Barriers to Love

Creep – noun: the guy who stands at the edge of the dance floor licking his lips and rubbing his hands together.  He has spike-gelled hair and is slightly overweight.

We’ve heard people say, “Don’t be a creeper!”

“That’s so creepy.”

“That guy kept creepin’ on us, so we had to leave.”

“You’re a creepy bastard sometimes.”

I’ve been called a creep before, in my younger days when I did something naughty like hiding in a bedroom pretending to be a pillow until the lights went out, and then screaming.

Until I was thirteen the east and north sides of my house were wrapped in creeper vines.

The crazy woman in Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper”—she creeps.

She narrates: “I sometimes fancy that in my condition if I had less opposition and more society and stimulus—but John says the very worst thing I can do is think about my condition, and I confess it always makes me feel bad.”

           

Radiohead wrote a song about all this once.

People want sex more than they’ll admit.  To tell a person, “I’d like to be intertwined with you, wrapped around you… right now”—that can have consequences.

Creep.  Creed.  Seep.  Weed.  Smoke.  Croak.  Frog.  Bloke.  Drunk.  Stroke.  Feel.  Weak.

In the 1990’s, young girls received the Easy Bake Oven for Christmas.  Young boys got the Creepy Crawler Oven, which allowed you to fill insect-shaped molds with goo, then cook the goo-molds into rubber spiders, dragonflies, and worms that could be successfully stuck to television screens, and could be made to look rather real if the boy-cook-bugmaker knew what he was doing.

It’s a lot harder for a girl to be a creep; there’s one social stigma they win out on. 

Although creeping is something women seem to do when trapped inside yellow wallpaper.

Creepy, I sometimes think, is nothing more than a misperception of honesty:

Actions alone (like say, masturbating) are not creepy.

Thoughts (like say, So-and-So is really attractive)... those are not creepy either.

But Expression of those thoughts and actions—that’s creepy (especially when too closely juxtaposed).

For those who speak in equations: f(x) = e(d), where e = Expression, d = Desire, x = STALKER

But we, the young men of mine and neighboring generations, are a demographic largely raised by single women.  We were not raised by creeps, but by divorcees and weekend fathers and sometimes little more than memories and stories.

Creep – verb: to attempt to deal with intense feelings of loneliness and entrapment without regard for the (pre)conceptions and (mis)perceptions of others.

TLC sang a song about this, too.

We tried to learn about love from songs and books and television actors.  We internalized.  We imitated, not realizing the extent to which our actions, when traced back to the source, were inspired by money, drugs, and sex— things we did not have, though we sometimes pretended to.

You know, creeper vines can be quite beautiful when viewed in the appropriate season’s light.

                       

I’ve gone to school and learned some skills, and on the dance floor I’m all about having fun; there’s no other agenda, really.  My Creepy Crawlers are in a black suitcase in the back of a closet, back home, and I’m not the same size as a pillow anymore. 

But none of this changes the fact that I am incredibly unsuccessful with women.

My First Complete Rap Song

This is a song I wrote and performed at the end of the year for the kids I've been mentoring.  I had a video of it, but have had trouble uploading it, and the sound quality wasn't that good anyway.  But below are the lyrics to my first complete rap song, written for soon-to-be middle-schoolers:

You know me; I’m Mr. P.  I’m your card-slapping, fool-zapping, book-stacking, math captain and today I’m rapping so if you want to, get those hands clapping.  I’m making math happen.  Math like taking two fractions, then subtracting.  Multiplying then simplifying.  Times tables, variables, and nutrition labels.    

I don’t claim to be a lyrical mastermind.  I’m nearly nameless, completely fameless.  I’m no Eminem, no Jay-Z, no Nikki, no Master P. no O.D.B.  You won’t see me on TV and that’s exactly how I want it to be.  No illusion.  No cruising, snoozing, or using.  Just me out here in the real world confusion.  Refusing the easy.  Choosing the real.  Sometimes winning.  Sometimes losing.  Sometimes taking a pretty bad bruising.  Stopping to feel, learning to deal, and then heal.

Now you say that you hate being told what to do—well here’s your salvation.  The game has a name—it’s education.  Take time to learn how the world turns and you won’t have to yearn like a bird on a shelf.  Instead you’ll learn to turn it yourself.  You’ll rise above the drooling fools who’re too cool for school and you’ll have the tools to set your own rules.

And don’t say “I can’t” or “I’m dumb” or “I have no worth” because we’re all equally stupid at birth.  Knowledge comes later, gator, and it can only be earned, not handed out as a favor.  But if you take the time to do it right, to gain insight, ignite a light with mental might, you’ll have the range to make some change, to be in control, to set your world’s goals.

Getting you the tools is what we’re about at this school.  We’re breeding intellect and we reject all disrespect that might deject you or me – we eject, neglect those negative histories and interject with positivity.

In your life they’ll be first and second chances, first and last dances, romances and unreturned glances—all this enhances and advances you one step ahead, and it may not always feel like progress; it can be quite a mess, but don’t stress.  Life is a mess, but a beautiful one with ample time for both hardship and fun.

So child, smile.  Life goes on a while, mile by mile by ever-loving mile, and it’ll throw piles of vile not-worthwhile pains your way, but fear not – for every scar you got, they’ll be a memory sent to thee which’ll mean quite a lot.  More than the things you sought, bought, and forgot.  You’ll remember foes and friends, teachers and peers, beginnings, ends, joys, fears.

So don’t hate, wait, bait, procrastinate, violate, instigate, assassinate, underrate, hesitate, or exacerbate. 

Instead here’s a book; read it.  Fill your brain; feed it.  You’re going to need it, so don’t cheat it.  Heed it.  That’s my edict, see it?

Give credit where credit is due; what you dish out to others comes back to you.  Believe in yourself and everyone else.  Show respect and love to all the above.

Eyes open, ears listening, heart hoping, skin glistening with the sweat— of goals worked toward and met.  That’s how I want you to go through life.

I have an idea what you see when looking at me, but I’m not sure you do—know what I view in you.  I see potential.  You can be influential.  I see artists and dancers.  I see caring, kindness, daring, bravery.  I see smarts, determination, compassionate hearts.  Some of you are curious, always going after.  Some are hilarious always bringing me laughter.  Some are great at math, some are great readers, some are super-fun, some are born leaders. 

So remember, boys and girls, to use your skills to improve your world, to lessen strife, to better life.  These skills exist; let them show.  Stay in school and help them grow.  Now soon I must go, but know when I go that I’ll miss you so.  I wish you the best.  Keep hope alive in your chest.  Goodbye and God bless.  And when I am gone I’ll do my best to make life great and not lame, and I’ll wish for you to do the same.

To the Assholes of the World

Animated,
Kill-created,
Sadly situated,
Ugly,
And impotent
Is the man
Who doth tear down another.

His arrogance,
In thinking he is better,
is like the power of a gun-
Illusory.

One may say, "I'm gonna get a gun"
I'll reply, "Why?"
And one will say "For protection."
But no matter how many
Guns you wield
Or bullets you fire,
It still only takes one,
just one bullet to end you.
You are no less weak
For all your strength.

Which is why he who is arrogant
Is like a gun-
He cannot protect.
He cannot save.
He cannot heal.
All he can do
is take and destroy.

Why You Should Read Books part 2

It makes you smarter!  When you read something of value, you're expanding and practicing your vocabulary.  You're opening your mind up to the viewpoint and experiences of another.  You're an active participant in your own entertainment.  You're giving your brain some novel stimulation.  You're making connections between your life and the universal truths the author tries to convey.  Your memories are accessed when just the right detail hits you in just the right way.  Your powers of argument strengthen as you agree with some parts of the book but not others.  You hone your ability to focus.  You leave this world and use your imagintion for a little while. 

Reading is a full-brain workout.  What to some is a simple and boring act is to others (those who have learned to do it properly) an experience that involves just about every part of the mind.  Just like when you exercise the body, it can be difficult, even painful.  But once you've had your fill and it's time to move on with your day, you feel better, fresher, healthier, stronger. 

And who knows, maybe you'll learn to think in new ways.  Maybe you'll find new facets to your personality, find some new and amazing thing you never knew you cared about.  Maybe, at the very least you'll have something different to talk about.

Countdown

10.  Hal and Jenny spent that night together making gentle love on the sofa, then cuddling in silence afterward as they watched the Cavaliers lose to the Heat. 

9.  Hal took his son fishing for the day.  He taught him all the different kinds of bait and what each one was good for.  Young Douglas paid too much attention; within the first hour he hooked some monstrous beast that pulled him face-first into the lake.  It was difficult for Hal to convince him to let go of the rod.  That sometimes nature just gets the better of you.

8.  Hal went drinking with his buddies.  Fredo, who could never handle his alcohol, had no more success than usual that night.  The group left the bar early and walked their friend home, periodically stopping so Fredo could throw up in an alleyway.  Once they reached Fredo's house, the group stayed up late in his living room playing cards and reminiscing until one by one they passed out for the count.

7.  Without telling anyone, Hal left the house at sunrise and drove through the old cemetery, parking at the edge of the road that separated the stones from the trees.  He walked, stopping and kneeling when he came to a grave that he knew.  Then he went into the woods behind the cemetery where he hiked the trails of his childhood, stopping frequently to rest, to sniff the dead leaves, to rub dirt on his hands.

6.  Jenny was cooking when he got home.  He sniffed the air.  Roast beef and onions.  Walking into the kitchen, he saw her peeling and mashing potatoes in the largest pot they owned.  Her shoulders and butt jerked with her efforts.  From behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and started kissing her neck.

"Where have you been?!" she asked him.  He started nibbling on her neck now.  She laughed.

That night the small family ate their dinner like kings.  They ate and they laughed, and finally they cried.

5.  The next day, Hal went to see his parents.  He told them how well his family was doing, using an optimistic tone of voice to try to cover up how bad he looked.  His parents cried and told him how proud they were.  A tear rolled down his own face.  They hugged.

4.  He got back home in the early afternoon while Douglas was at school.  Hal and Jenny made love furiously, shoving themselves together, moving from room to room until they'd exhausted the whole house and each other.  They made love until they were sore, and then they continued.

3.  That evening Hal played catch with his son.  Then they sat on the porch swing together drinking grape soda and watching the sun set.  Hal spent the time teaching young Douglas everything he could remember ever having learned about life.

2.  Hal kneeled down in a room by himself and prayed.

1.  That night, Hal had a dream.  He was having a pool party, only it was at the house of Jordan Miles, his best friend growing up.  And it was weird because Hal was 40 in the dream, but Jordan was still 14.  And Jenny was there playing hostess instead of Jordan's mom.  Douglas and Jordan were playing together, taking turns going down the waterslide.

Hal walked around the pool.  He dreamed he saw his high school love interest in the corner of the shallow end alternately making eyes at him and giggling with her friends.  Nearby his work buddies were playing volleyball against his drinking buddies, who were losing.  His godmother jumped off the diving board, and while watching her Hal bumped accidently into his R.A. from college.

"You're having quite the party," said the R.A.

Hal had dreamed up quite a party.  Everyone was there, everyone he'd ever known and loved was there in his best friend's pool.  And they were all the same age he'd left them at in his memories.  And Hal dreamed that no matter how many people were there, the place never seemed overcrowded.  He dreamed this.  He didn't wake up.

Genius and Psychosis

So many things he wants to say, so many that these things can't keep still inside him.  They swirl about and they swirl about inside until they get tangled up, and he can't tell one idea from another anymore, and all the while as this tangle is constructed he is continually having new ideas, discovering smart-sounding half-truths which are added to the great mess.  And then something happens.  Sometimes it's big, but sometimes it's as small as a word.  This something triggers an anxiety that causes a great heat in his mind and a stirring in his bowels.  And all at once, all of these things which have built up inside of him are ejaculated in a fury of words and sounds and gestures, some of which make sense and others of which are emotions that don't know a better way of being heard but to take advantage of such a flushing of the body and escape the prison in which he has kept them.  They come out because they've been kept in there too with everything else, and they cause him to spew a convolution of genius and madness, two things which he does not know the difference between.

Most people listening will not bother to try and separate the two.  Instead, people will make this man into an extremist he did not necessarily intend to be.  Depending on his and their sets of circumstances, everything he comes to say in his impassioned outbursts will come to be heard as either genius or rubbish.  Only one or the other.  Either black or white.  This is how great men and psychotics are made.

Musical Compatability

When looking for music compatability between your tastes and those of another person, you probably shouldn't talk in terms of specific bands or artists because there are so many in this world that to compare tastes based on this would rarely produce a match.  Using specifics like these would cause an excess of judgement, making you like less someone who could in fact be an amazing match for you.

Instead talk about what it is in music that you respect.  What general things make you like or not like a song?  For instance, I respect feeling.  When you can tell from the singer's voice that they really care about what they're saying.  When the lyrics are poetic and original enough that you know the singer cared enough to spend the time making them that way.  And it's not just the singing that has feeling; it's all of the music.  Every instrument is played with feeling by a person who has devoted their life to mastering it.  This is why rock is the genre I respect most, and why it's hard for me to respect pop or hip-hop.  Because in those genres, the backbeats are arbitrary and they are played by machines.  Even the lyrics are many times arbitrary.  It's all about the hook, about making something that's dance-y, making something that sells.

No, I respect feeling, an attempt to engage with the human struggle.  I respect meaning.  And effort.

But anyways, you can see how important music can be to a person, so if you care about them, perhaps see why it's important, and you might interract in a much more positive and meaningful fashion.  You may even learn something.