To be me.

To discover who that is.

Be that a bitch.

Be that a superhero.

Be that just a dude.

Be that a clown.
But on the side I chose
That side

Wants me to blow all the way up
To expand all the way.

And to encourage you to do the same.
Cause just as the forces that want my silence aren’t human

Neither is the expression they want to silence.

It’s a message I’m sent to give. That’s sounds crazy right? Maybe it is. Maybe I am.

If this was a peaceful life and time and people were just walking around minding their own business and just trying to love support and have fun.
And a lunatic came out. Saying all this garbage. Well

You’d be right to want to lock him up.
But is that what’s happening out there?

Is that how your life is?

Mine was very far from that
And the numbers?
They say what 20 percent? Have the simplest most basic version of NPd. Your NPD starter kit variety. 20 percent? (Seems low ball to me) Am I making that up?

And the psychopaths are one out of a hundred.

Which is still alarmingly high considering we are just now actually beginning to talk about what encountering one of these things is actually like.

I mean outside of ‘American Psycho’ land.

Outside of bloody murder I mean. More

Just the day to day hardcore destruction these things cause. Is what I’m talking about.

Psychopath free broke the doors all the way open and what’s that. Three years old? Five? I don’t know. It’s recent as fuck.
The bridge that has to be made. That is being made by blogs like this is.

Mainstream society will become like the YouTube community which I’ve been steeped in where matters of this kind of open communication regarding this condition is just a matter of course. And there’s nothing particularly shocking about anything I’ve expressed in this echomaze. It’s a YouTube channel before I get brave enough to make one.
So once this thing goes wide. Which is happening. Not this blog silly. Awareness of which this blog is just one of the ants in the ant army of communication on this. Awareness on this.

Um

Right about.

Now.

Once that happens.
Look out.

Marriages are gonna explode more than they do now.

Same thing with families.

The structure society builds itself on is gonna change dramatically.
We may be heading into a period of communal living. Where people make new families. Based on spirit more than blood. We may be. Who knows. One things for sure is that things are gonna get pretty interesting. These are tough times. But I, for one, ain’t clocking out cause I’ve gone this far and I wanna see what’s next.

I wanna see what happens when those who refuse to face themselves are plainly forced to.

I want to see my own family come around. I know I’m dreaming. But it’s a nice dream.
I love and forgive everybody I’ve written about in this blog.

I don’t mean a single one of them any harm. I just wish they felt the same about me.
Maybe one day they will. When the jig is all the way up. And there ain’t nothing to fear anymore. No truth teller to silence.

When the truth is all the way out.
Marriage itself seemingly already on its last legs might become or I think probably will become. Something even more dated.

(Side note I still wanna get married. I’m romantic!)
The structures of human interaction need to be completely reorganized and updated. With full view of what we know now about how these avenues of manipulation operate.
So yeah

It’s a break thru to say

Fuck definitions.

People just aren’t healthy.

Or some people aren’t.
But that’s just it
When you land a real psychopath as I did.
And you almost die. As I almost did.
Your tolerance to accept any of this

Goes out the window.
And when you look around you see a lot of people up to this nonsense. Or some version of it.
Cause I guess to avoid being like that. The challenge is to fulfill yourself

To self actualize. To create your own energy.

To find your own shadows to box. Rather than the shadows of your brother.

And that challenge. For many.

Is a lot.
Like a Buddha amount.

Like a Jesus amount.
I mean. Who’s healthy here?

Who’s working on getting healthy here?

That’s what counts.

Who’s trying?



That’s what counts.



ECHOMAZE : 2017-07-24 Spare Change?


I just realized saying I’m a messenger might get me uninvited to parties and is excellent fodder for those dark forces I’m competing against. “He thinks he’s a messenger. Hahahahah”

I get it.

But let me say what the glorified gym teacher meant without the poet keeping him in line. Where are you poet?
What did he mean by being a messenger

Does he think he’s elevated?
No

It’s not like that

He was at the bottom

And could have easily let it go all the way dark.

But instead. Asked

Or begged

As you beg

When things get like that

Begged

To be of service.

That’s all.

Nothing elevated at all

Just beggar



Who’s getting a few quarters in his hat.



ECHOMAZE : 2017-07-24 A Silly Thing That Can Devastate


Or

I love sundays.
They actually work
I mean

Sunday
It actually just is a day of rest.
I mean I been writing all day. But it’s a day

Where you can just be.
I want work on tracks but no
It’s not time for that. You have to let them sit.

You have to let it build back up at times.

It’s a dance.
And when you let go

Into a Sunday.

And you just let it be
That build up to a monday.
You can let yourself. Watch a show. Relax.
Problem for me.

Is this is how I relax.
Creativity.
Where I grew up. The way I grew up.

To survive. My imagination became everything. I needed my dreams and I still do. I will die before they will. I’ve tested that.
When I was the end and almost totally destroyed. I was still working on music all the time. It was bottoming out on me as well and the focus was leaving the building but I saw that even tho I was totally done taking care of myself. I was still trying with the music. Still investing in my dream. Even tho I didn’t have anything else left to invest.
My last album was ‘The Family’
It’s strong.
I guess I made days of surrender after it actually even tho it came out before.
I still haven’t made an album with all this new awareness

The music I’m making now. Is different.

It’s strong in new ways.

And not just the fun beat oriented stuff I’ve been posting.
But the acoustic songs I’m writing as well.
A new sense of force and purpose is expressing itself. An angry build up. But not a dumb anger. More of a righteous one.
I know that sounds bad right?
Who wants to hear an album of righteous anger?
Well come to think of it.

I do.

I love albums like that.

Nine inch nails. Most all of hip hop. Sleaford mods. Punk. John Lennon. Kurt Cobain. Dylan blood on the tracks. Go listen to idiot wind. Damn that song. Wow. He went in.
My new shit.

It’s the shit.

I can tell when it’s happening.

I can tell. I’ve made records long enough to know when the spirits are conspiring with you. It’s something you feel.

And it’s something you hear coming back at you thru those speakers.
And what also comes thru those speakers is the awareness that all this. All this fight. All this boxing. All this juicing and meditating. And no sex having. Has been down to me conspiring with those spirits before they conspired with me.
Everything we do and say is revealed in the spirit world. Everything we think and feel. Is witnessed by God and he loves us anyway. You got no secrets from God. None at all. He’s seen it all. He sees thru your eyes. He’s inside your mind paying more attention the whole time than you can fathom. And to every single one of us.

And each of us are as important as any one else. Each of us has the potential to be a masterpiece. Each of us can overcome anything at all if we simply humble ourselves. Humble our egos. And serve him. Not because his ego needs it. It’s God. He’s got no ego. He doesn’t need one. We simply have to humble ourselves to him because when we do that we are humbling ourselves to our higher selves. We are calling bullshit on our own egos.

Narcs can’t do that.

Or least they think they can’t.

And they can’t unless they are forced too. And the only way they will be forced to is by starving their false versions out.

It’s a form of saving them tho.

Tho they think that they hate you for it.

They don’t hate you

The personality disorder does.

It very much does.

It wants you dead. Dead. Dead.

But

They don’t want you dead. They only think they do.
I love sundays.

This is a day I would have called home to check in.

Maybe stopped by to see my nephews. It’s sad to go down this road.
But I have hope.

I have hope that things can change.

And if not for me. Then at least for the ones that come after.
All those sundays we miss because of a disorder.
It’s a silly thing really.

A silly thing that can devastate.
But Sunday.
I’m gonna what? It’s ten thirty. I guess I’ll go skate and eat.
And then watch a show. And think about monday.



When I will prep for the new tour. Switch focus out of this new music. And bring back the hits.


 

ECHOMAZE : 2017-07-24 The God Fearing Lee Roth



Would you believe?
Would you believe it only just now occurred to me how off putting the word God is to some.

I get why. The dumb religion murder mayhem ignorance pain x infinity.

I guess the word God is rightfully vile to some.

And also how to explain all the death and suffering of innocents?

God is the most loaded word.

Leonard Cohen wouldn’t even write it in full. I guess religious practice to some. Tho he wrote about God all the time.

And Dylan had the Jesus moment.

Is he still Christian? I heard he was. But have no idea.
My thing with God

Is totally unstructured.

I had him when I was a boy and the connection was as strong then as it is now.
I hated all the things that everyone else reasonable hates about religion and even the word God in that context.

And also I have no way of explaining away the insane amount of suffering that goes on here.

I do sense that it’s not for nothing. Tho it has no rhyme or reason for us. No answer for us.

And even this whole architecture of NPD and the crazy amount of suffering that happens as a result of that.

No reason.

No reason that adds up.

the surface reason. This is how you evolve. And that’s not just surface. That’s a beautiful process. But still evolve for what? And why? And to what end all this pain? To prevent future pain? Gee thanks.
So yeah I get

The anger around the word God.

No sane person wouldn’t be suspicious whenever someone goes off on a God tangent. Hell im even suspicious inside of my own God tangent.

But

That’s what you’d call

A healthy God tangent. He’s winking at me now. Saying go daddy go.
Ours is not to understand in full. If we did. It would defeat the point. And what would this show be if there weren’t real stakes?

All this talk about who invented the first reality show. Well it’s easy. God did it first.

And he knocked it out of the park.

I don’t mean to be glib.

Once you bring up the death of countless innocents. It’s hard to bring it back around.
Ours is not to understand. Ours is to have faith. In spite of some of the evidence. That is what tests our faith.

And my comfort level with going on about this

To me

Is just a reflection of the dark sides comfort level about what it’s going on about.

We need voices of faith right now. And not lunatic voices.

Not voices going for your money

Or to rope you into a belief

Or a leader.

But just voices to speak on love and faith

And sensitivity to each other.

And yes belief in God

For there I have found true healing power. I don’t go on about because of a book or a leader. I go on about it because in practice it has helped me as much or more than anything else.

To be open to what that is to you. That’s all that matters.

What it is to you

What he is to you

What she is to you.
Meta cognition is a form of communion with God. I think.

It’s how come I know he’s in all of us and paying total attention all of the time.
(Sidenote this realization has put a damper on my porn appetite. Lol)
But the meta cognition. Humans ability to witness themselves. Witness their own thoughts. When you can read this but also know that you are reading this. Watch yourself reading this. And now watch the one who is watching. Keep becoming your own witness. Become the witness.

Slip out of the ego. Like that. And say hello to the big guy. You are him. Like that.
Of course it takes work or discipline. You work to go into those states and meditate.
And pray too. Prayer helps. A lot. Many of mine have been answered. Like directly. I believe in it.
(Side note. I’m not talking down to anybody. I’m talking to myself but where I was a year ago. I’m talking to people who want to heal. And who can use tips or friendly reminders. I need to remind myself of shit like this everyday. My gravity? Where I wanna go when I first wake up? Is … watch tv. And on down the rabbit hole of nonsense. I have to motivate myself every day. )
And you don’t have to call it God

But

There is an entity there. And it’s not you. Or not just you. It’s him. I call it a him. I’m sure it doesn’t matter what you call it. But I know what resonates right for me. On the level of feeling. I don’t know anything about Jesus. I just know I love him and believe in him and feel protected by him. That’s enough. But I don’t care what you call it. Why should I?

I like Buddha too. Him I think I know more about. But I’m not his bitch. Haha. Sorry it’s just how I contextualize it. Buddha to me isn’t my father so much as the best disciplinarian of all time. And the most loving one too. I love him too.
I’m saying all this because I think it’s cool to formulate your own relationship with God and the religions. I think it’s healthy. And I think it leads to less death and mayhem.
(Side note. My carver skateboard may have npd. (See he thinks everything and everyone has npd)

I’m concerned. Let me tell you why. Here I was going on and on about how great this thing was. And wouldn’t you know it introduced me to the pavement. Gave my phone fresh cracks in the screen thru which I type this. Tiny little pieces of glass stigmatizing my thumbs as I type about Jesus. How appropriate Jesus.

So does this board have npd or what?

I’m joking. I mean I did bite it. You shoulda seen the pothole. It’s always a shocker when you eat it. But I’m cool cause I’m alright watching a doc about Evel Knievel tonight.
The man who invented the death defying stunt.

Who took his wrecked universe and did the impossible.

So

I can deal with a strawberry from a carver and even trust that the carver didn’t really want to throw me on the ground. My carver still loves me. That’s just how a skateboard says hello)
But back to God (who really needs to keep those pot holes outta my way. )

Actually he just needs to do whatever he needs to do. I’m here only to serve that. I gave up the rest. When the rest just brought me down.

I didn’t see any other option but this. Was there one?

I guess so

But I couldn’t stand another lie.

Not when I found out my whole world had been built on them.

Couldn’t tolerate another one.

I was good at lying. Or not good at it so much as easy with it. It’s just how things roll when you’re on a roll.

I couldn’t do it now. Or wouldn’t do it now.
Not from moral strength but because I went this way. And the place I came from was two minutes to midnight.

Simple as that.

1 plus 1 equals 2

I came to the end of the road



And there I stood and looked down

You know I lost a lot of friends there baby

I got no time to look around

So if you want it got to plead for it.

If you want it got to plead for it baby.

Ain’t talking about love. My love is rotten to the core. ”
That’s all David lee Roth. For those who don’t know. I didn’t google that. It came out my mind so if I got a word wrong. Relax.
But damn



I knew I liked David Lee Roth for some reason. Loved him is more like it.
Me and Sam in seventh grade. Both wanted to be him.
I think I still am trying to be him.
The God Fearing Lee Roth.



ECHOMAZE : 2017-07-24 Swag Don’t Come Cheap


Swag Don’t Come Cheap
I’m looking at that.

Right now. This black guy with white gloves unloading bags of flour out of a truck. He’s got a gold Jesus necklace and a gold earring. Two of them.
He’s got black Nike running shoes with gold finishes. Black pants and a black shirt with the red and white letters that read big.

Swag Don’t Come Cheap.
No I don’t. And no it doesn’t.

The “I” just now was a typo but I left it in yo. And because this swag on display in this blog or just in my life. This swag I have back. A swag that’s swagging thru some weird times to be sure. Both personal and otherwise. But swag I got back. And that swag weren’t cheap. It’s not a one time buy thing either. Turns out the rent on swag is hella steep

and daily. It’s a fair rent.

it’s just that it demands a little payment everyday. It’s hard to keep

it up because you have to be consistent with it. Disciplined. It don’t Come Cheap.
The t shirt might as well have said

Swag Don’t Come without a shit ton of discipline. Nike should hire me.

So swag Don’t Come Cheap. We all know that. Look how hard it was for Rocky to get his boxing swag for instance. He had to drink raw eggs! Raw eggs!!! Yuk. That’s expensive swag right there! And he even had to beat Pauly’s meat.
“Hey wait a minute! Quit fucking around and make yer point. Beat Pauly’s meat. Hahah very funny wise guy”
What I mean is just to get at your baseline of swag let’s say.

Swag level 1

A decent swag level which Don’t Come Cheap.

As Nike so eloquently has stated.
You need all your resources.
All of them.

Ok if you’re young you can get away for a limited time with a few of them missing. But you still won’t be in full swag level 1. You’ll just be able to get by anyway. Cause people worship you young ins.
Which I also think explains why people tend to wake up in life to this npd nonsense commonly in the region of my current age. In this age that swag deficit is harder to hide. You can’t skirt by on the energy of your flaming youth. And so your targeted energy becomes harder to conceal by way of its absence. Or the energy you have left thats not being swallowed up by narc drama isn’t really cutting it anymore. That swag that don’t Come Cheap. Has left the building and pinned an eviction notice on your door. This leads to worse treatment from the narc brigade. Further devaluation from the outside and the inside.

That’s it. Take the medicine little boy.

Your insides and outsides are matching up nicely. We all agree. You’re a piece of garbage. We all agree you’re a garbage dump.

Here’s where swag is not only unaffordable. It’s likely at this point that you’ll never be able to afford it again.

Cause at this point, every single thing reflects your increasingly dark self image. And remember

Narcs are the predator kind. Like sharks they smell blood. They know when you’re punch drunk. They know when you’re weak. They study you. They are dramatically paying attention to things you never do.
And here’s where the empathy gap comes into play
And why I should listen to my instincts when writing.
Because as I described the man in the Nike shirt. I wanted to write about what it’s like for an empath to notice a random person like that and notice the little things he does and chose, to allow him to face his day of loading flour. I wanted to write about how. Once I take time to really notice someone. I then automatically. Feel for them. Identify with their plight. Ok project. Some narcs think there is no such thing as real empathy for all of its a projection. But I’m here to tell you what any empath can. They are wrong. There is a spiritual quality to it.
Actually…

You know what it feels like?
It feels like love.
Not sexual love.

But spiritual love.

And with it

comes this automatic reflex to wish that random person well. And to hope his burden is light.

This is how an empath is perceiving the world. It’s just like breathing to us.
I realize that this way is obviously “good”

And the narc way is obviously “bad” but it’s not why I’m pointing it out.
And also why I don’t ascribe any moral superiority to it per say. Because this is just how I’ve always been. And I assume narcs are the same way but on the dark side of town. This is why I don’t blame them. But I’m also not fucking around with them. Not done fighting for space for my mind and soul to operate in this deranged and confusing world. That’s the swag that don’t Come Cheap.
But why bring all that up when you were wanting to write about the empathy gap.
Because I wanted to write that but didn’t cause I thought it sounded like bragging or moral boasting. But my writer instinct wanted me to write that cause it was coming around to this point. The empathy gap. What allows them to act this way. In this bizarrely cruel way.

The love bomb set up trauma bond mix up.
Is a lack of empathy.
They can’t identify with me or you. They can’t even see us. We only exist in relation to how we reflect them. And in no way else.
An empath would die before trying this shit. It’s so unfathomable. Precisely why we are easy pray. Precisely why they consider us stupid and beneath them. They’ve reversed their disorder into something they perceive as a strength. Which is why they can’t be cured. Or why conventional wisdom is that they can’t. They ultimately are dedicated to the disorder above all else. Above all relationships. Above all else.

All pursuits creative and otherwise.

They may have full time jobs.

Most probably do.

But whatever their full time job is. It’s not really their full time job. It’s not really what they’re up too. What they are up too is garnering supply and dupes to give it to them. Simple as that.
Swag Don’t Come Cheap.
But it’s cheaper than hanging out with a narc.
The tax for that is your soul. Is your life. No thanks. I prefer my swag. My swag is some rad swag motherfuckers. That’s why the tax on Fucking with my swag turns out to be. Ouch. Rather expensive no?
I wrote to save myself. To free myself. I’m actually (mostly) free of concern about how the narcs in my life will take this or that now. I’ve already blown up the story enough. What’s left? I mean plenty but still. Now I’m just freer. They’re out of my head even tho it may seem otherwise as I am writing at a clip. But this is just healing. This is just recovery. It’s a form of meditation. It’s giving back.

That’s it’s primary purpose and I think/hope that’s evident. But obviously it’s also a defensive measure. And protective. And sometimes offensive. So yes it is a war. But who’s not in this war? No one that I see. No one seems to be skating by free of these dynamics which play out across so many human interactions.

But I do have to laugh as well at the result of the main attacks I faced.

Which weirdly were always targeting my expression. And how now that’s wildly brought out so much of my expression. And how I can see that it came as a direct result of the fear based tactics that were used to thwart that expression.

Focused in they are on what really matters. On what really counts.

They target your expression. They target your health. They were you stressed and worrying and guilty and unable to put a sentence together. Let alone an echo maze.
Their form of trauma

acts as a brilliant reverse mirror for healing. Being victimized this way allows or invites you into a wide expanse of time. You have so much time in early recovery to see just how effective things like suggestion and language and mantras actually are. How effective and how damaging they can be. None (almost none) of the narcs in my life would ever follow me into bouts of “magical thinking”

9 out of 10 would claim to not believe in any hocus pocus. I’d be less likely to go on about Jesus around them. But in analyzing the tactics of their abuse they accidentally on purpose drift into those realms. But for the dark side. They hypnotize you with suggestion. They plant seeds of doubt concern worry guilt and fear. These seeds grow into an incredibly dark and scary Forest. The stuff of childhood nightmares. It’s a long and spooky journey out of that forest and so you have a lot of time to really consider just how that forest came to be.
And so you go about reverse engineering that forest and where do you arrive at?
You arrive at where countless of us survivors do.
In the best shape of your life. A hardcore meditator. And someone who is ever increasingly fearless about self expression. It’s boot camp for your soul.
Factoring everything. I wouldn’t change it now. I wouldn’t go back to be the person I was for anything in the world. I love music and art and writing as much now as ever. Probably more. I think definitely more. But none of those are my main priority anymore. Well maybe they are but only in relation to how they help me take care of me.
Taking care of me was never my priority before. My priority was to get rich and famous enough so that I felt worthy enough to be taken care of. That’s about it in a nutshell. That’s what that baseline fracture did.



It had me removed from myself and my priorities upside down.
Swag Don’t Come Cheap. No it don’t.
Swag is the energy of the world and your connection with your true self. Your authentic self. Going in for a dunk in narc town.