It is a wonder any thought or practice can yield fruit when the origin is simple indecision.Β I have defined myself and my wants, without experience or knowledge.Β Though I donβt believe direct guidance is integral to the development of self, I do consider comparative peer discussion come with that immeasurable weight.Β Β A definite asset in measuring internal progress is vocalizing or making it a question in the sentient world,Β βis this it?!β Β Β
I donβt know if iβve ever been good.Β Not good like,Β βNah, nigga, Iβm goodβ, but like a good person.Β Itβs strange to even posture a statement in such a way, but I sort of understand why I do.Β I reduce a lot of my actions down to forms of good or bad that have no direct correlation to any other terms.Β For example, good isnβt always equal to harmless and bad isnβt always observable.Β In fact, like most people, Iβm only ever really trying to observe my actions as good or with positive intent.Β Maybe thereβs an alchemy in knowing what I can observe has visibility not only to me but others as well.Β Several years of processing and attempting to break down, βwhyβ as it relates to the βwhoβ I describe when answering the question,Β βwho are you?β
I can be emotionally treacherous in relationships.Β Or I have been in the past.Β Β Iβm very full and very empty, very wanting and very ready to deny.Β Worse than all of this, I have brewed a passive deception with no real goal or desireβ¦ no intention, or reward, or reason.Β This is the only true observable βbadβ that Iβm aware of.Β In the pained responses of people I love, my absolute worst is given shape.Β People who have earned all of my pleaβs and desperate desire to give love, I hurt those people without intention, or without a goal or even momentary relief.Β Β
Thatβs probably the shittiest way to be; having love that completely encases absolute indifference, nihilism, indecision, goalesness.Β Β
I made a decision some years ago to begin to change this.Β Whatever broke at whichever point in my 20β²s needed mending.Β Β It needed tending to and then to be minded after for as long as it would take.Β Possibly a year or until Iβm staring up at dropped ceiling tiles in the ER gasping my last breaths.Β Iβve needed to be the undefinedΒ βgoodβ I measure my actions against for so long it breaks my heart to think iβve denied myself that role.
When the feeling of regret swole, moment to moment, my recollections of the terrible thoughtless things Iβve done, I decided to take better care of myself.Β Β
You approached.
I was nervous when I held your arm and poked into your skin with as much care as I could offer.Β I saw scars and heard the results of them tell stories and chuckle at my discomfort.Β I remembered it being difficult to look you in the eye.Β I thought youβd realize I was ugly and we were in a room I try to keep in my moms house and that my dissatisfaction with my life was gearing up to mutate into a desperation.Β Β
I pricked at your skin and realized I never wanted to feel you as a stranger.Β This was the most intimate Iβd been in a long time and holding your arm felt righteous.
My desperation was going to be steadied.Β You are messy with a great discipline and your own desires.Β You want a family, and to be regarded.Β You want to eventually be the matriarch and Iβm seeing myself want to provide this to you.Β I want to see you turn into this feeble old stick of a woman.Β A grey ghost in linen nightgown thats been worn around the house, and run the wash so often that it has become sheer.Β I can see my self populating that life with you as you casually frustrate your way to the top of rock wall or grapple with the obstacle course.
This are our first days.Β Β
You met her, and she loves you.Β I was so uncomfortable with how this would be.Β I worry about jealousy and retaliation.Β I worry about it all the time.Β Iβve been in a steady place of discomfort in my own life.Β A lifeΒ that had been a series of distortions... but seeing her take to you felt good.Β I donβt think sheβs stopped asking for you since then.Β Β
Is this an adventure? Iβm floating in this, and I feel ease and comfort.Β Thereβs an honesty appearing in front of me and Iβm trying to chase it but my pragmatism is attenuating my pace.Β It is fair to pace yourself.Β Iβve fallen for loves an allowed them to overlap and I tell you about how and why and where I feel my failures.Β I donβt say that Iβm scared of myself and what I do but, who wouldnβt be?Β
Iβm obsessive about maintaining a composure.Β I havenβt any rituals, I just have a series of calculations I service with pristine tools.Β I have my musts and mustn'ts and I think youβre a must.Β Iβve begun to prepare my tools.Β I must prepare my tools.Β Β
Youβll finish your program, and youβll put every bit of what I see to work and itβll be marvelous.Β This is what a unity is.Β Through discomfort, displeasure, abstraction of self... when the gain of is lowered and pure electrical hum drops back youβll hear unity.Β Β
And all that has been muted by way of fatigue with squeal itβs way back to silence and youβll hear unity.Β
Β AndΒ weβll sit quiet and hold hands and, in that grasp will be unity,Β
Iβm certain.
Thank you.
You got sick, and I had to decide not to panic.Β That is something I can do.Β I can decide to not panic.Β And I can take my rudimentary understanding of a foreign language and I can find... Iβm not sure what...Β Asprin?Β I can pay double, and find a way back to an air bnb owned by some hippie elderly woman in the middle of the night.
Thank you.
You broke up with me in the airport.Β You got loud and I donβt know why.Β I still have no idea why.Β I grated my teeth.Β I donβt like being made a spectacle.Β I have not earned that in this place in this time.Β Β
Thank you.
Weβre growing and shrinking at the same time.Β I cannot manage this distance and the disassociation Iβm feeling.
This has been poisoned. Reading, βIβ, thinkingΒ βweβ and wonderingΒ βyouβ andΒ βhowβ andΒ βwhenβ and what the fuck is a Julie?Β I...Β this is still exactly what I meant for it to be I guess.Β A post to use to reflect and eventually to restate the βsomethingβ that happened.Β That I felt βdireβ at one point about something new.Β Something happened that felt viable.Β I feel really perplexed and foolish.Β Iβve never felt so foolish.Β I canβt quiet compare the feeling to anything.Β I remember when I was a kid and I tried to make a kite with pencils and lined paper out in front of my mother laundromat.Β Iβd found string and tape and put the whole thing together in just over 30 minutes. It was small, sure, but man did it look like a kite.Β I ran back and forth on the sidewalk for hours towing this string.Β Being careful to lay it down just so that the initial jerk would provide enough lift to get this thing flying properly behind me.Β Β
In the end Iβd just dragged around some shit I hobbled together and found myself sobbing that I didnβt know why it wasnβt working.Β Β
This is a constant theme in my life.Β Sometimes I build the kite.Β Sometimes I find the kite.Β Sometimes the kite finds me.Β Β But it never seems to work the way I think it might.Β Β
βThey aren't characters, are they? The people we meet on our outward excursions. Β Omar is the "Mayor of West Philly" and in the three short days I spent in his district felt more like three days of separation from my post-teenage uncertain constant.βΒ - Start of the original post in 2015
This draft as well as many others sit in a cue that was started some years ago. Β Since my first shot at this post, Omar has passed away. Β He took his own life a few weeks ago, sometime in early June (β17). Β I feel like my most intimate time with him was over a three day period when I was working in Philly and staying at my friend Adamβs house. Β He and Adam were extremely close and spoke at length about the various issues regarding humanity, the universe, and trans-permeating subliminal thought. Β This man was an excellent figure to one of my best friends during a formative time in his life. Β I recognized this my and Omarβs introduction in 2009.Β There is quite a bit more to the story of OmarΒ , butΒ Iβm not here to speak to all of that. Β Just the end portion that is way more bitter than most endings.
He suffered from sever mental illness in the form of schizophrenia.Β Omar self medicated with alcohol and other substances. Β He was very charismatic and, though eccentric, his thought process followed a very tight and narrowly inarguable line that felt sensible. Β While the tenor and subject of any conversation was certainly set by Omar, an open conversation was always being had.Β Omarβs ability to host conversationΒ abiunt subjects considered extremely taboo must have beenΒ difficult for the young gentrifying population of Philly.Β Young adults who were unable to identify the mental sickness that dripped in loquacious charisma may not have been able to react in a mature and healthy manner. Β
His passing caused a great of upset in the community. Β For all the positive and altruistic things he was known for, of which there were many, Β he was also attached to elements of his humanity that represents the potential worst in us all. Several female West Philly residents have vocally held Omar in account for being sexually aggressive toward them or people they knew at public events. Β
There were many that had absolutely no idea about these instances, but would sooner disassociate with him than be label and ableist or worse, a supporter. Β Friends of mine, including Adam wrestled with the need to mourn for their friend. Β The discussion took to Facebook and I felt the need to speak to polarizing dichotomy.... Β
For me, this person was very real. Β My original post was focusing on taking the spectacle out of people we meet when we travel so can better receive them. Β In situations where you meet someone like and Omar, a neon patterned wallpaper in your white room world, you dehumanize that person immediately. Β Someone so unmistakably βotherβ, even in their own surroundings, can allow you a better point of reference.Β Opening an avenue of comradery with the natives in the commonality of not beingΒ βlike thatβ in your now less foreign environment.
Iβve stayed up late on many porches talking about all forms of complete bullshit. Β Ending nights in arguments, or sex, or fucking up Bopβs car.Β Β But those meetings and discussions blur so significantly pending on my attachment to the people Iβm with. Β I remember being there with Adam, Omar, and others. Β There was no spectacle. Β There was a shared and understood laughter. Β Wrestling with ideals and concepts about the rolls of government in modern society, what with all all the secret wars and whatnot. Β There was a man, who was safe and amongst friends, sick or otherwise.Β He was as present a person as should be expected. Β So, I was as present a person for him in those moments, not existing to antagonize or embellish. Β During a period in my life where I was making a great many poor decisions, being available to meet Omar was a excellent one.
I donβt consider myself to be a person who was born with family. Β I understand how that comes off; The many I donβtΒ βconsiderβ myself to be could be the tagline to a hollywood thriller about my life. Β The reality is that, more than in a notion, the examples that represent extended family werenβt present in my life. Β I mean I hadΒ family. Β Everyone technically hasΒ family,Β right? Β Like, IβdΒ always been made aware of the fact that I had siblings, cousins, aunts, & uncles, but they either lived in a foreign country or parts unknown. Β Those explanations do little to assuage the loneliness of a first generation American child whoβs single parent works something like 15 hour a day.Β
My parents, lets say, βseparatedβ when I was a toddler, and I was raised by my Mother. Β My Father and I had no contact with each other until I was a teenager.
Before this photo, the last time my dad had seen me I was 5.
Eventually I was reunited with my, very American, mostly southern, 70β²s Brooklyn founded Father. Β I was reintroduced to a man who lived inside a stones throw of my aunts and uncles, cousins, evenΒ grandparent.Β LivingΒ grandparents. Β The weight of this excitement could give any teenage millennial a ripe old anxiety attack. Β Most exciting of all were Elmo and Larry, my physically distant, biologically unrelated, younger brothers. Β
After years of figmented siblings, what a total dream to suddenly have younger brothers. Β But, who is going to teach me how to be an older brother? Β Also letβs be real here.Β To them Iβm like, a step dads distant son, right? Β Like, who the fuck am I to them? Β Wrapping up this theme; An introduction to how I viewed myself in my relationship with my stepbrothers came with embedded instructions on how to alienate myself in the world of familial relations.
Who the fuck am I to them 101 :Β
Do I even matter? Β No.Β Exploring the spectrum of existentialism as related to interpersonal relations and self.
I want a preface this story: Β Who I was during this experience is most important and who I am now is wholly irrelevant.
Regardless of the βfeltβ importance I remember driving me at the time,Β my in-the-moment effort to reflect on my new-found family in their world felt both forced and natural. Β I feel like I pushed woe onto myself to reach a place where all I was clearly doing was seeking acknowledgment for a learned injustice (the boy without a family). Β Thatβs as honest as anyone on earth can ever be about themselves.Β RNS.
Larry was the youngest of the 4 brothers his mother bore. Β Elmo was the next eldest child ahead of Larry by around 4 years. Β Clint and Adrian were the two oldest in ascending order, leaving a gap of no less than 10 years between the two sets of boys. Β I gathered immediately from my first visit that both Elmo and Larry had a true brotherly admiration for both Adrian and Clint. Β Adrain is a well educated man who seemed fiercely independent. Β Clint seemed to be the same except younger and with the addition of being a Marine. Β Being two kids living in a prefab double-wide in thicketed rural North Carolina woods, witnessing their older brothers step up and do for themselves in the larger world set a worthy standard for them to follow. Β Β
I always find myself astonished at my own arrogance. Β Not my obvious, loud mouthed,Β βI bet I could hit that from right here arroganceβ, because often times thats a joke. Β My quiet introspective.Β The, βyouΒ donβt even know that you want more from life than thisβ presumptuous arrogance. Β The assumption, based on speculation (and lets not split hairs, informed intuition as well), that someone else isnβt approaching their lifeβsΒ limitation because of their own ignorance.
We were brothers for a time. Β In a very real way, Β I would advise and encourage and in return I would be called brother. Β Without prior experience or training I found myself capable of being a familial asset, received in the way I had missed without knowing. Β When Larry was younger my visits would be met with excitement. Β Awkward hugs eventually turned to daps, then eventually to nods. Β I canβt speak much to the anticipation, but I could imagine what with all the goings on around Goose Creek Road that the boys were more than happy to host any house guest.
Both Larry and Elmo were brought up in a circumstance that I would consider extraneous. Β A strict house with strict rules and bountiful limitation. Β Any opportunity to leave the environment was a welcomed escape, no matter for how long. Β Elmo resolved to exit upon his high school graduation. Β But in his absence, Larry has to assume a weight that he may had not been prepared for. Β
Larry began to stumble in school and in his teenage life he would show an obvious lack of focus marked his general decline. Β I would sooner attribute his gradual failing to the constraint he felt at home, but Iβll just sip my tea.Β
Larry would stumble and be reprimanded harshly until an inevitable reprieve.Β No doubt the circuity yelling but knowing what wasnβtΒ going to happen was tedious.Β Eventually it was just a joke.Β Β
Occasionally, I would call my dad and Larry would pick up. Β Weβd talk for a whileΒ about what he was up to and his ATV. Β He knew I had a motorcycle and we would talk shop which was extremely brief because neither of us really knew what the fuck we were talking about. Β I would text directly on occasion as I was much more of a texter but letβs be real, thatβs pretty impersonal.Β Β (As I age, my relationships with other people began to fail more regularly. Β Because of this Iβve defaulted to being impersonal in my communications.)Β Β
Larry
The period of time time I has with Larry it was late. Β He wasnβt excited... Β He didnβt seem to have any anticipation in seeing me.Β Enthusiasm was nowhere about his person and worse he seemed, angry and distant.
I havenβt painted a portrait that showcases my brotherly efforts to have a true ownership of my coveted title ofΒ βbrotherβ, but please believe effort was exerted within reason. Β I wanted to spend a few weeks with him in NY. Β I tried setting that up but felt no shared conviction or support. Β I spoke with my dad about relenting on them. Β I talked to them about being focused. Β I donβt know. Β The arrogance of what I had to βofferβ shined bright for a while. Β Just not bright enough it would seem. Β Β
Anyway, the last time I saw him he seemed miserable. Β Not just the young adult, βwhat am I even doingβ sort of misery. Β Like, the kind of misery from being trapped. Β HeΒ didnβt want to be in the house.Β The last time I would see him was during a visit of about week.Β The first few days he wasnβt even home and when he did eventually return he was greeted with a rapidly escalating argument. Β
I took the train home from NC that May. Β Larry would drown in the ocean a month and some change later. Β Β
It sucked.
Like, what am I supposed to say? Β What is the most dramatic, most morbid thing I can say? Β Does it even need to be said?
The funeral, theΒ βgoing homeβ service, I cried. Β I cried for everything my little brother wasnβt going to experience. Β Sure, thats sad. Β The lost potential in death is sad. Β I cried for his mother, burying her youngest child. Β I cried for all these things, sure. Β But I fucking wept for my arrogance. Β I wept for the stranger I had again become in the family Iβd found. Β I wept from the embarrassment of having to explain who I was to real, daily... hourly family members.Β Β Having to justify myself, the stranger, for having been so upset at Larryβs passing. Β Why was I allowed to close the casket lid with the other three of his mothers children. Β I was never introduced as brother, or even step brother. Β I was βJeffβs sonβ. Β This was not a title needed won. Β I hadnβt only lost this brother, Iβd lost my title. Β I realized how much I valued that role within my and Larryβs relationship.
I donβt know man. Β Β
Youβd think it wouldnβt have been as important as it was at the age of 26. Β But itβs just as important now as it was then. Β This ending is weak. Β
Forgive poor grammar and typoβs. Β Iβm 3 dogs in a human suit at best.
*Pictured above, Clint and my Dad. Β Myself. Β Larry*
β...at night you lay turning like a door on its hinges...β
Certain trips arenβt for the experience of travel. Β The character at the opposite end of a runway, often times, can be more than a motive in the purchase a plane ticket. Β That character can represent and a sense of interpersonal pride. Β Reaffirmation of altruistic greed, my own need to see a loved one at their best and better. Β The midwest, however flat, has only ever represent peaks to me and some of my dearest and most beloved friends and family.
βAmericaβs Heartlandβ and I have had this sort of relationship where whenever I engage, it takes a a piece of my own heart. Β Iβve offered those pieces of my own so willingly, abandoning who I was in dusty barns that dot the distance in dried up cornfields. Β Left on museum floors or at the bottom of pool offered as respite to 5 dudes in a band by a man who built his life at the same steel mill his father worked. Β Iβve left my own American heart all over the midwest, willingly. Β So when a huge piece of that same heart had to be taken their forcibly I understood without consideration that it had to be for the cause of better. Β Β
Sometimes I forget, you know, I totally forget. Β These places... the places where I leave my heart I return to find the my heart forgotten. Β ThisΒ definitely isnβt always a sad thing. Β It isnβt always a sad thing toΒ βused toβ. Β There are empty houses in factory towns where my heart lives and beats. Β On a visit Iβd drive past the streets those houses still stand on and want to burst out screaming, βDude, MY SHIT IS IN THERE. Β MY HEART IS IN THERE. Β I KNOW THAT PLACE!β Β My heart is still in there, but everything i know about this place starts withΒ βused toβ. Β Β
That seems so sad though, doesnβt it? Β That may be sad, but what about when you find that a piece of your own, you're heart, that has grown with vigor in your absence. Β Have you ever had a memory re-manifest and welcome you with open arms? Β A total vindication, borderline zen. Β To truly feel your own again and know at first contact that youβre memory couldnβt have been more spot on. Β The smell, the shape and textures, they Β were locked away PERFECTLY. Β Just, perfectly...
Americaβs Heartland, or for the purposes of this entry the Midwest, has so many pieces of my heart strewn across it. Β Some that are left in deserted barns in the heart of Illinois farmland. Β But thereβsΒ a huge piece growing with vigor in Chicago.
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