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.