My Soaring Heart

There are so many things that I haven’t written about. Most things really. I’ve not even begun to scratch the surface. These days I’ve been feeling that more and more of the artifice surrounding me has been falling off, peeling away. I feel like I’ve always been fairly self-aware but lately I feel like I am truly beginning to find myself. I guess it took me a good while to realize I was lost! For example on Friday nights this Autumn I would find myself on Dunns Road in Mercer County driving home from work and listening on the radio to the broadcast of Woodrow Wilson High School’s football games. That is the high school that both of my older sisters went to in Beckley, WV. It’s the school I would have attended had my family remained in WV. It’s the school where my childhood friends had their high school experiences and education. The same man calls the games on the radio that called them when I was a little boy. The Flying Eagles are still playing their home games at Van Meter Stadium in the neighborhood where I grew up. I remember attending every game with my parents because my oldest sister was a cheerleader. I remember my parents’ friends coming over on Friday nights and leaving their car at our house and all of us walking up to the game. I remember falling leaves and laughing. I remember the swarms of bats that would swoop around the enormous stadium lights. I remember playing under the bleachers. I remember shivering in the cold. I remember the halftime shows and walking to the concession stand and running into friends from school on the cinder track that encircled the playing field.

And I sat there in the seat of my truck churning up the mountainside listening to this man bring all of that back to me. And I mused about what my life might have been like had I remained in WV. And the past, my history, my myth skips by in my mind’s eye like a dream. Memories of being young, of being a teenager in Irmo, of being a young adult in Columbia, of being a married student in Vermont, of being a young chef in NM, the rise, the crash, the burn, the adventures, the sadness and joy, the failures and triumphs…

And I see my father’s smiling face as I drive. I hear his laugh. I remember him taking me down to the woods on one of those autumn game nights in Beckley when he presented me with my first gun, a .410 shotgun and feeling his arms wrap around me as we held the gun, pulled back the hammer and fired buckshot into the open field with twilight mountains looking on. I remember him waking me up early one Saturday morning for the first day of squirrel season and sitting in the passenger seat of his Bronco as he navigated the twists and turns of highway 19 towards the Farm. I remember stopping at Ray’s Bait and Tackle and buying shells. I remember sitting on the mountainside at the Farm and scanning the trees for fluffy tailed squirrels. I remember looking at my dad in his hunting gear, a Marlboro dangling from his lips.

In a moment I am there and then I am here. I am that boy and then I am this man. I am by his side looking up at him and then I am here, alone, just another man with his skull rattling with thoughts, images, emotions, memory, tides of electrical current coursing along my optic nerve.

And as lonesome as I get, as solitary as this life is that I’ve chosen for myself my heart still overflows with love, my wounded heart, my cracked and scarred heart, my empathetic heart, my heart aflame, passionate, wondrous, bewildered, never jaded, never cynical, my soaring heart, my grateful heart, my father’s heart, my son’s heart, my brother’s heart, my heart that rests in my chest but often longs to break free the bones, lift away from the flesh, my flying heart, love in the darkness, light and free, unburdened and rising, rising, rising…

December update

I’ve been living up here at The Farm for six months now. A bit of a milestone. Good point to look back and take stock. Things are going pretty well thus far. I’ve a lot to be thankful for. I haven’t written a blog in a good while it seems. Been busy with all kinds of projects and working at the resort and everything. The cabin is coming along. I’m doing as much as I can with the time and money I have available. The vision is very, very clear now as far as the cabin goes. It’s going to take some time to complete though. I have to prioritize. The most pressing projects are those that will make the cabin warmer. I installed a hardwood floor that is more for aesthetics than anything else though. I found the old floor depressing and I’ll be spending a lot of time indoors over the cold months so I decided to go ahead with its installation. The layout of cash wasn’t that big so it wasn’t a big deal. Cost me about $300 which seems like a bargain considering the warm, cozy ambiance it creates. The wood burning stove has been a huge success. I had to remove the electric heaters to install the flooring so the wood stove is the only source of heat right now and it’s working great. As long as I keep it burning of course! Burning a wood stove is a real craft. I’m getting better at it. When I lived here 15 years ago I had another wood stove that was a unit that fit into the fireplace and used the brick chimney as an exhaust. It worked well but didn’t put out near as much heat as the one I have now that sits out in the open room. As much work as I’ve done so far on winterizing the cabin there is still that much more to do. There are cracks and seams all over the place where cold air seeps in (and warm air creeps out.) The next phase is going to be installing the final 3 large picture windows on the front of the house and then putting up dry wall on the 3 walls of the main room and trimming the windows. These things will help a great deal in minimizing any air leaks. Somewhere in between I also need to either 1) fix the door jambs to the 2 outside doors so they are airtight or 2) replace the two outside doors with brand new doors with modern seals built in. I’m leaning to the latter. That will cost a pretty penny. I haven’t even priced doors yet. I’ve been reluctant to because I don’t want to get discouraged. And it will be somewhat of a project because I will have to demo out the door frames, widen them and build new frames for the doors to go into. (The current doors are not standard size.) So many things! The plumbing is still pretty crappy but I’m not going to bitch about it because at least the water is running and the hot water heater is working. I’ve decided to save up and hire someone to replace the entire septic tank system and redo the plumbing from the outside in. I’m also considering hooking on to the city water line which has now reached our property line high up on the mountainside. All these things need to get done before I can realistically move ahead with remodeling the kitchen and bathroom/bedroom.

With all these projects ahead of me it can sometimes get overwhelming. But I remind myself of how far I’ve come. Hell, I’ve already taken the biggest step of all and that was moving up here in the first damn place! I’m taking it all one day at a time, getting done what I can and not worrying too much about the pace of things. Ever since my father’s death in March the most important thing to me has been LIVING. Just showing up for my life everyday, counting my blessings, maintaining an awareness of the NOW, being present in my breath, my life, my moments. Because really…what else is there?

Good night bitches.

I just got back inside the cabin at 12am after hanging out in the cold woods with my neighbor Curt. He was sitting in his truck in a wide open meadow listening to music, smoking a joint and drinking coffee. I pulled up on my four wheeler under the stars and spiraling night sky. We talked shit for a while and then took off in his pickup for a joy ride along the river and through the fields of his farm. So I just got back and built a fire. It’s beginning to get cold at night here. Every night it gets down into the 30’s. There is a forecast for snow this weekend. Tomorrow I start working in the kitchen at the Bluestone Dining Room at Pipestem. This past weekend we shut down Mountain Creek for the season. I’ve had the past two days off of work and I haven’t done a damn thing. Not a single productive thing I shit you not. I took multiple naps, ate food, built fires, surfed the internet, and watched television. I haven’t left the farm in two days. Visiting with Curt moments ago in the field was the first time I’ve seen another person in two days.

I’m feeling kinda weird tonight but less weird than I have for the past two days. A serious case of lethargy came upon me and I couldn’t get motivated to do ANYTHING. I keep telling myself that it’s alright, it’s okay. I needed a little break but still I’m getting down on myself for being so lazy and unproductive. It really doesn’t matter though cause come tomorrow morning I will have plenty to do once again.

I’m in the headspace right now where I’m pretty much giving up on women. Fuck it. Fuck you. I’ll remain alone. Good night bitches.

Wood Splitting Meditation

This Old Road

Driving away from work this evening, drop the truck into 4 wheel drive, illuminate the high beams and rumble down the forest service road towards home. Deer lift their heads, their swan-like necks craning around to see me and my truck crunching down the dusty, washed-out pathway through the woods. I had the stereo on and playing Kris Kristofferson’s This Old Road. A friend from AA gave me this album about 5 years ago. Damn, I’ve been sober that long? A year longer actually. Wild. Crazy. Life just keeps churning and churning...Anyway, the album is amazing. It’s basically just Kris stripped down with an acoustic guitar and singing into the microphone. It’s very intimate, barren and soulful. He’s looking back on his life. He’s counting his blessings. He’s giving thanks. It’s some beautiful music.

So this is going into my head as I’m driving the truck and looking at the star-struck mountainsides and cold autumn West Virginia night. This old road. All these millions of miles I’ve travelled, places I’ve seen, people I’ve met, food I’ve cooked, women I’ve loved, sights I’ve seen…and now I’m finally back home, back where my life began, back to the place where I was once a boy. My father is gone and I’m now a man in the world. I pause at the park gate, open the door to the truck and leave it open while I unlock and open the gate. The music plays loudly out into the naked forest night. I remember when I was 23 years old and opening this same gate on a night just like this. I was riding a motorcycle back then. I was living at the farm and about to make some major changes in my life. Within 18 months from then I would be married, living in Vermont and enrolled in culinary school. But that night I was just there at the gate. That night I was just motorcycling home. That night I would have gotten home and drank a six pack of beer and smoked some weed. That night I would have dreamed about the future and what my life would be like then.

Tonight I stand at the gate and I look back. I look back at my path and experiences and all the twists and turns and occurrences that helped shape the man I am today. It’s been a hell of a weekend at the restaurant. I carried that place on my back this weekend. I held it together with my time-honed talent and experience. When others panicked I remained calm. When others stressed out and started to lose their minds I came up with solutions and solved problems. At the end of the each night I felt the crush of service on my body and bones and on my muscles. Line cooking is athletic. It’s mental and physical. It’s takes extreme concentration, mental acuity, co-ordination and lightning fast reflexes. It is a dance. And I’ve danced and danced and danced. My fucking dance card stays full! Hahahaha! And I think of where I learned this work ethic. My dad. My dad had an amazing work ethic, unbelievable. It used to piss me off when I was little because my dad was always working. I knew he needed to in order to provide for us but still I kind of resented the fact that he was always away working. When I was a teenager and a young adult my dad was really worried that I hadn’t learned a work ethic. I just wasn’t interested in working. Nothing really MOVED me to want to work. I didn’t have a passion. That was true up until the point fifteen years ago when I lived here at the farm and worked at the restaurant (Mountain Creek) where now I am the chef. I became passionate about cooking and food while working at this restaurant. So it’s very special for me to come back here and to run this restaurant and serve up my food there in the dining room. And as I drive home, as I cover the miles and round the turns and navigate the curves down highway 19 back home to the farm I listen to Kris Kristofferson and This Old Road and I think of my dad. And I get home to this cabin and I’m just beginning to make it a home. I’m putting in new windows and floors and walls. I’m doing things I’ve always wanted to do. It’s not been a piece of cake but every moment of this new path has been rewarding. I’m coming into my own and I’m looking forward to the future. I’m looking forward to what’s around the next bend on this old road.

Git'R'Done

I woke up this morning not feeling 100% but definitely feeling better than I have in days, maybe weeks. The sickness has definitely moved into my chest and I'm coughing up some really lovely little globules of God-knows-what. It's starting to feel like another warm and mild day here in southern West Virginia which is awesome because before long the cold will really set in for the season. There are no clouds in the sky this morning and the atmosphere is just the most amazing shade of blue, so deep and vibrant and electric. I've been piddling about this morning, doing my morning internet routine, walking around outside, straightening up a bit, took my meds, etc. I called my sous chef to reassure him that I would be at work this afternoon. He's been holding down the fort for me this week.

And I feel a sense of cleanliness, a sense of renewal, a sense of beginning again. Damn if I know what that whole sexual/emotional escapade thing with C was about but sometimes maybe it's not for us to know. Alls I know is now that it's really over I'm fucking glad it's over. I definitely have other fish to fry so-to-speak. I'll be working in the restaurant through the weekend and into next week but will probably manage a couple of days off mid-week and I really hope the weather is nice and I feel well because I want to git'R'done! That's it, my friends. That's my mantra. Git'R'done! pizeace, MOM

A Piece

Today I drove into town and visited a doctor about my cold/flu. he was referred to me by a fellow I work with. Turns out he knows my uncle and my aunt. Small towns! Kinda wild. I've spent the day in a sort of dream state. I've been awake and going about my business but I've also not been entirely....here. It was a spectacularly gorgeous day today, sunny and mild, soft breezes blowing, the temperature rose to the upper 60's and stayed there until nightfall. As I was driving home from the doctor's office and pharmacy my thoughts turned again to my childhood here in West Virginia. I drove the "old road" back to the farm, down highway 19. The road loops and dips and whirls around mountains and along streams and rivers. Yawning meadows stretched out on the roadsides, pastures dotted with grazing cattle, horses, neatly wound rolls of hay. The sun slanted in from the west and painted everything in an ethereal light, rays playful on falling leaves and sweetly swaying branches. I passed the post office where earlier I had retrieved my mail. I passed long-abandoned houses and businesses that I recall seeing when I was just a boy in the backseat of my father's sedan. It really has only been 28 years since that time. In some ways it seems like centuries, in others it seems like only moments ago. Where does the time go? The light this time of year is golden and precious. I remember being a boy and playing in my childhood neighborhood in Beckley on these Autumn afternoons and evenings. I was enrolled in elementary school and had already started the institutional process but I was still untouched then, unfettered by mature concerns. I'd have spent the afternoon riding my bicycle around, playing G.I. Joes or a pick-up game of football with other neighborhood kids. I'd be wearing blue jeans, tennis shoes, a t-shirt and a hoody. The light would begin to cup the streets and crease the lawns and avenues with shadows. In a while I'd hear my mother's voice calling for me, my name echoing off the hills and houses "Maaaathhh-EWWWWWW!!!! Time for DIIINNNNNNN-ERRRRR!!" to which I'd belt out a reply "Okayyyyyyyyyy!! I'm COMMMING!"

They weren't the best of times or the worst of times. But they were childhood times and there is something haunting, holy and sacred about these memories.

I'm beginning to get better, to get over this sickness. The yuckiness has moved from my head and into my chest. I'm on antibiotics now. My thoughts are turning towards the work I have ahead of me, the work at the resort with the closing of Mountain Creek for the season and me and my crew moving up to the Bluestone Dining Room for the remainder of autumn and for the coming winter and spring. And I'm thinking of the work that lays ahead for me with this cabin and my life here on this farm. This new adventure I've undertaken, this old dream that has never died, never been silenced, never gone away. My thoughts drift less and less on the summer's romance that didn't work out. It still pops up in my consciousness now and then but my mind hasn't been dwelling on it much these past several days. I guess I'm finding comfort in the thinking that if I was just a piece of ass to her then I guess she was just a piece of ass to me too. Nothing more. I want more than that but it is what it is. If she wants to treat herself like just a piece of pussy then I guess that's what she was: a piece of pussy. Hit it and quit it, I guess. But I'm getting too old for that shit, man! Hahahaha!

Tonight the cabin walls embrace me with their tattered memories and quiet, pastoral dignity. Tomorrow I'll return to work cooking for people, feeding people. And the future? Well, the future will take care of itself. night night, The Myth of Matt

Sick

I've been feeling a sickness coming on since this weekend and it's here now. I haven't been sick in several years. Actually the last time I can recall being so sick I had to miss work it was 2007. My head feels like it's going to explode from the pressure, my throat is bitter with mucous and nastiness and my nose is runny and raw. I like to think that I've gotten sick because of her, because my body is excising her out of my system. Although painful it is a pretty amazing thing to remove someone poisonous from your life. It really fucks with your head but it is such a good thing. There are all the inevitable questions of course. Namely: Why? Why did I let myself get grifted again? And the answer to that is actually pretty easy. Because I really want love. And I guess I was willing to try to turn lust into love once again. Live and learn.

I texted one of my cooks this morning and asked him to work today to cover my shift. Although I am the chef I still work a line position every single day I work. Then I went back to sleep. Many times throughout the day I would awaken to one of my phones ringing. I just let it ring. I lay in my bed paralyzed with pain and sickness. It was my boss calling to check on me. Plus she wanted me to put together some menus for a couple of groups we have coming in over the next few months. I finally awoke around 5pm. I woke up in one of those states where you aren't sure what day it is, what time it is, whether the sun is coming up or going down. You're not even sure where the fuck you are. That's how I woke up this afternoon. My neighbor Curt was knocking on my door, checking on me. Said he saw my truck here and wanted to make sure I was okay because he knew I should have been at work. We hung out for a few minutes and then he left. I phoned my boss and checked in with her. The F&B director's step dad is a doctor locally so I'm going to go by his office tomorrow morning to get on anti-biotics and to see about a few other  things. Then I'm going to go to the DMV and get all my car, license, registration, plate bullshit taken care of. Then to the insurance office to sign papers on insurance for the farm and my vehicle. Might as well get all this bs done while I feel like ass anyway, that way I'm not burning up a good feeling day doing a bunch of crap. Ha!

Earlier I went to Wally World and bought Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup, Saltines, Vitamin Water and Aloe Puffs. Gonna hole up tonight. Hunker down and get better. All the slime and aches and pains I'm going to relish because I know my body is expelling sickness. And pining for a dumb bitch that was only using me was sure as hell sick so I welcome the pain of getting better. Bring it on, bitch. Soon, I'll be back better than ever motherfucker! Peace, The Myth of Matt

Done

I'm done with you. I'm done with me. I'm just done. I've been riding a roller coaster of emotion for the past several weeks and it's starting to wear me down. I've been restless, depressed, paralyzed, lacking in energy and focus. I've been trying to pull myself out, trying to not let myself get dragged down. Fucking women, man. I fucking swear to God. They can either make me feel like the king of the world or the dirt on the bottom of their shoe. And I allow this to happen. It's my fault. I don't have the right boundaries or defenses up or something.

Every time I break up with a hot girl I always think that's it. That's the last one. She was the one and it's over. I go through the cycles and come a year or two later another one comes along and I get sucked into that and then the breakup and the thinking that's it again. She was the one and now it's over. It's done. Over and over and over again. I just need to fucking stop with it all, man. I'm sick to fucking death of it all. I'm sick of being single and I'm sick of being with fucked up bitches that just fuck with my head and split. I don't know why it has to be so fucking hard. I really don't. Am I making it that hard? What am I doing wrong here? Time and time again I've resigned myself to a life alone. Told myself "Fuck it! No more!" Dude, I really fucking want to give up. That's how I've been feeling these past few weeks...the depression nipping at my ass and the voices in my head egging me on. What I really need to do is to get my ass into a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. That's really what I need to do.

Cause you see although I've been off of drugs and alcohol for almost six years now I am still a sick puppy. I'll be sick until the day I die. All I have is a daily reprieve from drinking and using drugs. And this reprieve is contingent on my spiritual connection with God. And alcoholism wants to take me down. It LIVES to take me down. It is patient and it waits. It seizes upon every opportunity when I am weak and frustrated and full of fear and doubt and it whispers in my ear all these things, all these hopeless, insane, depressing things. And when I am weak I listen to it. One might think that because I've been sober for several years now that I am okay that I am safer now than I was when I first started in recovery. But the awful truth is that I am more in danger, I am more ripe for the picking. This is because the disease progresses inside me whether or not I am drinking and/or using drugs. The disease has very little to do with alcohol and drugs at all. It has to do with my mind, with my spirit, with my mental state. Alcohol and drugs were just symptoms of my disease. The disease itself is FEAR. The disease itself is self-centeredness. I've gotten off track. Left my safety nets. Spiraling out in the darkness alone. Only God keeps me alive. Only God keeps me away from alcohol and drugs. The terrifying aspect of all this is the fact that I have taken using alcohol and drugs off the table of options and then I had to take suicide off the table of options. I will not pick up a drink or a drug. I will not kill myself. I will fight through the pain. I will soldier on. I will feel the pain. I will recognize the emotions, the fear, the regrets, the mistakes. I have to. My blog is a raw pouring out of all the bullshit in my head, all the disease and garbage. I have to get rid of it. I have to empty it out somehow. Just writing it down on my own doesn't work for me for some reason. I have to publish it and let other people read it. It's not something I necessarily enjoy doing. I'd rather hide what a crazy fucked up bastard I am. I'd rather people think I am with it and have all my shit together but that's simply not true. Since my father died I have been grinding through the days trying to put on a happy face despite the fact that I have been feeling hollow and empty inside. This woman came into my life at a time when I jumped head first into a new adventure of living up here at the farm and starting a new life. She was a ray of sunshine. I loved seeing her, holding her, feeling her next to me. And now she is completely gone and disappeared and the nightmare of my loneliness surrounds me. And I try to call my mother every week but it's getting more and more difficult. Every single time I call she sobs and sobs and sobs. It kills me. I want to comfort her but I have no idea of what to say. I try to find the words. I try to help but I am frozen. This new job is another thing. I don't know if I have the energy or passion to follow through with it. I feel so alone and just hanging out there on a fragile limb swaying in the breeze. That is just how I feel. That doesn't mean anything I guess. But it's painful, it's confusing, it's fucking hard, man.

I've been through a bunch of shit but so have other people and they make it. They survive. They move on and grow and evolve. So that's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna move on. I'm gonna grow. I'm gonna evolve. I'm willing to go to any length to make it happen. I have to be. Or else I really am done.

Hopefully the Last Rant on C

So for the past several weeks I've been pining after this woman I had been dating over the summer. We shared many great moments together, seemed to get really close, talked about the future, she was a real sweetheart to me. Then she starts seeing someone else and telling me she's not ready for a serious relationship since she just got out of one that was really bad and dysfunctional. I broke it off because I don't sleep around anymore. I'm a one woman man. But I missed her. I missed her companionship and what seemed like budding love between us. Well, I texted her tonight and just flatly asked, "Do you still have feelings for me at all or is this thing totally done?" To which she replied, "I am in love with Freddie. I have no interest in having a romantic relationship with you." So she wasn't ready for a serious relationship but now she's in love with this other dude. Crazy bitch, man. I should have known better than to try to date a stripper. I really should have! But she turned on the charm to get what she wanted and when she was done with me and my cock she couldn't get rid of me fast enough!

I'm hurt of course but also relieved. I can now move on. I can now write her off as a nutjob, selfish bitch that has no qualms fucking with dude's heads. Good luck with all that, chick.

P.S. I'm too good for you.

love, The Myth of Matt

Prepping for Winter

The autumn winds are blowing and winter is on its way in. I've been burning fires in the fireplace and wrapping my head around the fact that I am really living here now and that this isn't just a summer lark. This is my life. Also wrapping my head around the fact that C isn't in my life anymore and learning to be cool with that. Learning to turn the page. Learning to move forward. Learning to let go of a brief dream that seemed so promising.

It's funny how excited I am about installing these new windows I bought yesterday. The current windows are old ones from my grandparents' house that got new life and use here in the cabin. They weren't installed with insulation or winter living in mind. There are visible cracks between the sections where wind blows clean through.  When I lived here previously, 15 years ago, I tried to weatherstrip around them. I also stretched plastic sheeting over the outside of them to break the air blowing in. This probably helped somewhat but in the long run didn't really do a lot to stop the draft of cold winter air. The windows I bought yesterday are energy effecient, double-hung modern insulated windows. I only bought 2 and I'm going to need 6 more. They cost $170 each so I'm buying them a few at a time to cushion the layout of cash somewhat. I'm also excited about the reconditioning of the wood-burning stove I bought off my neighbor. It's an old cast-iron piece that's been sitting outside on his farm for several years. It looked rusty and beat up as hell until I bought some black stove polish last night and started working it into the metal as Curt and I sat inside the cabin drinking coffee and talking. He's a damn good friend. People like to joke about him and make fun of him for being such a hillbilly but I can honestly say he's one of the coolest people and best friends I've ever had. In many ways he's like the older brother I never had. We come from different backgrounds in many ways but we share so many common interests and personality traits that we get along great. He really is a an american archetype. I realized this the day I met him and as the years have gone by I've recognized this simple truth more and more. He's full of contradictions, failings, human qualities good and bad. I really can't imagine living here without having him on the far m next door. The place just wouldn't be the same.

Anyway, I was amazed at how much the stove polish improved the look of the stove. I got just one thin coat on it last night and it already looks so much better. In the days to come I'm going to apply a gooey stove putty to the cracks and welds on the unit and then go back over the entire piece with another thicker layer of the black polish. Last night I also purchased the stove pipe I'll need to get the thing venting properly. With a combination of the wood-burning stove, fireplace, electric wall heaters, modern windows and insulation beneath the floor as well as caulking various cracks around the cabin structure itself I think I will have this place pretty comfy this winter. I've cut and split firewood myself on my days off and Curt has been bringing me truckloads of wood too. When the needle starts dropping and the flakes start falling I want to be ready for it. I feel like I'm making progress with it and that feels good.

Quenched

The rain is drumming the roof and my mind is calm and still for the first time in weeks and weeks. We haven’t received rain here in southern West Virginia for a long time it seems. Everything has been dry and brown. The grasses have been withered and the soil parched. Gravel roads dusty and sun-baked. It is as if we are receiving all of September’s rainfall in one evening. The creeks and rivers will rise and swell. I am listening to it now as it is happening. Tomorrow the Bluestone will breach its banks. Millennial river rocks that have roasted in the sun for weeks will be submerged under rushing waters, limbs and debris will gush downstream. The spring box here on the farm will fill. Aquifers deep within the mountainsides will raise and spill from a million different sources. And I’m being filled too. I’m being washed. I am being cleansed. I am drinking from an overflowing cup of abundant life and my thirst is being quenched.

Refocus

Okay, it’s really time to refocus. Things got a little carried away there. I moved up here and 8 weeks later an executive chef position was dropped in my lap. At the same time I met a truly amazing woman who took my world by storm. Not sure exactly what happened with the woman situation but it went south but I’m not going to launch into discussing that here now because it would just be counter-productive.

So it’s officially Autumn now. The leaves are falling from the trees, splashes of color in the forests, up on the mountains and along the roadsides. It’s cooled down a bit but it still has not gotten COLD yet. I’ve been putting up firewood. My neighbor Curt has been helping me out with that, giving me a kickass deal on wood. I’m giving him $50 per pickup truck load of wood that’s already cut and split. I’ve been working so much at the resort that I’ve just not had time to cut much wood myself. A lot of the projects I had planned got pushed to the back burner while I was dating C too. But now that’s over so I am trying to refocus on what I was up to before I met her.

I scheduled myself off Wednesday and Thursday this week. It’s been a while since I’ve had two days off in a row and even longer since I’ve spent them here at the farm working on projects. Time to insulate beneath the floor, put in windows and install the wood-burning stove I bought off Curt a few weeks back. There’s a TON of work to do. Also on my days off this week I need to get insurance and register my car in WV as well as get a WV driver’s license. Also gonna go with my sous chef to his aunt’s house to see about adopting her daughter’s dog. The pup is around a year old and a full-blooded german shepherd. Josh says she’s beautiful and really good natured. It’ll be nice to have a pup to come home to at night. Need a good companion.

Deer season is right around the corner and I don’t have a rifle so I need to get one of those. I’ve done some hunting in the past but I’ve never killed a deer. I’m looking forward to deer hunting this year and hope this is the year I pop my cherry.

Yes, a change of focus, a turning of the page. Let the heart heal and grow and ready myself for new experiences to come. That’s it. Peace.

I am the Highway

Attachment, detachment, fear, hope, strength, illusion, consciousness, mindfulness. Just a few of the things that rattle around in my skull a lot lately. Tonight I was driving home from work and there was a full moon in the sky. As I got to the end of Dunns Road I pulled over to the side of the road and pulled out the cd case that had been lying in the floorboard of the passenger seat. I flipped through the pages and found the cd I was looking for, ejected another cd from the stereo system and inserted the new one. I clicked the tracks ahead until I found the song I wanted. As the first notes of the song started I illuminated the headlights of the truck, shifted the transmission into drive and pulled back onto the highway. Audioslave’s “I am the Highway” erupted from the speakers. Chris Cornell’s singular strong voice crashed against the walls of the truck cab and against the interior of my mind.

“I was lost in the city…alone….in the hills…”

I screamed the lyrics at the top of my lungs as I navigated the truck along the winding symmetry of Highway 19. 19 years ago I was 19 years old.

Why is it that I try to possess things? Deep down I know that there is nothing to be gained and nothing to lose. In my core I know that this entire life is an illusion. Every single bit of it is a dream. It seems so real. It seems so lasting and permanent. But in reality it is anything but. I am spirit. WE are spirit. The clothes we wear, the cars we drive, the schools we attend, the houses we build...they are all window dressing on a mind-blowing infinite existence. None of it matters. I build myself up…for what? For whom? For why? Life is a breath. Life is a heartbeat. Life is a gift. We bump into each other. Like seemingly random little atoms spinning around a bright burning nucleus.

I remember faces of strangers I never knew. Eyes that lock for a moment, maybe two and disappear into the netherworld ether of passing time. Sometimes we form relationships, sometimes we develop a “history” together, a collection of thoughts, words, memories, actions, photographs, shared experiences. We were both there. Don’t you remember? But what you remember and what I remember are often two VERY different things. We’re all bumping around in our own heads. We connect and then disconnect. We link up and then we break apart. Somewhere beneath it all there is some grand accounting I am sure. There is a book, a film, a diary…of each soul’s existence and each incarnation of that soul. And there are as many different angles as there are particles of dust swirling in space.

But I want a GIRLFRIEND!!!! And I want that GIRLFRIEND to be HER!!!! Hahahahahaha! How small we are! How petty! The moon looks down with an amused glow at all of our jostling, posturing and activity. The sun spurs us on. “But I didn’t get THIS or THAT!!! So and so did THIS to me!!!” Crazy apes in designer clothes for sure.

When I used to take LSD it was like washing away all the detritus of existence. It was like a great cleansing. 12 hours of NOW. Half of an earth spin of mind-altered kaleidoscopic REALITY. The human mind doing cartwheels with its own imagination and wonder. Oceans became puddles and puddles became oceans. Ordinary everyday birds were transformed into pterodactyls. Power lines became arteries. Automobiles living creatures. The life and source behind every single “thing” was illuminated and exposed as something entirely different than its workaday signature “self.” I, too, was illuminated and exposed, all my memories, relationships, hopes, fears, triumphs, defeats…the warmness of the womb, the light breaking the horizon of the windowpane in my elementary school bedroom, the radiators in classrooms dripping with melted crayon. Tongue swirling kisses with girls, fist-fights with boys, spankings from parents, memory and emotion riding the lysergic wave through the cavern of my skull.

Once you take LSD you are forever changed, altered. It’s a trip you never really come back from because part of your mind stays there. Part of you cannot forget what you saw, what you felt, and the way existence creaked and groaned and slithered before you. I’ve taken enough of it that I don’t ever need to take it again. The world and all its glory and confusion, all its ugliness and beauty, all its joy and pain is a dream. A dream! It’s not real! The you behind you is real. The thoughts are real. The actions are real only in that they are produced by thought. But the actual physical plane that these things occur on is fiction.

This is why when I miss my father I know I am not really missing my father. I am missing the spirit that was in the man that was my father. I am missing the memories of him carved into my thought center. What happens when we die? My dad once told me that he had an experience with dying long, long ago…in the house I grew up in. He left his body; he looked down on the bed, on the house, on the neighborhood, on existence. He was not afraid. He saw light and felt a warm glow envelope him. And in a moment a voice that did not speak communicated to him that it was not time and so he descended back into his body lying in the bed next to my mother. He told me this the last time we were both together here at the farm. We were sitting outside beneath the stars with a bright burning fire on the ground at our feet. We had become friends. His seed fertilized my body into existence and he fed me, clothed me, educated me, put a roof over my head. He disciplined me and nurtured me, bailed me out of trouble, protected me, loved me. These things live. These things endure. The rest falls away.

The highway is empty tonight. No fellow travelers under the moon here on this road. Only deer, trees and white painted lines on black asphalt beneath the stoic mountains and glittering lunar light. And it occurs to me…in a blink of nothing…

I am the highway. I am the sky. I am the light.

To Love and Be Loved

I wish I could be cold and unfeeling. I sometimes long to be invisible. Sometimes I do feel invisible, like a ghost, like a spirit, like an empty husk. Loss so deep and heavy it's physical. You feel it in your body, in your bones, in your organs. It's not just losing this fresh new romantic relationship that's got me in this state, although I know that triggered it. With all the newness of moving to the farm, starting a new job, getting promoted, dating a really fun, interesting girl, my grieving for my father got put on the back burner. It's front and center now. It's real. I feel so alone. This isn't an alien feeling to me. I've felt alone most of my life. What's dragging me down these past few days is that the bright light of her company, her presence in my life has been extinguished. She's gone. Vanished. We texted each other every single day multiple times a day. We spent days and nights with each other every chance we could get. And now it's over. Completely severed and truncated. My sensitive nature is in shock and I'm just starting to come out of it. I was looking forward to her companionship over the autumn and winter, sweet times in front of the fire snuggling and getting to know each other better, spending the holidays with one another, that kind of thing. It sure doesn't look like that is going to happen now.

And this is how I deal with things. I write. I think. I muse. I meditate. I try to learn. I post my thoughts and feelings online to share with others. Part of it is an exorcising of the pain, part of it is to get feedback from my friends, and part of it is that perhaps somehow my words might help someone else who is suffering similarly. If you don't like it, if you think I should just shut up and move on that's your right. I encourage you to stop reading my blog or hide me from your activity feed. Because this is how I deal with things. And I have to deal with them or they will deal with me. Stuffing feelings doesn't work for someone like me. I'm an alcoholic and drug addict. Stuffing feelings is extremely dangerous for me. I have to face whatever it is inside me that is causing me pain. If I don't, if I choose to fake it and pretend I'm fine then I am setting myself up for a nightmarish future of using alcohol and drugs again.

I have the bad habit of leaning on women too much, especially when it comes to romantic involvement. I put women up on a pedestal. Then I get pissed off when I learn that they are human, that they make mistakes, that  they have lives of their own and that their world doesn't revolve around me just because I'm fucking them at that particular moment in time. I've known this about myself for some time but it has taken yet another episode of my egotism and neediness to hammer the point home. C was a fine woman, an amazing woman, a real catch. That is why I fell for her so hard and fast. I've been around the block. I know an amazing person when I meet them. And my excitement and eagerness to be with there blinded me to HER reality, where she is in HER life. She tried to do the right thing by me. She was honest with me about where she was emotionally, romantically and with regards to getting into a serious relationship. I heard her but I didn't listen. I kept right on with the illusion that she was the ONE. She might have been the ONE, if there is such a thing. But she wasn't ready. She told me she wasn't ready. And I ignored her. I realize that now. She behaved in a manner that was entirely in keeping with where she told me she was in her life. And I still allowed myself to get hurt. Fuck I still have so much growing up to do. I really do.



So that is why I do this. That is the main reason anyway. Because I have to. I have to look at myself. I have to keep growing and changing and evolving. When I stop I start dying. And I don't want to die today. I want to live and I want to love. To love and be loved. That is what life is all about in my opinion. love ya, MG

Staring into the Void

I'd give anything to be able to talk to my dad right now, to sit next to him in his garage and be in his presence, to hear his stories, to listen to his distinctive laugh, to look into his wise, kind eyes. I thought about this earlier this evening when I was leaving work after a long day spent completely revamping the resort's food service menu offerings. I drove along the 4x4 road looking at the last rays of sunlight filter through the autumn trees. My body was tired and weary. 38 years old. A lyric from John Mellencamp sang in my head, "How does it feel to be the big daddy of them all?" And that triggered thoughts of my dad. My dad was ten times the man I am. He'd deny it but I know it's true. All the things I still had yet to learn from him and now his time has passed and I'm left with memories of him. I need him right now. He was my biggest champion. Never gave up on me. Loved me unconditionally. I'd go to him with a problem and although he didn't always have the answer in a roundabout way he would give me the answer. Sometimes I wouldn't get it at the time but eventually I would. I know he'd be proud of me for moving up here and living on this land he loved so dearly. I know he'd be proud that in just 60 days I somehow managed to secure on of the only executive chef positions in this area. God I miss him. And last night I spoke to my mom on the telephone. It's getting harder and harder to find the courage to call her because she is such an emotional wreck. It rips my heart into pieces to hear her. She sobs and cries uncontrollably every single time we talk. And there's nothing I can do to take away her pain. She has to walk the path to healing. And I'm grieving too. Fuck man, I don't know.

And tonight I get home after a very long 7 days of working and my mind and heart are wanting to be with C and I can't. Fucked that up royally. I wasn't understanding enough.  I was too impulsive, rash and emotional with my reactions to her actions. She really is a sweet person, a lovely person. Christ I was so happy to have met her and spend time with her. But, as always, I want MORE. More more more! I didn't want to share her with other men. I know that's just how I'm made and that part of me isn't going to change. But I didn't have to act like a prick about it and hurt her feelings in the process of discovering that. I was hurt and I reverted to old thinking and actions. And now...well...now I'm stuck with the consequences of my actions. And I will feel really alone without her in my life. She was such a ray of sunshine to me. I enjoyed her company immensely. I loved talking to her and hearing what she had to say about things. I loved being close to her. I loved kissing her and feeling her beautiful body next to mine. But my own ego has gotten in the way once again.

And then I think of all the scars that have been put on my heart and how I've always imagined other people put them there when in reality it has been me. If I could just learn to love more, to understand more, to be more patient and kind then my heart would heal itself of old wounds, scar tissue would dry up and fall away. But it doesn't seem like I do that. Instead I'm content to finger the wounds, to peel back the scabs, to reopen real or imagined wrongs done to me years ago. I see friends who are married and have been married all these years and I am absolutely fucking AMAZED at the fact that they can do it. I know it's not effortless. I know they each carry their own burdens and problems but somehow they get it done. They make it through the rough patches. They have children, work at jobs for years, own houses. I'm so proud of them. I don't know what's wrong with me that these things in life elude me. If I did know I could change. I know I could change.

Just random thoughts this Tuesday night as I sit here in the cabin on the hillside, bright moon shining out the windows and animals I don't recognize making sounds in the forested night. When I was younger and more naive I felt a sense of excitement, mystery and optimism about the wilderness night. But right now...tonight...it is a cold and ceaseless void. I am alone and I will remain alone. I had a sweet girl to spend my nights with but I somehow managed to find a way to fuck that up. Sleep will come and the sun will rise again tomorrow and I will soldier on, wounded heart and all. But tonight I may just go out and stare into the void. Maybe I'll find some answers there.

Spewage

Really?? This whole song and dance again? Fuck man. I don't even know what to say about all this shit. Just gonna spew it out as usual I guess. Why does it have to be so fucking hard to find someone? Another heartbreak. Jesus H. Christ. I REALLY dug this girl too. Thought she was awesome, thoughts of the future, dreams, desires, adventures together. She wants to still date other people. I want to be her boyfriend and for her  to be my girlfriend. We were really good together. She told me she was still going to be dating other people. I didn't like it but reluctantly agreed. As the days and weeks went by we spent so much time together and so many really special, intimate moments that I didn't imagine she would even have the time much less the interest to see anybody else. I was wrong. Found out this past week that she HAS been seeing other people and has even been developing feelings for one of them. I just don't get this at all. When she talks to me I'm listening but it's like she's speaking some foreign language that I can't understand. It's just not how I'm wired at ALL. When I start to have feelings for someone, romantic feelings, budding love-type feelings, I'm not interested in anyone else. I'm focused on giving that person a go. Fuck...one relationship at a time please! I mean, for me, a relationship with a single female is complicated enough...damn if I have any interest in being involved in two, three or four at the same time! Lunacy!

I got hurt. Took it personal. The dude she said she's been developing feelings for she started seeing AFTER we started dating. Nice. Can't help feel bad about that for some reason. Triggered insecurities in me. Like, "Oh I guess I'm not enough for you?" Shit like that. All these years in recovery and I'm still taking on other people's actions as my own shit. Should know better. But I don't. I still do it. Was starting to fall in love with her. We talked about the future, having kids, all kinds of shit. Fucking exhausting going through all that shit to end up with nothing at the end of the day. I'll get over it. I'll get over her. I don't know if it's gotten harder or easier dealing with the pain of shattered dreams over the years. A little bit of both I think (if that makes any damn sense!) What's surprising to me is that I haven't grown jaded or cynical. That really amazes me for some reason. No when the next one comes along I'll fucking throw it all there to her just the same. Shaking my head. It's like I'm some knave or something, some love idiot that just keeps throwing his heart out there and letting it get stomped all over. And then there is the blow-back. Christ I can be such an asshole. It amazes me how fucking mean and evil I can be when my heart's been broken. If I did or said even HALF of the shit that my mind comes up with....well, let me just say that I'm glad I have the good sense to censor myself as much I do. When I'm falling in love or in love with someone I feel like I am so loving, kind, sweet and generous. But when I feel as if I've been betrayed I change. I become a cold, callous, evil sonuvabitch. But I've gotten better over the years. I go through stages of grief with the breakup. Don't know what stage I'm on now, reflection I guess.

I don't fault her although I really want to of course. I know I'm to blame. She flat out told me she was going to be dating other people and I agreed to it. But after the times we spent together I really couldn't imagine that she was dating other people. Honestly it's so outside my thoughts on our dynamic that it did come as a shock to me. And then it was a shock to her that it was a shock to me. Like she told me she was going to be doing that and so I had no right to get my feelings hurt the way I did. Oh well, I'm a softie, a romantic. I go all in or I don't go at all. Go big or go home. Kinda feel like a dumb-ass now about the whole thing but fuck, I've been a dumb-ass many, many times before so it's not exactly alien territory for me. She's pissed at me now. Sent me a text today saying she would mail me something I was having sent to her house. I think her words were "I WILL mail it to you. I don't want you here." I'm sure this was intended to hurt my feelings and it did. But the really fucked up perverted thing about it was that I was somewhat pleased that she was angry enough to be mean and try to hurt my feelings. During this whole thing she's seemed nonchalant, matter-of-fact, cold and non-emotional about things. Like, "I told you. You should have believed me." Her showing a glimmer of emotion in sending me that text was actual a signal to me that maybe I did mean something to her after all.

No answers tonight. But the writing process has at least quelled some of the questions. Lots of work to do in my professional life so I guess I will again turn to the kitchen for solace. Been going in early for the past week. Going in early and staying late. So yeah, I've got that going for me. The romantic life fails and the professional life succeeds. Whatever. Good night.

Mid-September Evening

On the roadside a few hours past sunset listening to the sound of the motor turning in the truck. Truck headlamps shining out in front of two dirt tracks and a strip of green between. On my left a wire fence attached to wooden posts firmly entrenched in the ground. Barb wire on top of the fence. Beyond is a meadow covered by 3 feet of evenly laid fog, a pure white blanket shining in the moonlight. Beyond the fog-carpeted meadow three blue mountains stand in the distance, their lines curving against the sky, darker than sky though, opaque. Beyond those three blue mountains are two more blue mountains, darker still, bluer still, even more opaque and mysterious. The fragile moon cuts lines of light down from the heavens and as always, I am standing on the roadside....watching.

El Sangre de Cristo

Valleys and fields, old wooden churches with white clapboards peeling away, the sun shines through, rolls of hay bound tightly and resting...yellow school buses in the lot, no cars in the general store lot, grasses mowed, firewood stacked, sun an immense circle of light in the brilliant blue sky, camera pans down on the silver truck navigating the black-top two line highway...a young-ish man is at the wheel, his lower lip swollen on the left side with chewing tobacco, no music on in the cab of the truck, windows down, wayfarers on, white t-shirt, faded blue jeans and black cowboy boots---

image cuts to black and white and a little boy in the backseat, two sisters beside him, mother and father in the front, the sisters talk to one another, the father speaks to the mother, the boy sits with his forehead against the glass looking....

image cuts to present and man at steering wheel of silver truck...

image cuts, nothing remains, everything stays the same...

camera pans into the man's head...thought bubbles of spirit and sight, monsters and daydreams, far off lands and familiar rooms, dawn on the prairie, nightfall on the plains, a solitary tree silhouetted against the light, stars showing in the east, vibrant colors in the west, the man with long hair, skinny and young, blowing bongs hits and laughing, his eyes wide and red, image cuts the man at 32 lying naked and shivering on the western floor, tears streaming, wailing sounds, nightmarish sounds, beating his head against the brick tile, fingernails scratching, fists beating...all the dust gathered in flame, all the flame gathered in spirit, all the spirit beginning to lift him away...the flame flickering in the dark, the kernel and seed nearly expunged, the heart beating fast then growing slow, faint now...image cut of the heart slowing, the needle dropping, quiet...."pump-squiiiiish..........pump-sqiiiiiiiiiiiish....pump-squiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiishhhhhhhhhh" it pauses and then begins again, for some reason, it begins again...."pump-squish...pump-squish....pump-sqish"

El Sangre de Cristo flowing through his veins.

Resig Nation

It's a strange feeling. You wonder if you are at the beginning of a long journey or perhaps just a brief adventure. So many things...that we will never remove...I know you're sorry...I'm sorry too...Match stick men with hollow eyes and spines of gold, fiery bombs of the noon day glow, it's not all for show. It's real. The Big Doubt. The Great Discontent. Like a fish doesn't know what water is because it's ALL he knows. That's what it's like. Am I co-dependent because I want to be with her? Because I'm falling for her? Fuck if I know. Funny how I throw this heart of mine out there. You'd think I'd be more jaded, more cautious, more cynical. Somehow it's not in my nature. This sunny disposition. Ha! Painted birds on the mantle.Owls hooting at dawn. Bunnies feisty at the side of the road. Two dirt tracks with a strip of green between. Halloween.

How often do you think of death? I think of it all the time. Seriously all of the time. It's never far from my thoughts. It's not a gloomy thing. It's a reality thing. No one here gets out alive. How many days do I have left? How many hours? How many moments? The future is a fool's errand. The past a cosmic joke. The ever-ripening present is all there is and all there will ever be. I seized the day but it didn't seize me back. It laughed and shrugged me off. I felt dejected, alone. I've always felt dejected and alone. In a crowd sure. By myself, not so much. This land, these hills, these rivers and streams...these valleys and fields. At night when I close my eyes and sleep comes upon me, at night when the heaving of my chest moves in unison to the slow-disintegration of wood in the fire, my spirit climbs from me, my spirit soars...out of the cabin and into the night, above the pines and oaks, over tree tops and meadows, star-speckled, moon-struck, holy and crisp in the night sky, the milky firmament of our little backward corner of the galaxy. My spirit floats. My spirit twirls. My spirit moves through ever-settling fog and mist, through illuminated clouds pierced only by noiseless wind and gathering moonlight. Houses are still and small on the painted night-scape. Small columns of smoke trail off from chimneys, solitary headlamps from a single car wind along mountain roads and disappear among the trees.

When I return home, when I awake, the sun has risen and something in me tells me to rise too. I am not rested. I am not refreshed. Another dog day of sun-bleached existence. I faintly remember soaring the night before. There is a glimmer of the dream, an echo, but no reply, no purchase in my conscious-life. The subconscious sleeps. The conscious goes about the day as if in a dream. People, conversations, work, all the detritus of living. Splashes of light and shadows hint at it. Small animals whisper it. reflections of the sky in cool pools of water eddied along the river, swollen boulders resting in the shallows....

I know I will be old and alone. I can't help the thought. It's truth. As much as I desire...and I DO desire...The Great Desire ever as powerful in me as The Great Discontent and The Great Doubt. The Great Desire...oh how you plague me! How you drive me! How you keep me going with your dangling carrot of happiness, contentment, peace and tranquility. I am destined for loneliness. I am feted for solitude. I am resigned to it.

Kitchen Sex

The following post is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

I am standing in the restaurant kitchen with her. We are alone. There is one other person at the resort, a security guard and he is half-deaf. The lights are off. The doors are locked. Bits of sunlight stream in the dining room window and illuminate the stainless steel work tables. We are standing on the line and she drops to her knees on the terra cotta tile floor, unzips my jeans, fishes out my cock and holds it in her graceful feminine hands. Greedily she opens her mouth and takes me in. Instantly I feel her soft moist tongue swirling around my pulsing cock. Her hands are around my thighs. Her knees dig into the tile beneath us. I lean back against a stainless steel work table with my hands on her head. My fingers grasp locks of her long brown hair. She goes at it with relish. Her tongue flicks and swirls all over the ever-swelling shaft of meat. I hold her head forcefully, gripping her by her hair and rock her head back and forth on my cock. She gurgles and gags as my cock fills her mouth and throat to capacity.

Impulsively and without warning I pull her head back away from me. A string of saliva stretches from her mouth to the head of my cock. It glitters in the afternoon light that is cast in muted rays across the gleaming kitchen surfaces. I pull her to her feet by her hair and kiss her deeply. Spin her around and roughly push her upper body onto the steel counter. I unsnap and unzip her jeans shorts. I pull them down to her ankles. I do the same with her cotton panties. Her breath is heavy. She has already begun to sweat. With one hand on the small of her back I have her arch for me. Her thighs catch the light and her back arches. Her pussy rises past her thighs and exposes itself to me. I don't lubricate her or give any warning. I pause for just one moment with the head of my cock barely touching her moistened lips. And I plunge headlong into her. I feel her hot womanly essence contract and expand around my cock. She gulps for air and her hands search the smooth stainless steel table for purchase. Again I grasp her hair, pull back her head, bite her neck..all the while pushing in and out of her with force. Her body shakes and her breath is quick. As I fuck her I notice some of my tools sitting on the workspace. I pick up a rubber spatula in one hand. I take in the vision of her porcelain smooth ass cheeks, tanned by the sun and gorgeous, round and inviting. I bring the spatula up in the air and cut down on her flesh. The rubber tip resounds with a pounding SMACK on her ass cheek. She cries out loudly and tries to toss back her hair but cannot as it is being held firmly in the grasp of my other hand. I whip her again and then again. Her cries grow louder and louder. I set down the spatula for a moment and gather a white cotton chef's towel in my hand, twirl it into a gag, loop it over her head, into her clenched teeth, tie it into a knot at the back of her neck.

I pull her shirt up and take in the sight of her beautiful and flawless back, tanned skin stretched over toned muscle. Without warning I whip her back muscles cruelly. Her pussy clenches hard around my cock as I rock it in and out of her. Her cries are muffled by the improvised gag and I delight in them. I whip her again and again. Her body is now covered in a thin sheen of sweat. She is nothing but a pool of sex now. Her gorgeous body is splayed out before me, pressed against the steel table, her panties around her ankles and her little white ankle socks and sneakers.

I give her a few moments rest from the beating while I find another improvised torture device. I select a pair of chef's tongs from the pile of tools on the table beside her. I push her crumpled torso to the side and release one of her beautiful breasts from her bra. I take the nipple in my fingers first, then in the teeth of the tongs. I pinch down on the tongs and squeeze her nipple hard leaning back so that it is pulled away from her body. She squeals from behind her gag as I make rhythm with her pain with the pounding of my cock in her pussy. I give her other breast the same treatment before returning to the spatula.

Again she is chest down over the table. This time her bare breasts lay on the cold stainless steel table. My left hand holds the back strap of her bra while my right hand wields the spatula. I ride her like an equestrienne rides his horse. I whip her ass, her thighs, her calves, her back and arms without mercy. She writhes in pain. She bucks in pleasure. She is dripping wet, sopping with juices all over my cock. I find a beautiful rhythm there with the spatula falling in heavy blows against her and my cock digging ever deeper into her gorgeous and pulsing pussy. I feel it rising up in me and with one last smack on her back and one last muffled scream into her gag I empty myself into her. I shake and call out her name.

Another few punctuated moments and the chaos and brutality of the scene are done. I drop the spatula. I release her bra strap from my grip. Still inside her I bend down over her sweat-drenched back, reddened with the heat of my blows. I undo her gag. I kiss her softly on her back, her neck, her arms, her cheeks. I gently brush back her hair from her face. She cannot speak. Her legs tremble. Her body shakes. I place soft, sweet kisses on her face, on her eyelids and lashes, on her lips. I coo and fawn over her. I touch her gently now, sweetly brushing my fingers softly across her bruised and punished skin. We stay this way for a good while as the beating of our hearts slow. I have no idea how long we've been here. Time has disappeared. We are the only two people on earth at this moment. Finally my cock softens and slips out her, my juice runs out and down her thighs. I help her up off of the table and into my arms. She is putty. She is pudding. She collapses into me. I feel my muscles holding her. I feel my beard brushing against her soft feminine face. Lazily her eyes lift and meet mine. We are both without words. We don't need any. Standing in the darkened kitchen I hold her, my jeans around my ankles and resting on my boots, her shorts and panties at her feet.

We sigh and linger in this holy embrace.

The Black Battle

Been a fucked up week, man. Just weird. Weird shit. All up in my head. The itty bitty shitty committee. Restless, irritable and discontent. No real reason. No good reason anyway. My mom was in town this weekend...(for fucking example as I'm trying to write this blog my computer keeps freezing up on me...little shit like that)...but ANYWAY...what was I saying??? Oh yeah...restless, irritable and discontent...Some days everything clicks, other days it doesn't...some days it feels like a fucking struggle.

Illusions. Delusions. Consciousness. Seeing my mother just broke my heart again into a million tiny pieces. The pain of loss. Real-life heavy duty stuff. My dead father (and my fist wanting to punch through the screen of this fucking laptop as it keeps freezing up on me...) Sometimes I wonder what the fuck I am doing...where am I? Who am I? What the fuck is this or that? How'd I get here?

There are moments when I feel just like the little boy I used to be, wondrous,

full of awe, joy, hope, optimism…all that good shit. Then there are other times, dark times, times when I feel BLACK. I swear on my life I could kill a man. I know I could. I could snuff the life right out of that sumbitch. Feel his life draining away from him, watch the eyes flutter, wide in disbelief, piercing with fear…then grow cold and distant…dead, lifeless. Feel the muscles spasm one last time before the body goes limp and the life evaporates before my eyes. And the nightmare that I am now a murderer begins. The burden of that life I’ve stolen from the world weighing down upon me. There have been times when I’ve woken from dreams and wondered if perhaps at some point in my life I really DID kill someone and just blacked it out, just pushed it into the furthest reaches of my consciousness…a terrible secret I’m saving for Judgment Day.

I think of my father all the time, mostly fond thoughts and memories but seeing my mother this weekend brought darker things…the memory of the night he passed, the vision of his dead body swaddled in white linen, the days, weeks and months leading up to his death when his mind began it’s journey into the next realm and the body just needed to catch up. He’s pushed his way past us now, headed fearlessly into the unknown. He always told me I was far more brave and courageous than he ever thought about being. I never believed him. I’ve been wild, careless, reckless. He’s the one who is brave. he is the courageous one. I’m still that boy from King Street, still kicking my tennis shoes in the dirt and throwing rocks against metal signs just to hear the “ping.” I’m visceral, romantic, brooding, sensual. Let something go my way and count the minutes till I figure out a way to fuck it up. Won’t let myself rest or be content for more than a few moments, push push push…never stop, never slow down, never give in, never give up. Even when the thing I’m looking for has been found, when the great discovery has been made, when the seas have been crossed and the peak summited….even then I won’t feel the joy of victory or release of accomplishment. It’s just how I’ve always been. I’ve tried to find peace with it but even that eludes me. I won’t even let myself accept the fact that I can’t accept things. I need drama, mystery, the unknown. I need something to fight for, someone to fight with. I need a battle, an enemy. I need villains and foes. And the best villain I’ve ever come across, the fiercest competitor, the most worthy combatant has always been myself. Cause myself will never give in, never give up, never call time out. I won’t accept defeat not will I claim victory. I’ll fight just to fight. I’ll go round after round and the joy will not be in the raising of my hand at the end, not in the applause and kudos of the galley. The joy will be in the blows themselves, the PAIN, the bruises, the scars. I’ll finger them later. I’ll covet ever scratch and claw mark. I’ll relive each moment from the wounds I proudly wear on my flesh. I’ll gaze childlike at the greenish purple bruises that blossom into black. I’ll relish the ache and weary tenderness of my muscles after a good bout. My eyes will become steely and glazed over when I muse of the next go. My heart will quicken, my fists will clench, my jaw will tighten. I’ll call to my opponent to rise. I’ll lock eyes with him. My conscious self will disappear into the ether as I engage…sweet release and escape.

Quiet

It's been an afternoon of realizing the shifting paradigms. Today I slowed down for the first time all summer it seems. After an amazing morning waking in her arms and making love I drove the truck back to Spanishburg. Hit Athens Rd. down to Highway 19 and turned right on my golden road of homeward country bliss. Passed school buses leaving Spanishburg school. Waved at a neighbor outside the Valley General Store, crossed the Hank Williams Sr. Memorial Bridge and slowed down, pulled into the gravel lot in front of the Spanishburg Post Office, gathered my mail, nodded at another gent and continued on home.

I can honestly say without a moment's hesitation or doubt that I don't want to be anywhere else in the world other than here. Meadows and fields stretch and roll over hillsides and down valleys, leaves are just beginning their late summer fading. The sky is the most brilliant shade of blue. There are pinkish white clouds drifting lazily above the deep green mountains. There is a pause, a respite, a break. The lawnmowers are quiet today. The gardens that have been sowed, hoed, weeded, watered, fertilized and kept up all summer now sit heavy laden with fruit. Immense rolls of hay dot fields as far as the eye can see. Horses and ponies wag their soft feathery tails standing in the cool mountain breeze as they are warmed in pulsing late summer sunlight. The highway weaves through this pastoral scene with breathless efficiency and economy. The windows are open in the truck. Ryan Adams belts out one of his heartbroken cowboy songs and I ease up on the gas and drift into yet another mountain turn.

The pace of the summer perhaps behind me. If not beginning to fade. Changes. Buried father. grieving mother. Distant sisters. Nights spent cooking cooking cooking. Hot nights over the grill, twirling my tongs and saute pans. Grilling meats over a red hot barbecue. Searing fish. Dressing freshly picked vegetables in butter and herbs. White plate after white plate. Table after table. Unlock the restaurant, turn on the lights, bring in the mats, turn on the hood, unlock the fridges, pull out the equipment, glance at the prep list, cut meats, fillet fish, trim vegetables, reduce sauces, chop herbs, set up my station, meet with the wait staff, prepare and eat staff meal, take a break outside and stare at the river, text with my sweety, start service at 5:30pm, end at 9pm, break it all down, wrap it all up, wipe it all down, carry out the mats, lock the fridges, write the prep list, cut off the lights, lock the restaurant for the night, another night in the book.

Moments

It seems like ages since I've written anything or published a blog post. I've had tons of ideas of things I've wanted to write about but it seems that I've just been full of living, super busy and always on the go for much reflecting lately. Here are some snapshots that have been in my head.

Standing in the morning sun with her in my arms, in the green grass beneath the peach tree in her front yard. The tree is loaded down with soft, ripe, sweet peaches. The air smells of them. The sun is warm on my skin, her skin is tan and warm to the touch. Her long brunette hair falls down past her shoulders in ringlets. Her eyes are amber, caramel in the light. Her lashes flutter and our mouths meet. We dance our tongues around one another's. I feel the curves of her body with my hands and we embrace tightly. Everything stops. Everything is still. Time has disappeared and there is no one and no thing in the world but me and her and this kiss.

Driving home from work along the dirt road that winds through the canyon. The moon is epically bright and radiant. I listen to music as I rumble along in 4 wheel drive and navigate the truck through the forested and animated night. I approach a gate and stop to open it. The sound of the rock music from my truck fades and the headlamps of the truck shoot cones of light out onto the road in front of me. I open the gate and drive the truck through, returning on foot to close it. I open the door of the truck and extinguish the headlights, close the door and stand on the roadside looking off into the distance. A well-maintained wire fence follows the road, wooden posts pushed into the ground and a crown of barbed wire running the length of the divider. On the opposite side a yawning meadow stretches for hundreds of yards and is softly lit by pulsing rays of moonlight. As my eyes adjust forms of deer appear scattered in the meadow, two here, three there, four in the distance, clustered and solitary they garnish the field with their white tails reflecting moonlight and their eyes suspicious and wary of me. They soon lose interest and drop their heads to continue grazing. I become cognizant of my breath, the in/out in/out in/out...the rise and fall of my chest, the steady thumping of my heart. Beyond the moonlit meadow low hills are stacked against the horizon displaying a darker shade of night. Higher still, on a high shelf of earth stand still taller mountains, their haunches rising and falling against a canvas of star-speckled sky. Shadows of trees are cast upon grasses, shadows of clouds move across mountainsides. The moon pulses, becomes cloaked in cloud vapor and then reappears as bright as before. This all takes place in a matter of moments. Quiet moments, thoughtful moments, real-life moments...when the bustle of the day is past, when the work has been done and there is nothing left to do but be still. Moments like this raise my skin into goosebumps and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention as if they want to gather all of it they can. The place around me, the place I have come to, the place that has called me, the place that was once and is now again home wraps her loving arms around me. I think of my father. I think of him growing up in these hills, becoming a young adult, marrying my mother, fathering my sisters and me. I recall his smile and laugh and his strong embrace. Again I cast my gaze into the heavens and I feel his spirit within me. My breath quickens and my eyes swell with moisture as I speak into the night, "I miss you Dad. I miss you."

And then in a blink the moment is gone. I re-enter the truck, click on the headlamps, shift the gearbox into drive and motor the engine home.

Future Past

Tonight as we were cleaning the kitchen I stopped and said, "Dude, we need some kitchen break down music..." So I went over to the stereo (yes we keep a stereo in the kitchen) and put on a CD. Within moments the kitchen exploded to the sounds of Jane's Addiction. Josh and I worked away on the line scrubbing and wiping down the stainless steel tables, stoves, ovens and grill. Then it hit me. At my very first restaurant job we used to blast Jane's Addiction every single night while breaking down the kitchen. My head went spinning back to the summer of 1991. I had dropped out of college, worked the first part of the summer doing landscaping and towards the end of the summer gotten a job as a prep cook at a local lakeside restaurant where I worked with several friends from high school. I had no idea what I was gonna do with my life, how I was gonna support myself, what direction my life would take, what I would grow up to "be." Frankly I was scared shitless at the thought of all of it. The job was cool because my friend was my boss, we smoked pot at the end of the night and drank beer. We listened to music all night and hung out and joked around with each other. That was good enough for me back then. I made just enough money to buy a quarter ounce of weed when I needed to and to put gas in my car. I was living at home with my parents at the time. I vividly recall sitting out back of the kitchen one day high out of my mind and looking at my feet dangling with water dripping off of my shoes and splashing into a puddle below. I saw my reflection shining back in the broken water and wondered what the hell would happen to me. Most of my friends from high school were in college and pursuing their education. I was getting an education of a different sort. I really wouldn't have imagined that I would grow up to become a chef. I wouldn't be able to fathom the scope and breadth of the experiences I've had as a result of following this career path. I didn't decide to be a chef. I didn't choose it. It chose me. I swear it feels just like that.

So tonight, with nearly 20 years of professional cooking under my apron I was blown away by the symmetry and synchronicity of time and experience. I'm still in the kitchen, still blasting Jane's Addiction, still joking around with my friends but today I am not fearful of the future, and today I make a little more money than just enough to afford a quarter ounce of weed. I've cooked for royalty, heads of state, movie stars, rock stars, famous writers and tens of thousands of regular old common folk like myself. I feed people. That's what I do. It has its ups and downs but it has been one hell of a ride and I wouldn't change a thing.

I've also been thinking of the opportunities that have been laid at my feet over the years. I honestly can't tell you how many executive chef jobs I've turned down. After a while I started wondering why I was turning down all these job offers...I thought to myself, "Dude, this is what you do! Why aren't you taking these jobs??" I know now why I've turned down so many job offers. I really wasn't ready. People seemed to think I was ready but I knew I wasn't. I had sooo much work to do on myself first. Tonight I know I am ready. I know that the stars have aligned and God has guided me up here and that this executive chef job at Pipestem was meant to be. The man whose position I will take worked in that position for 18 YEARS! And then I come along and sixty days later POOF! He's gone and the job is mine for the taking. It's a real headtrip, man. It really is. I'm where I've always wanted to be and now I have a real job that pays good money doing something I love to do. I feel so fucking fortunate and blessed.

Turn up the Jane's bro! It is so fucking on.

Saturday Night Alone

This is a blog posting that I will most likely regret. But I don't care. I'm the type of person who has to be honest with his feelings. I'm not looking for sympathy or advice. I just want to rant.

I'm through chasing after women. Fuck it. You can come to me. I've been through so much in my life its seems. Pre-sobriety I always had a woman in my life. Sure, the relationships weren't always of the most healthy variety but there were some really fun, good, happy times there too mixed in with all the drama I created. Ever since I started staying sober and straightening up my life it seems like I've been fucking kryptonite or something to women. I've made lots of female friends (for whom I am very grateful) and had a few flings but I have yet to meet a woman who just...I dunno...feels RIGHT. I've tried to pursue some women. They act interested for a time I guess. I don't know. I can't figure it out. For years I really hated myself and used alcohol and drugs to prop up an image of myself that I thought was attractive. Well, today I honestly love myself, not in the vain, egotistical manner but an honest, true love for myself. I may not be "all that" but I feel like I'm somewhat of a catch. I'm reasonably good looking. I'm healthy, smart, funny. I'm a pretty amazing lover. I am a fucking professional chef for Christ's sake. I pay all my own bills, own my car, am now living on a beautiful piece of property that one day I will inherit. I'm kind, compassionate, loving, affectionate, generous. What the fuck man?

Sometimes (like tonight) it just makes me fucking crazy that some beautiful, sweet, kind, loving woman hasn't snatched me up. Well, you know what? Fuck off then. I guess I'll stay single until the day I die. Clearly I'm caught up in a bit of self-centered fear tonight. LOL That's alright. That's okay. It happens. I guess one of the reasons that brought this on is the fact that I have a Saturday night off and no one to share it with. It kinda sucks to be honest. I'd love to have a girl over, cook dinner, talk, sit by a fire outside, listen to music...just spend some time together. I never imagined I'd be 38 years old and single. I imagined I'd probably have a wife and kids by now. I don't mind the not having a wife and kids part though. I can't imagine putting them through what I've been through over the past ten years. Actually, ten years ago I DID have a wife! But that is another story for another day.

I guess what I'm saying is that it would be nice to pursued for a change. It would be nice to feel wanted...maybe even needed, you know?

But for tonight I give up. I've got my cool mountain breezes, bull frogs, high speed internet and NPR to keep me company.

Good night.

I'll buy into you

I'll buy into you if you'll buy into me.
Believe the lies we tell ourselves
the truths we strive to hide.

I'll buy into you if you'll buy into me.
Together we'll whistle in the dark,
tell jokes to pass the time.

I'll buy into you if you'll buy into me.
Put up with each others' BS,
shrug off each others' mess.

I'll buy into you if you'll buy into me.
Savor the numbered hours
we'll take outdoor showers.

I'll buy into you if you'll buy into me.
Hate your enemies, love your friends
before sleep we'll always make amends.

I'll buy into you if you'll buy into me.
Kiss your lips and hold your hand
I'm telling you I'll be your man.

I'll buy into you if you'll buy into me.

Song for an Ex: The Player

When he doesn't fuck you
you'll think of me.

When he doesn't lick your pussy
you'll think of me.

When you're dining out gourmet
you'll think of me.

When you're alone abroad
you'll think of me.

When the night falls and the moon rises
you'll think of me.

When loneliness calls and your phone is silent
you'll think of me.

When it's over and done and he's on the run
you'll think of me.

And I'll be thinking of someone else.

I'll be thinking of a woman
loyal and true.

I'll be thinking of a woman
whose eyes are not blue.

I'll be thinking of a woman
with pale skin and dark red lips.

I'll be thinking of a woman
with corset-tightened hips.

I'll be thinking of a woman
with violin and piano.

I'll be thinking of a woman
who sings soprano.

I'll be thinking of a woman
infinitely your better.

I'll be thinking of a woman
who writes love letters.

I'll be thinking of a woman
with the longest blackest hair.

I'll be thinking of a woman
with the sweetest and most seductive stare.

I'll be thinking of a woman
and I won't care.

What the fuck you are thinking about.

Who feels it, Knows it.

It feels strange to write this but I feel like I am finally here, home in West Virginia at the farm. I moved here on May 19th but the time between then and now (July 1) has just been insanely busy. Not gonna go back through all of it but suffice it to say I haven't had much time for musing or spending much time just enjoying the farm. I've just had the past 2 days off (in a row!) and I've gotten the opportunity to just kick it here on the farm and do some of the stuff I've been wanting to do.

My life is so different here than it was in South Carolina. With the exception of sleeping and working I spend probably 95% of my time outside. I'm always doing something. I'm always moving, piddling about or working hard at something outside here on the farm. Even at this short of distance in time I can look back and see how unfulfilling my life was in Columbia. I don't fault the place...I just didn't feel "right" there or something. I spent so much time in my apartment(s) watching TV, surfing the Internet, watching movies, eating pizza and fast food. My life was totally sedentary.

I'm walking around barefoot outside here, going shirtless, feeling the sun on my skin, drinking cold water from a spring on the side of the mountain. All of my meals I cook for myself or eat in the restaurant kitchen. I get so much joy out of doing little odd jobs and random projects here on the farm. After I complete a project I'll take a break, go down to the cabin, wash off, drink some water, maybe check in on facebook and then I'll jump back on my four wheeler and go back over to whatever it was that I just did and look at it with satisfaction and a feeling of accomplishment. I have such big plans and lofty dreams for the life I am building here. It is moved past the dreaming stage (19 years of dreaming) and into the "doing" stage. My nature is to want to do everything right now...I tend to be a little impatient. So just plugging along with little things is good for me right now. It helps me to feel as if I am getting some things done here and not just working my ass off in a restaurant 7 nights a week.

That whole aspect is another story line...another change...working in a fine dining restaurant in a resort setting again after all these years. It's been really good for me. I'm terribly underpaid (I know most people feel that way but my boss (Chef Eric) even knows I am but there's nothing he can do about it. And for maybe the first time in my life I'm not fighting that whole issue. I'm not taking on the wage I am earning as some sort of personal blow. It's not an ego thing. I enjoy what I do and we are doing kick ass food, I have a beautiful drive to and from work. I like the people I work with and there is very little bullshit to deal with (once you get accustomed to working for a complete obsessive compulsive of a chef! LOL) But even that I can find the good things in. He has superb work habits and great skills. I'm not so blinded by my own ego that I can't work for another chef from whom I can still learn a lot. I've got my line in the water for a few other opportunities out there. Namely I am still guiding myself towards independence, working for myself again. It's going to take a while to get it set up but that is what's going to happen. When I do get set up doing my own gigs again I will have more time to do more of the things I want to do here on the farm. All in good time. I feel a sense of ease, comfort and happiness that I'm not sure I've ever known before. I've had moments of pure joy. Moments when dreams from the past come cascading into the present and it feels like deja vu...like I willed it...like I attracted it...like I pulled it forth out of the multiple dimensions and brought it into existence. And the connection I am having with God right now is astounding....I definitely feel like I am on the beam and in conscious contact with my creator. That is a feeling I wish for every single living person on the planet. Conscious contact. Who feels it knows it, Lord. Who feels it, knows it.