Back Pain

Back pain is whole body pain. Back pain makes me look like I'm having a bowel movement in the middle of sentences. Back pain makes me stand up in class, in the front row, and lean from side to side, switch my balance back and forth and back again, lean back, clutching just barely not my ass, massage myself in front of people I barely know, lift my shirt and reach down the back of my pants to see if it has just been a fucking knot in my muscle these last few weeks. Back pain first made me sad, then made me angry, and now has me tired. The seat in my car is tired of being re-adjusted. My wife is tired of listening to me moan when I move. My 2 year old son just wants to be loved, why, daddy why have you forsaken me? Why are you laying there on the floor like that? Why don't you pick me up? Let's go to the park, daddy...
Fine. If I can't go to the park, I'm just going to climb on you.

Self Portrait

Fear

I just woke up sitting at the computer desk. I looked at the time, which read 7:39. I didn't know if it was morning or evening. I didn't know if I was late for work or had just fallen asleep while sitting at the desk for a little while, while the little one goes to sleep in the next room. I have not felt terror or confusion like that for some time. I was so scared. Now, my mind is slowly piecing back together.

While Standing In Line

While Standing in line at Safeway, I poured lavender scented dish-soap on my jacket and pants.

I was just waiting, holding both bottles upside-down, and one of them was open.

There was a splattered puddle of dish-soap on the floor, next to my soap speckled shoe.
I didn't tell anybody. I internalized guilt and moved to a different line.

That line was shorter- I had realized only once the cool soap in my pants had woken me from my stupor, my soap-spilling daydream. Being in this new line reduced my risk of slipping on soap- soap that had pooled in the middle of the aisle like some liquidy monster, waiting for the unsure step of some frail old lady- to make her fall, undramatically and quickly, and crack her thin skull on the otherwise sanitary floor, killing her instantly.

Con-Man

We are not victims. We are perpetrators.

On a lonely night last week, I let a man convince me he needed help. He told me his wife and two year old child were in their car. He showed me his cancerous stomach, and this seemed relevant. He wouldn't shut up. He made me smell his breath, and look at the veins on his arms, and told me how relevant this all was. I walked with him to his hotel and paid for his room. He heaved like an obnoxious man having an asthma attack. He told me how amazing I was. I did not feel good. I wished he would shut the fuck up and just let me get back to being lonely.

He asked me for one more favor, and it was the first strike of realization. He asked if I would get him some food, you know, for his family. It took the wind out of me. I told him I had to pass. He apologized. I asked him for a favor- Let me take his picture. He looked suspicious. I thought- fuck you.

I kept my hand on my camera-bag. He asked to see it. I stepped back from him and lifted it out of it's case. I put it back in a very short time. I was still trying to operate as if he were not a lying creep. He told me he was superstitious about having his picture taken. He was speaking more quickly by the second. He told me he didn't know what I would do with the pictures. I thought- how dare you you pathetic, fucking pathetic crook?

I spent the next morning talking with the hotel manager. He said the man had tried to get another night at the hotel on the same credit card. I told the manager that if he could not eject the man by check-out time, I would have the police out there to make sure it happened.

I am not a victim. I walked up to the counter with my feet. I handed the incredulous Indian gentleman my credit card, with my hand. I signed the receipt with my pen. I went home and explained to my wife that I had paid for a criminal to stay the night in a hotel. This did not go over well. I don't imagine there is anything ridiculous about that.

I am a perpetrator. I am an accomplice. I feel guilty about this. I don't want to dupe anybody else out of their hard-earned money. I don't want to take any more money from my children or my wife, only to hand it over to strangers, to have them do with it as they will. I am a con-man in my own house. I am glad that I have at least warned my wife.

The Atomic Cafe

Quite a film about the Atomic Bomb, entirely made up of archival footage. Originally released in 1982. Not a feel-good film.

Why John McCain Has to be So Sad

McCain has long seemed to me to be a great guy. I lost a bit of respect for him during the campaign, but that mostly had to do with his unfortunate willingness to play puppet to the ideologies of an entire party. He probably wouldn't have made it as far as he did without it (playing puppet). It was sad to see him jeered at when he defended Obama during the campaign. It is sad to see him jeered at when he defends Obama now. It is sad to see somebody genuine forced to waste their political time maintaining their personal dignity by not letting childish partisan comments just stand un-challenged. Bravo McCain... with your sense of empathy, you would make a wonderful non-profit manager.