An odd thing that happened the other night.

The other night after work I was looking for my flashlight so I could walk around and read, per my modus operandi.  After several minutes of fitful searching, I couldn't find it.  The only other possibility I could think of was that I had left it at work, so I walked to the store to see if it would turn up.  Stephen and Saqib and I searched all around the registers, and I searched the cooler because I use it in there when I'm counting in inventory in preparation for ordering, but it was nowhere to be found.  I finally decided to give it up as lost and to head on home.  On my way out I stopped to shoot the breeze with Stephen and Saqib for a few minutes, and as I was standing there near the counter, a couple of regular customers - a guy and a chick - stumbled in, whoo-hooing and laughing, obviously somewhat drunk.  Upon espying us, the two of them immediately tottered over and greeted us loudly and with celebratory enthusiasm.  Then the girl - I think her name is Theresa - turned to her friend, and this is what happened:

Girl - Oh!  Well, now's my chance... I've always wanted to do this, and now I think I'm just drunk enough to actually do it!

Friend - What's that?

Girl - I gotta run my fingers through his hair!

Stephen and I exchanged a kind of WTF look.  Both of us have long hair, but I'm sure that neither of us knew who she was talking about.

Me - Who's hair, mine or his (referring to Stephen)?

Girl - (She turns to me) So, can I?  Can I run my fingers through your hair?

Without waiting for my permission or any kind of response, she immediately started to luxuriously stroke my ponytail with her palms, and to slowly run her fingers through the length of it.  As she was doing this, she emitted little sighs of pleasure and squeals of glee.  I was a too surprised and shocked to do anything else except to just stand there as this girl 'oohed' and aahed' while stroking and petting my hair, like it was some kind of royal fabric of utmost quality.  Finally she stopped and performed a wobbly little pirouette while laughing out loud delightedly, and threw her arms around me.  She hung onto me for an inordinately long time, until finally she unlocked her arms from around my neck, slid them slowly across my shoulders as she pulled away, and gave me a very light push against the chest with the palms of her hands to complete the separation.  Then she laughed again and turned away from me quickly, possibly a little bit embarrassed.  After buying some beers, she and her friend left, laughing loudly and cutting up on the way out.

I have to admit to having been taken completely by surprise there.  I'd been seeing that particular girl come into the store for years, and although we had chatted a little and exchanged a few pleasantries, we'd never actually 'talked' to any real extent, and I'd never interacted with her in any way other than as a customer.  To me she was just another face, albeit a quite pretty one, who I recognized as one of the regular customers at the 7-Eleven where I work.  Turns out that all this time she was harboring this secret desire to run her fingers through my hair.  Huh.  Just... huh.

There's a brighter side to this...

Turn away don't be a fool,
I'm a wreck when I look mighty.
In euphoria I'm bruised,
When I'm confused I strike like lightning.
In complacence I am small,
Through oblivion I'm charged.

Turn away I'm not the one,
When bathed in sunlight I'm under duress.
I seem all polish and reward,
But when I'm confidant I'm hopeless.
I'm just like everybody else,
Right before they fall apart.

So follow my way,
when I'm not leading anyone.
I'm open and frayed,
When you can see that I'm undone.
Out on my way,
I'm only pure when I get lost.
And I'm only needing I'm finding that you're not.

So follow my my way,
when I am useless to your cause.
When I derail,
I'm calm in the patience of remorse.
I've lost my way,
Out on my empty open nerves.
When all I know is that I don't know where we are.

When all I know is that I don't know,
Through oblivion I charge.

Random encounter

I was walking to the church last night at about 7:00 to meet up with Dax to discuss the intricacies of choir directing, and I had my flashlight and e-book, reading, as usual.  It was dark, and a car passed me and turned on the intersecting street, then turned around, and I heard this:

"Hey, are you the guy who works at 7 Eleven?"

"Yeah."

"You're awesome!"

What?  I looked into the car, and there was a young girl driving, with a guy in the passenger seat.  She looked vaguely familiar.  I approached.

"Uh... thanks."

"I go there a lot, but you might not recognize me.  I'm brunette now."

"Oh, no... yeah.  I recognize you."

"So what are you doing?"

I almost said that I was on my way to the church and all that, but I've found that when I'm honest like that, about church and all, that it puts people off.  So I said that I was just out doing my thing, walking and reading, like I always do.

"Oh, that's cool."  She smiled real big.  "What's your name?"

Without hesitating, I said, "Elias..." and then I regretted it.

"Oh yeah?  Cool.  How'd you get that name?"

Shit.  I'll have to lie now.  "I dunno... my mom liked the name Eli, so Elias it was, I guess."

"Cool!  My name's..." and damned if I forgot her name.  The guy introduced himself, and I forgot his name too.

"Ok, nice metting ya'll, and thanks."

She smiled real big.  "Yeah, see ya!" and drove off.

I felt like complete shit after that.

Figuring this out

It's amazing how much I miss her.  I'm amazed at it - the empty feeling I get when I think of her.  The pain is fading; has been for a good long while, as pain always does with these things... but as the pain diminishes, the feeling of missing her grows.  I don't know if this is a good or a bad thing.  If I were to stop going to church, forget about being Orthodox, and just pretend that the last two years never happened, I'm sure all of these feelings concerning her would fade pretty quickly.  It's funny how all of this is tied to the church.  It's like, that's why this is important, or something.  Figuring this out.  Because of the church.

Rats in the mattress

This morning at about 6:30 I awoke to something brushing against my fingertips.  The mattress I sleep on is shoved up next to the wall, and my fingers were kind of hanging down in the little crack between the wall and the mattress.  I sat up quickly, sure it was another one of those 'waterbugs', as my brother calls them, but to me they're just giant roaches.  They attack me sometimes when I sleep, but since it's been cold, they've been inactive.  I know - horrible, gross, filthy, creepy, crawly - but I'm used to 'em.  Anywho, I sat up and saw, in the dim light, what had to be the biggest roach I'd ever seen.  At least four inches long.  But it was dark, and only a little morning light was coming through the windows, and what I'd first thought was an enormous bug LEAPED from the little crevice, landing behind this little drawered block I use for a night stand.  I stared for about a minute, and suddenly, WHOOSH, the thing shot across the floor and into the closet.  I jumped up and turned on the light and looked in the closet, but it had high tailed it to some other cranny or crevice.  I'm pretty sure it was a mouse now, and not a giant roach.  Fun, huh?

When I went back to sleep, I dreamed that I lifted up my mattress and there was a hole chewed in the side, and that it was infested with rats.  I followed a trail of mattress fluff to a hole in the wall.  Then I heard a voice saying, 'rats in the mattress,' over and over.  More fun, yeah?

Probably

I'm fairly sure I'll have to go live at a monastery before I can bring myself under control.  I don't think I'm strong enough to be Orthodox in an uncontrolled environment; relying only on myself.  I don't know how to give control to God.  Maybe the way to do that is in a monastery.

Stuff lately

Where do I start?  I always feel like I need to say a million things before I blog - everything that I've experienced or thought within the last few days or weeks that are my life.  Why do I feel this urge to say it all?  If not to say it out loud, then to put it somewhere in a form that can be communicated?  I don't know, but it's a natural urge.  I want other people to feel what I feel, I guess.  I suppose it's part of not wanting to be alone.  Is that normal?

Anywho.  A month now without electricity.  Water got cut off next, and most recently; gas.  Now my abode provides shelter and nothing else.  Well, that's not quite true... it provides the whole 'home' thing.  It's the place where I go to sleep and feel secure; the place that isn't a concrete bed or a ceiling made out of a metal drainage grate.  It's where the doggies are, and the candles, and the chair where I curl up and read my e-book at night with my pen light, wrapped up in a sleeping bag, with a beer on the lamp table.  It's my cave, and my cave provides the bare necessities of shelter and security.  That's all I ever wanted, really.

Tonight after work I needed water.  The doggies needed water, the commode needed water for flushing, the cup needed water for teeth brushing, and the jug on the counter needed water; just because.  Don't even ask me about showering.  So, I walked around the neighborhood, shining my flashlight on the houses as I passed, trying to spot a convenient outside faucet.  I finally came upon one a couple of blocks up the road.  I know Matt would have balked at the idea of just walking up and filling the gallon jugs at somebody else's outside faucet; but heck, is that really stealing?  I guess; technically... but I don't think the idea of stealing would be the real issue.  It's the idea of invading somebody's personal space; of creeping up on their personal property and just taking liberty with it.  And water is a pretty personal thing, I guess...

Anywho, Matt has been gone for about a week now; working in Oklahoma, so as long as I'm alone, I get to break the rules.  It took me two trips, walking up and down a few blocks, to acquire four gallons of illicit water.  I didn't get caught, the commode got flushed, the doggies got a drink, I can brush my teeth tomorrow, and the gallon jug got filled and is now sitting on the counter.  All is well.

Let's see, what else... oh yeah.  I fell flat on my face the other night.  No, I wasn't walking with my face buried in my e-book; I was actually carrying groceries home.  It was night time, I was taking a shortcut, and a branch was lying in the middle of the path.  I hit that thing and went from 90 degrees to FLAT in about a half a second.  It hurt.  Oh boy, did it hurt.  Nothing hurts worse than surprise, unexpected, undeserved pain.  My gallon jug of water that I had just bought (yeah, I actually bought that one) popped its lid, and about a third of it spilled out before I could gather myself and set it upright again.  My Arizona Tea and my 16 oz Budweiser went rolling in two different directions, but luckily they didn't bust open... but I had a short, scrambly time finding them in the dark and brambles.  My sesame tofu flew open and about half of the rice spilled out, but that's ok because I usually give most of the rice to the dogs.  Well... it was ok for me, I guess... but the dogs probably would have begged to differ.  The loaf of bread didn't really break my fall at all; it just got squashed under my chest.  It was my fist that did most of the squashing, actually; as I had been gripping the bag, and when I fell, my chest landed on my fist, which landed on the bread I'd been carrying, which squashed the heck out of it.  It made a nice imprint of my fist, though.  I was actually inspired by that to buy some Sculpee the next day, to try and sculpt something.  I bought some, but I haven't sculpted anything yet.

So.  Everything was salvageable, but my hand hurt like a mother for a couple of days after.  And it still hurts, actually.  Ow.  And so does my back, come to think of it.  Do those Doans backache pills really work?  Why are they only for the back, anyway?  Tylenol ain't just for the back.  What is it about Doans?  I've always wondered.

Anywho... let's see, what else?  I've gone through a gazillion candles during the last month.  I'm about to walk to Wal-Mart to buy some more, as a matter of fact, as soon as I'm finished with this blog post.  The big thick short ones last the longest, but the tall thin ones are brighter, and cheaper.  I bought two oil lanterns at the dollar store the other day, but when I light them, they sputter and go crazy, until they finally go out after about ten minutes - like they've just died after a prolonged heart attack.  I'm fairly perturbed about it; having wasted the money on them... but I think I'll look for some of the regular lamps tonight.  You know; the kind with the glass chimneys that don't have the handles.  The kind that are stationary and aren't made out of tin.  I'ma get one or two tonight.  I won 50 bucks on a scratch off at work today, so I have some extra money.  Not enough to make a dent in the bills situation, but enough to get an oil lamp and maybe get some fast friendly food for the fast that started today.  Tortillas and bananas, and peanut butter and... hummus.  And tomorrow some kind of frozen food by Amy's from the Drug Emporium.  They always have that  Amy's brand, which is awesome and good for fasting.  And some sesame tofu tomorrow too, maybe, from Mr. Chopstix.

Anything else?  Hmmm.  I know there's a crapload of things I want to say, but I can't think of them now, and I don't blog so much anymore, so It's like... I have to think of everything all at once when I do decide to blog, and I can never remember everything I wanted to blog about.  Oh well.  I guess the only other thing I felt like observing that I can think of right this minute is how I feel really close to strangers sometimes, when I'm out walking at night with my book and flashlight and happen to pass them by, as they're sitting on their front porches or walking on the other side of the road.  I'll think about how they are completely encapsulated in their own skulls, just like me, and how they're looking out on the world, all alone in their own heads, just like me, and how there are about 7 billion of us, all on this planet together, but all so alone, and it makes me feel less alone somehow; knowing that we're all in this together.

It's like, you know... stuff.

It's like, you know... this thing I've been trying to like, you know... do, for the past two years and stuff, is like... way hard and stuff, and like... you know, it's this God thing, this... you know, religion thing, and I'm not, like... you know, used to it and stuff, and like... I'm not very, like... good at it yet and stuff, and... you know, I don't, like... do what I'm supposed to do so that, like, I can be a good person and stuff, and so I'm kind of, like... you know, sort of bad at it and stuff, but it's like... still, though... it seems like I always, like... have this music going through my head and stuff, of like... the liturgy and stuff, and I, like... hear all of this music in my head all the time now, like... this church music that we sing, and these prayers, and these parts of the Bible, like... Psalms and stuff, and things that are becoming recognizable to me when I read the Bible, and I'm like... WHOA!  That's what we sing at church!  And it's like... it's starting to become ingrained into my thought patterns, so that a lot of the time, you know... when I actually consciously take notice, I'll realize that the song going through my head is Psalm 103 by Kedrov Jr., or the Trisagion prayer, or the 'Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal' before the Epistle reading.  I've, like... sort of... hmmm.

I've noticed lately that I'll wake up with these prayers already going through my head, and that they're a background hum that constantly runs through my mind, comparable to the sound of my fan at night, which soothes me to sleep.  For almost three years now I've been going to church at St. Maximus, and I've been singing in the choir for two years, and I've been baptized for a year and a half.  Has all that time really gone by?  Am I really this invested in Orthodoxy?  Is this really, like... you know, REAL?  Sometimes I wonder, because every now and then in seems as if all of this which has happened to me is a dream.  It's like the sort of dream you have when you're actually sleeping, and also like the kind of dream which means the good things that you imagine might be possible if everything went your way.  You know, hopes and dreams.  Two types of dreams... the abstract and unreal, mixed with the longing for what is possible... and both are happening at the same time.

Then the reality of being awake and realizing that time is inexorably continuing to pass by slaps me around, which is enough to cause me considerable despair when I confront myself and realize that, in all truthfulness, I've only been going through the motions for the past three years and I haven't even begun to repent, and that when I call myself an Orthodox Christian it's out of pride, and that I'm such a sham and a faker and a self serving creature, unworthy of anything, ANYTHING good in this life, or after.  However, even so... I believe, tentatively, that these prayers of the past three years are becoming a natural part of my subconscious activity... I hope.  I hope that this is just the beginning, and not the end.  That it starts with a change in my thoughts at a subconscious level, and that a change in my actions will follow.  Because I'm such a wretched sinner, and it really sucks to think that I'll always be this way.  But maybe it just takes time to become somebody different, and to repent.  Maybe a change in thought is required first in order for right action to follow, and when that happens, maybe... eventually... maybe I won't fall so short of the mark anymore.  At least, not as much.  I think that's about the most that I can hope for.

Stomach pain... again

I was sick with the stabbing pains in the stomach again Tuesday.  Then I was ok Wednesday, and today I felt sick and nauseous.  Maybe it was the redline energy drink.  But I puked up blood, and that worried me a little.  I don't have an ulcer, so I don't know why I'd be puking up blood.

My dad is in the hospital because of complications due to diverticulitus, which he has had to deal with for most of his adult life.  I've always assumed that the stomach pains I get sometimes are also due to diverticulitus, but I've never had it confirmed.  I don't think puking up blood is a side effect. 

I guess I'll just see what happens.  I feel ok now.

A dream - a triptych

She had a baby in her lap and she was flying a plane down the highway.  I don't know who they were, if they were actually anyone at all, but my love for them gave them substance and made them real, and I wanted them to escape.  I sat there with them, quietly urging them on, but I was a ghost and they knew I was really very far away from them.  Then the others came and told her to stop, to land the plane, to quit running, and to give up.  She said that he had told her to keep flying, no matter what, and to stick low to the road, and that everything would be ok.  The others were persistent though, and they said that if she wouldn't stop, they meant to make her stop.  I shouted silently at her to go, go go!  Pull up!  And she pulled up, but she didn't give it any throttle, and the plane jerked up abruptly, and blue sky dominated the front windshield.  The plane stalled and the nose began to drop, and I told her to let off of the throttle and when the ground was visible again, to give it half throttle and to pull up gently on the yoke until the plane leveled out, and then to gently increase the throttle until it was full.  The ground rushed up and she gave it too much throttle and yanked back on the yoke, and we rocketed towards the sky, climbing higher and higher, until I knew that we would stall again and this time we wouldn't be able to recover.  When we finally lost all lift, the plane floated for a few seconds in mid-air, and for a while there was no weight, and it was quiet and peaceful.  Then we fell and began to spin violently, and the doors blew open and we were sucked out and we were all falling, falling, and we could see the plane tumbling below us.  I thought, they have to get back on the plane and do like I said, half throttle and gently pull up... but I knew it was impossible, and that they would keep falling and when they hit the ground everything I loved would die.  I watched as they fell, and I saw a parachute erupt, and she had the baby wrapped tightly in her arms, and I thanked God.  As they floated down I prayed... don't let go of her, don't let go of her, please, just don't let go, keep her in your arms and you'll both be ok, and they disappeared into fog.

When my thoughts congealed again I was sitting at the breakfast table with Kathy in the thin fog.  "So, are you ever going to speak with my daughter again?" she asked me.  "Speak with who?" I replied.  "I don't understand.  What did you say?"  The fog made everything indistinct and seemed to take the 'oomph' out of the moment.  It soaked into everything, diluting reality, leaving behind an essence of absurdity with only vague outlines to describe objects and people and the passing of time.  I thought the effect was funny, and I laughed because I didn't know why.  I looked at Emma, and she said, "You two are silly.  You love each other, but you're both too silly to understand what that means.  Stop being so silly.  You're not playing a game, and love isn't a prize you can win."  I couldn't help it though.  I knew that if I opened a dictionary, the definition of every word I looked up would be 'absurd'.  I laughed because there wasn't anything else to do, and then I looked up, and through the fog I could dimly see Leah sitting across from me on a tall stool, and her legs were covered with tattoos, and she was looking down on me with this nonchalant grin.  Then things didn't seem funny anymore, and I suddenly understood what sadness meant.

After that I wanted to go home to my apartment.  Ed drove me there, and I got out of the truck, and on the way up the stairs, Nick confronted me.  He stood before me and he laughed at me and pushed me, and said that he wanted to fight.  I tried to go around him, but he wouldn't let me.  I ran away from him, and he kept jumping in front of me, and pushing me, and trying to get me to fight him.  I sort of remembered that we had once been friends... it was a dim memory, but I grabbed onto it, and I tried to tell him that we were friends, but he just laughed and pushed me again.  He wouldn't let me go.  He wanted to fight.  He pushed me and wouldn't let me go and wanted to fight.  He pushed and he wouldn't and he wanted, and I became afraid when I realized that it would never end.

Sometimes I wonder if people are surprised that I'm still going to church at St. Maximus, after everything. I wonder what they think of this strange creature that got dragged into their church that continues to linger long after the fact. I wonder what people think. It's weird... I'm still there, and I'm alone and I'm afraid, but that's who I am.  I wonder what's going to happen.  I wonder about a lot of things.  I wish I could fast forward my life sometimes, so I could hurry up and see where things lead.   I had a dream last night that made me very sad. 

A front and a back, with lots of stuff in the middle.

I didn't go to that rock-n-roll party a couple of weekends ago that Matt and Olivia and Stephen invited me to. The car needs to be inspected, and I didn't want to drive it all the way to Argyle and risk getting pulled over. They offered to come get me, but I didn't want anyone to have to hassle with driving me home later. I hear there was a lot of drinking, so that worked out for the best.

Plus, I'm a homebody now. I think that my party days pretty much happened all throughout my 20's. It's funny though, I don't feel 'old'... I look at other people who are my age, and they seem like grown ups to me. Middle aged. Like my dad when I was a kid. When I look at myself, both in the mirror and when I'm reflecting on my life, I still see a 20 year old kid who doesn't know jack shit and who never really grew up. It's weird how I'm constantly comparing myself to everyone... it seems like they all have done more with their lives than I have. That gets me down sometimes, that I don't have a lot to show for almost half a century of existence; according to the standards and norms set by society, anyway. But then I think about how corporeal life on Earth is so short and fleeting - and compared to eternity, it's practically nonexistent - and I wonder why I place any importance at all in what is expected of me in western society. Still, it's hard to avoid recognizing the standards of success we were brought up believing to be important. For instance - in order to support a family in this day and age, certain things are required - such as a degree, a high paying job, good credit, a permanent place to live, reliable transportation, etc. Otherwise, it's just kind of impossible to be a provider for a family. Take transportation, for instance. The concept of the car. I don't want it. It's expensive and risky and just another thing to worry about that makes my head and stomach hurt and it sucks. Walking is much healthier, and there's so much more time to read. And if it's too far to walk, there's the bus. You can read on the bus too, you know. A book makes getting from point A to point B so much more pleasant. The car is more of a status symbol than a necessity, I think, but even so... for some reason it matters a lot to just about everybody that a means for transporting the family from point A to point B in a mechanical and expensive fashion, which negates the possility of reading at the same time, should be provided. Oh, and the idea that a woman could provide any or all of these necessities is just out of the question, retard. Why? I don't frikin know why! That's just the way it is. Don't ask stupid questions.

So here's the gist. In this society, starting a family is most likely out of the question. That kind of sucks; that money and social status are the prerequisites for propogating your genes responsibly. Since there isn't enough intrinsic value in the things I do have to offer, the whole enterprise would be destined to end in tears for everybody. It is funny, though... how at one time it had seemed as if none of that mattered, and that love was the only thing that was needed for anything to be possible. I wonder. I actually think that might be true, but it's hard to get people to believe in that kind of truth. Kind of like... it's hard to get people to believe in God. So even though a thing might be true, the truth isn't always enough.

And think of the kids I'm so dead set on bringing into this world if I had my way. Think of the kids, man! The tears of the children. My own tears as a child... huh. I remember now why I never cared about starting a family before. When I think back on my childhood, I remember a drunken father, a crying mother, a broken home and a shattered life. Granted, there isn't a lot of life to shatter when you're only eleven years old, but to an eleven year old, not a lot of life happens to be all the life you've ever lived, ever. I remember always being scared and uncertain and unhappy when I was a child. I remember feeling like I would never see my mother again simply because she had gone to work. I remember being afraid to make any noise when I peed because it might wake my dad and rouse his wrath. I remember the constant threat of getting the shit slapped out of me, and as a result, growing up thinking that 'slap' was a cuss word. I remember freezing in bed because we lived in such a ramshackle house with just the one wood burning stove in the living room, and my mom layering me with coats on top of my covers so that I would be warm. I remember lying awake with insomnia when I was eleven because of my constant state of anxiety and fear and uncertainty, and taking aspirin, hoping and praying that it would put me to sleep. I remember being so shy that I felt I was unable to know anybody, ever. I remember thinking that I was sick and defective, and that I needed a cure for being me. Finally, I remember realizing one day that an injustice had occurred, and that I'd been robbed of a normal childhood, and that I would be a good father some day, and that I would never put my kids through what I'd been through.

And finally, I remember considering all of those things and thinking to myself, 'Why would I want to even risk creating a new life and putting it through all of that, and damaging it and hurting it and ruining it?' And I realize now that it's not just an accident that my life happens to be what it is. Growing up after my mom and dad divorced, I swore that I would never be responsible for putting another round of innocent children through the meat grinder.  As a result of that pledge, I've been following a subconscious directive ever since then.  I now realize that I've set myself up for all of this so that I could make damn sure that a wife and kids would never be a possibility for me, thus sparing the innocent.

It's actually kind of funny, in a morbid, ironic way. For most of my adolescent and adult life, the idea of family - mom, dad, kids, brothers, sisters - was an ugly, painful, cancerous thing, and my childhood was it's abortion. I spent most of my time as an adult just not giving a shit at all about anything regarding myself. I was resigned to, if not exactly content with, the fact that I would never be anything that mattered to anyone, other than my immediate family. And we all share a certain dysfunction, so we can't really do any damage to each other that hasn't already been done. But to introduce a new life into the mix? An innocent life? The idea was unacceptable. It was too risky, and I couldn't be responsible for infecting a new round of helpless children with the virus of my unhappy childhood. So, I resigned myself to simply continuing to exist until my body ran out of life, and I had accepted that, and I never really thought about it overly much, until recently.

So why would I want things to be different now? Just because I became Orthodox? Why should that matter, considering my original reasons for not wanting to start a family? Do I not care now if I bring children into the world, and that they would be made to suffer? Somehow, by becoming Orthodox, I must have also become more selfish. I'm only thinking of myself and my own loneliness. Who's gonna take care of Ash when he's a lonely old drooling retard? No, that's not the reason why I want a family. I deserve to be a lonely old drooling retard, and that's just fine with me. So maybe continuity has something to do with it? The Davis line will end if I don't continue it. It's up to me, and me alone, to provide the progeny. My brother had his chance when he was married, and he didn't do it then. My sister? No... I think she's not able to have kids. Something got damaged in her when she was fifteen. I don't know what, but I remember her being in agony because of it, so I don't think she's able to have kids anyway... and besides, her kids wouldn't be named Davis. So, is that it? the continuity of the Davis line? Hmmm... well, that's part of it, admittedly, but it doesn't seem like the entire thing. I think that it probably just comes down to plain old selfishness. I want to be normal. I want to fit in at church. I want something in my life that matters. I want, I want, I want! Me me me! But why? Why do I want? What is it about becoming Orthodox that makes me want anything more in my life now than the bare minimum required for sustained existence? Why do I want more now? What do I get out of starting a family? What reason is there for wanting this thing now, when I never did before, and at the possible expense of and detriment to others, which is what I was trying to avoid to begin with by NOT wanting it? There are so many possible reasons...

Maybe it's not as complicated as I'm making it. Maybe it's not so much about being just a selfish bastard. Maybe it's simply because now I actually care about things in a way that I don't quite understand yet. All in all, I think whatever the outcome happens to be, that the ongoing process of all this leans more towards hope than despair.

Wow, I really digressed there. I think my original intent when I started writing was merely to say that last Saturday evening I went to The Main Event in Lewisville with Matt and Olivia. It's an arcade/bowling alley/pool hall/bar/restaurant. We had a couple of beers and played video games, and the thing where you roll the ball up the slope to land it in a hole, and the basketball thing where you try to make hoops, and target shooting, and air hockey, and pool.  At one point I had set my phone down on a drink table to play Galaga, and when I was finished, I turned around to pick it up and the damn thing was gone and that was that. Since then I'd pretty much given it up on any possibility of ever getting it back, but then I found out yesterday that someone had turned it in to the front desk. Yeesh... why won't people just leave other peoples' shit alone? Why does everybody feel compelled to pick up stuff that doesn't belong to them in public places, regardless of whether it's to turn it in to a central location or something, or to just flat out muck it?  If Mr. Rogers had just kept his grubby little do-gooder hands off of my phone, I would have picked it up from the same place I'd set it down ten minutes before, and as a result I would have my phone right now.  Instead, Mr. and Mrs. Joe Schmoe felt it was their personal responsibility as good citizens to insert themselves into my life and create a situation which thusly formed a royal pain in my ass. Olivia did point out that if whoever-the-heck hadn't picked up my phone and turned it in, that somebody might have actually stolen it. Ok, she has a point, and I suppose I should take that into account as their motivation... however, unless somebody just wanted to be randomly vicious for the thrill of it, nobody in their right mind would want to steal my phone, because it's a turd.  However, it's my turd, and I'd appreciate it if people would just let my turds be and leave them lie where they lay.

Anyway. Then we came back to Denton, and on the way back, I found a bottle of Sky Vodka in the back seat. I announced this find to Olivia and Matt, and they were befuddled as to where it came from. This surprised me. How was it that there was a bottle of Sky Vodka in the back seat, but nobody knew about it? I don't know, and neither did they. So, I took a giant swig out of it.

Wash

Oh please let it rain today.
This city is so filthy, like my mind in ways.
Oh, there was a time, like a clean, new taste.
Smiling eyes before me, inches from my face.

Sin to sell, buying just a need.
Just who planted all the devils seeds?
And what the truth, the truth that lies at home.
It's on the inside, and I can't get it off.

What's clean is pure, but hey,
I'm white on the outside, though I stray.
What she don't know today
Might kill us both tomorrow, bring it back someway.

Bring it back, bring it back.
Back to the clean form, to the pure form.

Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.

Mucho joyo

My friend Les tracked me down and called me a few weeks ago.  Les was one of my buddies from the old East Texas and Austin days, from '91 through '94.  We used to do so much drinking and partying back in those days, along with an inordinately stupid amount of ecstasy and cocaine, with acid and mushrooms thrown in for variety.  We lived in the Austin sub-culture of weirdos back then, along with Clint and my sister and her boyfriend.  We were all roommates, and Les and I were just about as close as two friends can be.  We were brothers back then, and we were also just stupid kids, trying to figure out what life was about, trying to enjoy our youth while we had it.  Les' behavior bordered on self destructive a lot of the time when we were roommates together in Austin, and he did the most drugs out of all of us.  It was an attempt to bury the pain of his guilt, I think.

When Les was was 15 he shot his best friend in the face with a shotgun and killed him.  It was an accident.  They were both getting ready to go camping, and Les decided play a joke on his friend by scaring him with the shotgun that they were taking with them.  Les snuck up behind his friend and tapped him on the shoulder, and when he turned around, Les pointed the shotgun at his face and pulled the trigger.  Les had meant to 'get him back', as his friend had just pulled the same joke on Les a few minutes before with the unloaded gun, and Les had assumed that it was still unloaded. He didn't know that his friend had since loaded the shotgun. 

Les was put on probabtion for second degree manslaughter, and he spent several years in prison for not showing up to meetings with his probation officer.  I think he purposefully put himself through the prison system as an attempt at atonement.  He rarely ever talked about what happened, but he confided in me once about it when we were tripping on ecstasy back in '94 at a dance club in Austin, and he described the entire incident to me in detail.  When he had finished relating it all to me, he said, "And you know what, man?  I'm not sorry for it.  Not one bit."  I knew that was just wishful thinking though, and the drugs talking. 

Les used to keep a .22 rifle in the trunk of his car, and one afternoon at his house, when we were getting ready to go somewhere or do something, he was rummaging through his trunk and he pulled out out the rifle.  He put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger, and when it clicked, he laughed.  I laughed too, thinking that it had been a joke that he'd planned, and then he said, "Hell man, I didn't know if the damn thing was loaded."  Then he laughed again and put the rifle back in the trunk, and we went on with what we were doing and nobody mentioned it again.

Right before Les went to prison for the second time, he told me that he had decided to kill himself, but Johnny Law had caught up with him before he could formulate a plan.  I guess that saved his life.  Now he's living in Vermont and is married with a four year old boy.  I never imagined that Les would wind up married and with a kid, and it came as a complete surprise when he told me about it.  I think he's achieved some measure of peace in his life now.  He says he's a practicing Buddhist. 

When he called, he asked me how I was doing, and I don't know why, but I started spilling my guts about how unhappy I am.  I was surprised that I was saying all of that to him, as I usually keep my feelings buried down deep and don't express them to anyone.  Maybe it was because I've gotten used to confessing my despair to Fr. Justin... heck, I even spouted it all over facebook several weeks ago, after which I was terribly embarrassed and wished that I could have just erased that from happening.  Anyway, as we were talking it all came tumbling out, and I thought, 'Way to go, Ash.  You haven't seen or spoken to Les in six years, and the first thing you do is start unloading all this crap on him about how your life sucks.'

I felt embarrassed again.  Somehow I felt as though I didn't deserve to be feeling bad around Les, and that it was a selfish, ugly thing and a horrible indulgence that I had no right to.  I felt embarrassed confessing to him that I had 'joined the Orthodox Christians', as I put it to Les.  Back in our drug addled party days, we had been brothers in atheism, and I felt as if I were betraying our friendship of old.  I felt stupid, and slow, like a slug, and ugly, for trying explain to Les my effort to find comfort clinging desperately to a fairy tale.  That's not how it is, but it's how I felt at the time.  Just wretched and miserable about my Christianity.  It's funny how certain people unnerve me for different reasons and in different ways.  All of that was my own failing and weakness though, because Les doesn't see me that way.  He said, "Oh, the Russian Orthodox?  Yeah, I know them.  Buddhists have a lot in common with those desert monks." 

Les has changed a lot.  He doesn't do drugs anymore, and he seems a lot happier just from talking to him, and I still can't get over the fact that he has a wife and a kid now.  When he described to me how they met and decided to get married, I said, "You make it sound so easy."  And he did make it sound so easy, like it just fell in his lap.  It's funny how marriage and family is something I never cared about, or even wanted remotely, until recently.  I wonder why I feel so differently about it now.  Sometimes I think it's because God is trying to temper me with the pain of being alone, so that I can prepare for a monastic life.  Maybe it's also because I'm not worthy of anything good right now, and the only way to get me to actually make the effort to become a better, more worthy person is by luring me down the narrow, righteous path with the idea of marriage as the reward, much like how God used the girl to lead me to the Church.  I didn't get the girl, but I got the Church, and I won't get married, but I'll get salvation?  It's a hard possibility to accept, but it might be the truth of things.  Then again, I'm not really trying right now, so what business do I have to actually want companionship and love and a familiy, when I'd probably just screw it all up with my unworthy state of perpetual sin?  I don't know.  I'm too hard on myself a lot of the time. 

Anyway.  Since Les and I have been back in touch, he's left several little encouraging messages on my facebook page, things like 'I love you brother' and 'Mucho joyo, my lovely man'.  He's the best friend anyone could ever ask for, and I miss him.

He also happens to be an amazing poet.  He wrote this for me the other day.

as it happens just like so
this and that are these alone
a whytherefor with where to go
when as it is you never know
so we only as if though
in the least and for the most
in this very all along
altogether and so on
as such in such into so forth
however much and furthermore
with none the less in as of yet
like somenothing to forget
until maybe eventhough
an if and when if not also
where there and then somewhen will come
after awhile into the from
since all there is no matter how
is as it is as of now
and afterwords as from before
an after all with something more
or less


theofallings
the of All ings
the very meaning of the dream

Whew

I'm back to paying all of the bills again, and it's been worrying me to death.  I'm late with the rent this month and won't have the other half until I get paid next week, and even then I won't have all of it.  I just talked to the landlord, and he said he was letting everybody slide with late fees because the economy is so dire and everyone is having such hard financial times.  He said not to worry about it.  That's a heckuva relief.   

Fr. Justin gave me something to read by St. Theophan the Recluse - that we are where God wants us and no more is required of us.