Yes, I read this today. I will be making my comments later tonight, or perhaps in the morning. I loved Richard Pryor for lots of reasons, and I think that it's perfectly ok for there to be some among us who can record parts of our history that aren't so pretty. do not want to leave any of those out when I talk about him.
We need to create new heroes and fast. (This was from a pre-birthday email to a friend yesterday.)
This post will be a bit all over the place....more than usual.
It's just minutes, slightly before I was born thirty-four years ago. Thirty-four years ago there was a tornado. I was supposedly born in a tornado. A huge destructive force of nature that would tear me from my mother's belly and land in me the bright, cold room of a redneck hospital to start my beginning. There is a park outside of this hospital, that has a large pond, that has white ducks. Growing up, I did always love to feed the ducks there...so there is that part of the memory. All the quacking and grabbing for old bread...
I will be the first to admit that my parents had no business reproducing. Honestly, I have no idea why they personally thought this was an ok thing to do. My mother is mentally ill, and my father, who will never-ever admit it, he is, too. If there were ever two people, on this planet, who could be examples of forced sterilization, it would in fact be my parents. But, then, so was the entire, North Texas town I grew up in. History would have been dramatically affected for the better, had the entire town not been allowed to breed. Only a few of us actually managed to escape. The friends that I grew up with are all fucked up. My entire graduating class. Amazing. All with their cheap beer hangovers, and Wal-Mart shopping carts filled with mac and cheese dinners, illegitimate children donned with toughskins jeans, and flip-flops in the winter. Yeah, pretty amazing. It has been rumored that there's a natural source of Lithium in the water. God probably assured that it would be there for good reason.
Is it possible that a weather condition can determine you being? Maybe, I think. I think back and look forward, and to me, it does often feel like I'm in the middle, with a wall of frenzy passing by me, at breakneck speeds, with random glance pieces floating in the middle...suspended in the wall...on for a tiny second...then gone. And, I seem to create a fair amount of destruction in my wake at times. Then sometimes, I seem to forcefully clear new paths for clean land and new beginnings.
Someone pointed out to me that I rarely talk about good things, or write about happy things. That's true. It's not necessarily because I'm that unhappy when I talk or write about them. It's just that the happy things don't need to be worked on, they don't need to be thought out, they do not have potentially destructive aspects to them that should be recorded for history. And perhaps, I'm a bit selfish with the good things. Maybe, I just like to keep those to myself. I do pull out the good stuff with my closest, dearest, most inner circle, people...probably because they're in the memories as well. And it's true, I'm not always willing to share them with people either. I am a bit of a separatist, a bevy of catalogues, if you will. I've only, in recent years, began networking to create a larger family. Goes to my Chinese birth symbol of the Pig. Yes, very characteristic of the Pig. For Pigs, they don't really seem to get going until later in life.
We need to create new heroes and fast. (This was from a pre-birthday email to a friend yesterday.)
This post will be a bit all over the place....more than usual.
It's just minutes, slightly before I was born thirty-four years ago. Thirty-four years ago there was a tornado. I was supposedly born in a tornado. A huge destructive force of nature that would tear me from my mother's belly and land in me the bright, cold room of a redneck hospital to start my beginning. There is a park outside of this hospital, that has a large pond, that has white ducks. Growing up, I did always love to feed the ducks there...so there is that part of the memory. All the quacking and grabbing for old bread...
I will be the first to admit that my parents had no business reproducing. Honestly, I have no idea why they personally thought this was an ok thing to do. My mother is mentally ill, and my father, who will never-ever admit it, he is, too. If there were ever two people, on this planet, who could be examples of forced sterilization, it would in fact be my parents. But, then, so was the entire, North Texas town I grew up in. History would have been dramatically affected for the better, had the entire town not been allowed to breed. Only a few of us actually managed to escape. The friends that I grew up with are all fucked up. My entire graduating class. Amazing. All with their cheap beer hangovers, and Wal-Mart shopping carts filled with mac and cheese dinners, illegitimate children donned with toughskins jeans, and flip-flops in the winter. Yeah, pretty amazing. It has been rumored that there's a natural source of Lithium in the water. God probably assured that it would be there for good reason.
Is it possible that a weather condition can determine you being? Maybe, I think. I think back and look forward, and to me, it does often feel like I'm in the middle, with a wall of frenzy passing by me, at breakneck speeds, with random glance pieces floating in the middle...suspended in the wall...on for a tiny second...then gone. And, I seem to create a fair amount of destruction in my wake at times. Then sometimes, I seem to forcefully clear new paths for clean land and new beginnings.
Someone pointed out to me that I rarely talk about good things, or write about happy things. That's true. It's not necessarily because I'm that unhappy when I talk or write about them. It's just that the happy things don't need to be worked on, they don't need to be thought out, they do not have potentially destructive aspects to them that should be recorded for history. And perhaps, I'm a bit selfish with the good things. Maybe, I just like to keep those to myself. I do pull out the good stuff with my closest, dearest, most inner circle, people...probably because they're in the memories as well. And it's true, I'm not always willing to share them with people either. I am a bit of a separatist, a bevy of catalogues, if you will. I've only, in recent years, began networking to create a larger family. Goes to my Chinese birth symbol of the Pig. Yes, very characteristic of the Pig. For Pigs, they don't really seem to get going until later in life.
Would it make me a better person if I only spoke happy all the time? I'm not sure I have that in me. I cannot be one of those people who dons the colored bracelets, or puts ribbon stickers on the back of their car, joins the optimist club, etc.
And, I think that it's perfectly ok for there to be some among us who can record parts of our history that aren't so pretty.
December is a hard month. Who doesn't know that? Often, every December, just in case, I find myself apologizing to Jesus, that we have deperately missed the entire point of his life.
Today, being my birthday, this year, I'm not happy today. But, it's certainly been worse. So, I'm not completely unhappy either. It's just not a particularity remarkable birthday year.
One year, true to statistics (as much as I hate to admit), I did try to off myself. No, I'm not going to do that again...I was much younger then. So, quit asking. And through that experience, I gained some of my most dearest, truest, coolest, everything good friends. I am amazed by them all the time.
I think back this morning, of a couple of people I know, who didn't make it from their same experience. One was this very dear, sweet, talented, young man. When I met him, I knew he would try to off himself. My hope at that time, that he would just try it and fail. But, he didn't.
One year, true to statistics (as much as I hate to admit), I did try to off myself. No, I'm not going to do that again...I was much younger then. So, quit asking. And through that experience, I gained some of my most dearest, truest, coolest, everything good friends. I am amazed by them all the time.
I think back this morning, of a couple of people I know, who didn't make it from their same experience. One was this very dear, sweet, talented, young man. When I met him, I knew he would try to off himself. My hope at that time, that he would just try it and fail. But, he didn't.
He was found hanging, one December, above his own art work, colored pencils and charcoal bits all around the floor. No one found him for a few days. His neck stretched. Crap in his pants. That was a horrible way to be found. He deserved something more dignified.
Everyone was shocked, angry and sad. Not me. I got it. I had talked to him briefly once about getting some help etc. But, he barely knew me, and wasn't likely to heed my warnings. But, his death, I got it. And I mourned only for the world, that we would all loose someone so great, and not to have made the time to stop and look. That we would not make a place for him to be ok. We are collectively not very good about that.
And one can look at the likes of Elliot Smith, Beethoven, and Spalding Grey and wonder if somehow we have failed to create a place for creative people to be safe or energized. Was it true that back in the day, you could be Socrates...just roaming around the hillsides, thinking and making comments whenever you felt like it? Not so much now. You have to have a job of some real society based substance. Some people just can't do that. And there are few that make it to stardom, and even then can't handle the spotlight...so hard to say. That boy did not feel safe and energized. And there was a time that I didn't either.
And one can look at the likes of Elliot Smith, Beethoven, and Spalding Grey and wonder if somehow we have failed to create a place for creative people to be safe or energized. Was it true that back in the day, you could be Socrates...just roaming around the hillsides, thinking and making comments whenever you felt like it? Not so much now. You have to have a job of some real society based substance. Some people just can't do that. And there are few that make it to stardom, and even then can't handle the spotlight...so hard to say. That boy did not feel safe and energized. And there was a time that I didn't either.
I talked with a dear friend about how we all seem to have to fight now for our creativity. Our place. We no longer have the luxury of just getting noticed. Maybe it's the fight that's too much for some people. My friend and I talked about several other people who are having problems in their creativity. One woman walked off of her creative job, with good reason, I think.
The fact of the matter is that everyone is special. Every single one of us. Having to fight for that, just seems silly, don't you think? Yet, we are a society of the habit of feeding off of the creative people that do make it...as though, they should be hailed as something unique or sometime hailed as something dirty and appalling. We feed off of those aspects, as though, we didn't all contain those very same aspects in each of us.
I was so lucky to have learned my lesson in this point early...without the cost of transforming into worm food.
And then there's Richard Pryor. A man way before his time. I kept a close eye on him, as we both share a common disease. It was a bit of a let down that he died around my birthday time. Not that I'm blaming him for that, but it did suck. Yes, of course, worse for him that me.
Looking at his past history, with drugs, and other stuff...the place for creativity must have been hard on him as well. He just put his life right out there, for everyone to examine, to feed on like wild savages...he pulled out all the stops, and pulled no punches...I'm not sure many people recognize the amount of himself that he gave, in order for the rest of us to have a good laugh. We didn't even need to think, we didn't need to take out the microscope. Richard Pryor just put his shit...all of his shit...right out there. Public laundry. What would the world be like if we all had the courage to do that. If we all felt safe enough to do that.
He was pre-so-many-popular people now. He paved the way, so that others may have an easier time of it in this chosen field. He did fight the good fight. Even with so many hardships and setbacks, he did fight and won. He won a place in history...which in an amazing feat. Truly a shining example. Thank you Mr. Pryor, you fucking, great fuck you...thank you!!!!!
So, I did mourn the loss of some people and things on my birthday. And I also celebrated so many things and people as well.
And, truth be told, I'm feeling like a fucking lucky son of a bitch...that hasn't done so bad for the start that I was given. Yep, one lucky son of a bitch.
1 comment:
happy birthday, baby
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