whirlpooled topics unbackspaced. streams of consciousness. blurts. scribbled notes. outlined ideas. velocity waves. snatches from icloud. because self-editing is a writer’s cowardly way of preventing a reader from fucking the writer's confidence. dates don't matter. memories and moments aren't chronologically marked on the soul.
I don't know when men of faith were reduced to the punchline or to the special bus stop.
Theology is similar to math. I cannot prove mathematical theorems to someone who doesn’t understand an equation. (Note the root of the word theology and of the word theorem.) There are humans who have a greater understanding of God and His wonders. I don’t understand dismissing some of the greatest minds in history (Saint Augustine, Saint Thomas Aquinas, Kierkegaard, Saint Teresa of Ávila) simply because one can’t grasp all the aspects of their thoughts.
The notion that men and women of faith are limited, naive, daft, or foolhardy is as venomous as racism, sexism, xenophobia, and homophobia. Only a fool dismisses and hates and persecutes those he cannot understand.
My Mother taught me, “when you stand Mark, don’t look for anyone behind you. When you stand, you stand alone.” I’ve often found that to be true. I’m flatfooted. I know how to plant my feet, ball my fist, and defend my principles.
One day I decided: Is my fear of being alone so great that I’m willing to abandon an entire belief system just to sit with someone at recess? No. I can do alone. What I cannot do? Live without a backbone.
You know what college students aren’t taught? Death. Every cycle I read some bullshit diatribe about how “we’ve” failed our children by not teaching them money management. Really? Fuck money. Teach them death. And not that bullshit about crossing over the rainbow bridge. I mean stuff like:
My nightly velocity wave. typed on an ipad from the center of the bed. writing because i need to say it; i don’t need to be understood. Exercises of exorcisms. Thoughts repelled. Expelled. Confession without the need of absolution. last week i sat on a barstool in a new bar on the corner of century ave and stillwater blvd in Oakdale. I sat beside my best friend Mike and occasionally followed the cheers to a screen to see a football team score. But my mind wasn’t on the game. I‘ve sat near this intersection countless times in my past. A distant past. 40 years ago. When deciding where to watch the game, Mike mentioned the intersection. It sounded familiar. But I couldn‘t recall why. Until we got there. In 1978 & 1979 I sat in a car near that intersection and waited for my best friend - Roger Kachel - to get off work. He was a bag boy at a grocery store on that corner. Knowlans. The grocery store still stands; Roger does not. He died in 2006. Nearly every night I’d pick Roger up from work. We’d smoke. Sometimes pot. Mostly cigarettes. And we’d either head home to his basement or to a friend’s house. Nearly every night. Surface conversations. Too young for the tools to delve. To excavate. To divulge. While watching the football game, I thought about Roger. Our friendship. The passages of time. Sad? Yes. But not heartbroken. Too long ago. Different men. I was different. I was shy. Uncertain. Scared. Roger was the first male friend. I was timid. So worried to lose. So worried to go back to lonely. I wondered whether Roger would like me now. He would. I haven’t changed that much. Would I like Roger now? Sure. I still like him. I loved him. He was my friend. Last week while driving to the intersection, i felt so frustrated. So angry. So impotent. So pressured. So caught in the middle of aged. I sat down beside my best friend. Sipped my bloody Mary. Sighed my stresses aloud - remembered my first friend - and relaxed. A circle? No. A line. The continuation of me becoming - losing - maintaining - me. Us. We. Through Him. With Him. In Him. Forever and ever. Amen
I remember when i first joined Facebook. It was for a woman who proved to be ... well let’s just say ... emotionally compromised. Idk. This might just be my new term for fuckwit. (I’m trying to curse less.) Anyway FB was a virtual reunion. I saw who had really changed since the education years. No need to attend a reunion. All the marginals provided digital information/confirmation. But then FB became a wonderful hoe. I found the weeds - i removed them from my blossoming life. “Click!” and they were gone.
And i learned about human behavior. Those who just copy and paste or click share pretty much were the gossipy type. Stuff like that. Now I've discovered FB has become like a divining rod. It’s easy to see the shallow. It’s easy to discern the depth. I’m finding that often underneath the surface there’s a pool of bitterness, hate, and angst. Damn, people I thought were sane are actually pretty frightening asshats on the verge of volcanic violence. Sure, right now it’s just verbal ejaculations of venom. (Frankly equally on either side of the political aisle.) But if they can’t contain or hell - disguise their inclinations ... Well, when’s the uncontrolled outburst? Scary. You know?
I was talking to someone the other day about all the hate in our society now. I told her I found myself feeling bitter. Oh bitter about all the stress in my life. It’s been a really difficult year. But when i realized my bitter, I had to stop myself and reevaluate my reactions. And now I’m cautious. I guard myself from that inclination of sin. I’ve watched the hatefilled. The one’s who feel unheard and unnoticed. I‘ve learned they feel a secret thrill to trolling. To provoking. It’s like an impotent man finally getting erect and getting the joy of the poke and the elation of the prod. And the sheer thrill of spraying the seeds of their emotions. And unfortunately we’ve all been jabbed enough to clench when the detestable approach. I've noticed that I’m contracting my cheeks just knowing they’re around. But not anymore. I’m too tired to live tensed. It’s time to eliminate the “bad companions.” It’s a sin to be a claque for the cruel.