If... If... If... People Lie

If. I was once told that “if” was the biggest little word to ever exist. That isn’t a lie.

Everyone posts these meme’s all the time with messages that sound good, but has anyone ever stopped and really read them, tried to understand what they’re really saying, or did they get caught up in the moment because they said something itching ears wanted to hear? Everyone has the answer… to every problem. Yet all those answers come with a hitch, a ransom, a sacrifice, an obligation, or/and a price. If… If… If… You know what I’ve learned? It’s all bullshit. I lived my life believing IF… If I obeyed, then life would be okay. Well, I tested that theory many, many, many, many times. People lie. Let me tell you a story.

I can remember being about seven years old and sneaking off one morning to catch a church bus. I wanted to be like my next door neighbor, I can still remember her last name – Janosek. I wanted to be a regular girl, wear frilly pretty dresses, have girl toys, have two normal parents that weren’t handicapped or abusive, parents who had real jobs and not drug dealers, who went to church and PTA meetings. I wanted to be free to laugh and be silly, be anything but who and what I was. It didn’t seem like such an impossible dream, but to me at seven it seemed alien and a world away; impossible. But impossible didn’t stop me, it never did. So, I dressed as much like a girl (I was an extreme tomboy with five brothers) as I could and stood at the road, determined to wave that church bus down. I caught that bouncy bus not knowing where it’d take me, what would happen to me, or when or if it’d ever bring me home. People lie.

I ended up being delivered to a little country church where I was shuffled off to a gymnasium with several other children and told a story about a man sacrificing his son for his faith. I thought it barbaric that God would tempt a man to kill his own son in order to test his faith. Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around, parents sacrifice themselves to save their children? That, of course, wasn’t the life lessons I’d learned by that age. A parent killing their kid for their own interest… that was easy, that was normal. What a manipulation. People lie.

I was pulled to the side and asked if I wanted to go to heaven, yet I had no concept of heaven. All I’d heard of heaven was a place in the fluffy white clouds, wings, and golden harps. That sounded boring to me, so I told the lady that I didn’t want heaven, I just wanted an earth where people didn’t hurt each other, that I didn’t think this place was so bad, except for the people in it. I thought the earth was beautiful, even magical, if the people in it would stop hurting it and each other. She quickly informed me that in heaven there was only peace and that nobody ever cried. I didn’t believe that, because I cried all the time. I didn’t cry to just cry, and I sure as hell didn’t cry where other people could see me. My dad beat me so bad one time I passed out, because he wanted to see me cry. I refused. In private I cried because I hurt, because I was scared, because I hoped and constantly had those hopes dashed with violence. Crying made me realize I was real, it reminded me that I could feel pain, but also joy. Why did I want to go somewhere and not feel anything? They were not selling me on this whole heaven thing. I guess she could see that, so she changed her tactics and started telling me of the OTHER consequences of not being saved – the idea of eternal damnation, a life filled with violence and pain. I wondered in that moment what I had possibly done at seven years old to have been damned while I was still alive. I was a little smartass and told the woman, “It’s not so bad. You get used to it.” Obviously that wasn’t the right answer. So, I soon learned of the lake of fire, torture, demons, the devil and brimstone. I still wasn’t scared. I was raised with a pack pit bulls, after all. People lie.

So, this determined lady was hell bent on saving my soul, she changed her tactics once again and asked me if I loved anyone enough to die for them and started telling me about the story of Jesus, how he was an innocent man yet tortured, beaten, and then killed to save us all. It was the only story that really peaked my interest, but I couldn’t understand why this one man’s sacrifice was any different than what I had done regularly to protect my brothers, or to protect my mother. I’d taken beatings for them, I’d given them my food at times, I’d kept my mouth shut and endured the worst of humiliation and abuse at the threat of losing them, being taken from them, or separated. I know, had given the choice, I would have died for them, taken a bullet in their place. I dreamed of doing that very thing quite often. That was an easy decision. So what made this man’s decision any better than mine, or any other human being that would do the same for someone they loved? I’d learned enough history by this time to know people died for other people all the time, yet we didn’t worship them. Why him? Telling me that I was supposed to love somebody because they first loved me and died for me, was a hard concept for me to understand. I wanted to scream, “Prove it!” People lie.

It took me nearly 20 years to reconsider that answer, because the next thing this lady did was scare the hell out of me by making statements like I needed to be washed in this man’s blood in order to be redeemed, dunked in some water to be cleaned, and then I needed to obey him and keep all his commands so that I will be worthy enough to enter heaven. I knew I’d already flunked this test, because I sure as hell wasn’t about to let somebody pour their blood over me, nobody was going to push me under the water, and I was too stubborn to blindly obey a bunch of rules I didn’t understand. I just smiled, shook my head to tell her what she wanted to hear, watched her shed a few fake tears for me, schedule a baptism for the next Sunday, gave me a Bible, gave me some candy, and then put me back on the bus that brought me home. I never went back to that church. But, I never forgot that day. People lie.

I kept hearing that woman’s voice in my head saying, “If you believe in Jesus, he will save you.” I needed saving in the worst way. I once wished in the middle of a hurricane for Superman to save me, but he never came. He ended up being a lie, a figment of someone else’s imagination. Don’t even get me started on Santa. Biggest disappointment of all. People lie.

My next memory had me lying in the grass, staring into the sky, wondering what was beyond the clouds, beyond the blue, beyond the stars. I watched the treetops sway in the wind, the ants crawl between the blades of glass, the beauty of the sunlight in a drop of water falling from the spigot into a tin bucket. It’s the most peaceful and profound moment I’d ever felt in my life. I was just a child, a human, and for the first time in my miserable life, I wondered why I existed at all, why I lived the life I lived, who I was, what was my purpose, and that if a real god existed, did he see me, know what I endured, know how I hurt? That was the first time I ever prayed. I whispered into the wind, “If you’re real then I want to know the real you. Let me see the truth. People lie. Save me, please.”

There was a wooden plaque that I’d sometimes stare at for hours. It read, “If Christianity were a crime, would there be enough evidence to convict you?” I can’t even begin to tell you the amount of hypocrisy it represented, especially for this waif of an abused Jewish girl, but I’ll never forget it. I sometimes wonder whatever happened to that plaque. It shaped my mind more than I ever realized. Needless to say, Jesus never showed up at my doorstep to save me. Until the time I was 23, I lived in hell, in survival mode, hating the world, determined not to let it beat me. I honestly don’t know how I survived those years, but it was at this time I traded one hell for another, a different kind of hell, a hell that transferred the outside pain to the inside. I was no longer fighting for my life every day, instead I was fighting for my soul. When I lost my first hope at real love, a part of me died. I finally became a Janosek, I hid among middle-class idealism, I became it’s poster child, only it wasn’t what I thought it would be. People lie.

For the next twenty years I obeyed, I lived a life of obedience, to my family, to my husband, to my church, to my god, to my community, to everything. My dream was that my children would not have the life I had, no matter what it cost me. I gave it my everything – I gave it my faith, my trust, my loyalty, my gifts, my skills, my heart… I gave it my all. I studied, I learned, I volunteered, I tithed (everything – money, time, gifts, abilities), I prayed EVERY DAY with sincerity. If ANYONE in this world could pray more sincere that I did with my nose in the carpet for 20 years, then NO ONE has hope. I believed with every ounce of my being… that IF… ‘my people who are called by my name will humble themselves, seek my face, turn from their sins, then will I open the floodgates of heaven and pour out a blessing they’d not have room enough to contain. If… I believed I would receive. If… I was obedient and faithful… my husband would love me, my kids would love me, my family would love me, my church would love me. People lie.

I didn’t just pray once and expected the world to just fall into place in an instant. I prayed faithfully for nearly 20 years. I have journals and journals and journals of my prayers. I’d crawl into bed next to a husband every night who didn’t want me, most nights crying myself to sleep, wondering why I wasn’t enough. I watched one of my kids run away from home, leave me worried for years if they were even alive or suffering, blaming myself for being too hard. I watched a family that promised to love me forever disappear along with the divorce papers, along with other family members that stole from me, lied to me, and used me. I watched a church full of people who told me they loved me nearly every day just vanish behind their church doors. I suppose as long as I looked like them, talked like them, and walked into their doors I was worthy. Hmmmm? I wonder where the lost sheep really gather? People lie.

So, here I am, bombarded everyday with the meme’s of life, seeking my own truth, trying to save my own soul, not for a heaven or to avoid a hell, and not to find love. People lie, especially to themselves. That includes me. I don’t have any answers, but I know they’re not found in “if”. That’s all bullshit. I found love only when I chose to love myself. Salvation? Everyone has their own faith, even if they think they have something else. Quoting scripture to me is fruitless. Quoting meme’s, philosophies, logic, ideals… those are all fruitless too. Quit trying to save me or change me, just love me. If you can’t do that, just go away. I don’t want you. I sure as hell don’t need you. I’m still lying in the grass, staring up into the heavens, wondering, whispering into the wind, “People lie. Are you real, because I sure as hell know I am.”

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray



Image by: sympathyforlove.blogspot.com - Lying in the Grass by Hermann Hesse

The Fanatical Feminist

Here I go again opening my big mouth, probably about to offend a lot of people, especially women. Not because I’m being rebellious, but because I hate seeing what I’ve been seeing lately, and what I’ve been hearing lately, and I wanted to make it clear that these ‘popular’ and ‘politically correct’ opinions do not represent me in any way.

I’d like to start off by saying that I’m a feminist. I’m a feminist in the way that I believe women should be treated fairly, paid fairly, and respected fairly in the world as an individual human being, as opposed to their male counterparts. But, I’m not saying that women are equal, lower, or better than men… just different. Just as the same way I don’t think people should be treated unequally because of their race, religion, or sexual orientation. We are all different, and I celebrate those differences, but I believe that fairness, mutual respect, and compassion should be met and given based on individual aspects, not gender and so forth.

Of course, I live in the real world.. a world filled with hate, prejudice, oppression, and inequality. I’m not blind to these issues, but I’m also not blinded by the fundamentalism from each of these factions toward, or for, each other. I hate racism. I love people of all colors, and believe with my whole heart that equality and fairness should be meted in all colors. But it’s not… and that’s evident in ALL colors. Whites are not the only racists.

When it comes to feminism, I cry a lot. I mean it literally tears me up inside when I read how women have been treated throughout our history. Not just American history, but how women have been treated all over the world, and how women are still treated in the world. I love this country and am glad to have been born here because I’m a woman with an opinion and mind of my own, and I’m given the freedom to express that opinion. Had I been born in many other places, I would be stoned or tortured to even dare to express such opinions. That’s a shame. I don’t give a shit what religion you practice or what government you live under, if you treat a woman like shit – you’re a piece of shit and should be ashamed of yourself and hope your dick falls off.

I have nightmares sometimes about how women and little girls are molested, abused, kidnapped, forced into the sex trade as a slave, forced into prostitution, forced into labor camps, not given a voice, not given rights, and subjected to a totalitarian rule of a brutal man/woman. It’s worse when the slavers are other women, but it happens. I’ve been involved in many programs where I’ve tried to help women/girls flee from human trafficking or domestic abuse. It kills me to see this type of evil in the world. I’m not blind to it. I see it, I do what I can, and I shed plenty of tears. But… just because I’m fighting for women’s freedoms, for women’s rights, for women’s voices… that doesn’t mean I’m on a crusade to emasculate men in order to gain them. This is where me and the feminist movement part ways.

I LOVE being a woman. I celebrate it. I love being different than a man. I love men. I love a lot of different things about men, and because I love and respect them, I’m not out to destroy them, demean them, debunk them, or degrade them in order to advance in this world. Instead, I do the opposite. I celebrate them, their differences, encourage them, strengthen them, and let them know how much I appreciate them for who/what they are… and this drives my feminist friends crazy.

I love being pampered, being adored, being spoiled by a man. Not because I think they ‘should’ do those things because I’m a woman, but because I know they’re doing those things for me because they love me, they admire me, they adore me and want to make me happy. I do the same thing for the men I love in this world… and this irks my feminist friends.

I love to please my man. It brings me pleasure to please. I love to cook for them, I love to provide the things that make them happy, I love to please them sexually, I love to make love to them and when I’m done, get up and go make them a sandwich. (That’s the term used lately in a lot of articles. However, I’d probably cook them a delicious gourmet meal.. not just a sandwich, but you get the picture.) I love to tell them how beautiful they are, how smart they are, how clever they are, and especially how strong they are. A brilliant mind is a huge turn-on for me, so when I see a man being clever, I compliment him on it. A brave man willing to fight to protect me, protect the innocent, protect his country, protect those he loves is also a turn-on for me, and when I see a man who does that, I compliment him. This is why I love soldiers, because they’re willing to put their lives on the line, and I know they’re doing it for me, for my country, for my freedom.

When I love something or someone, I want them to be happy, I want to please them, I want to see them become the best person they can possibly be and grab every opportunity in life to fulfill their dreams. I become their biggest cheerleader, because I value them. My feminist friends say I hurt the feminist movement by doing these things, that I’m telling men that my place is in the kitchen. NO! My place isn’t in the kitchen because I’m a woman, but because I’m a damned good cook and I love being in the kitchen. I’d love for my man to be right there in that kitchen with me… cooking with me. Hell, making love while we’re cooking would be even better. But, a lot of men don’t like cooking or isn’t very good at it. Guess what??? I’m not good at changing tires or oil in my car, and it’s actually a turn-on to watch my gorgeous man out there doing those kinds of things for me. I know he’s not doing it just because he’s the man, but because he cares for me and knows I need my tires rotated and my oil changed so my car runs, etc. A man doing things like that for me doesn’t make me feel inferior. As a matter of fact, it makes me feel valued, precious, and appreciated. I believe me cooking a delicious meal makes him feel the same toward me.

This struggle between men and women is a result when love becomes absent in a relationship. When we are in love, we can’t do enough to please our partners, to appreciate them, to celebrate them, to make them happy. When love becomes absent… that’s when what we used to do because we love them now feels like a forced chore and the roles of gender inequality began to battle. No one thinks it’s offensive to fix their man a sandwich after sex when they’re in love, but once they fall out of love it becomes the fodder for a fight on equal rights.

In the work force, women still have a long way to go to be treated equally, but I thank God everyday how far the world has come over the last few decades. LEAPS and BOUNDS, baby. Leaps and bounds! We are still moving in the right direction, but the femi-nazies need to back off and quit pitting men and women against each other. Many of these extreme programs are fascists, not looking for equality, but imperialistic in domination. I’m sorry, I’m NOT for that, nor will I ever be. I still LOVE men and celebrate the differences of men and women. YES, I will still fight for women’s rights, but not at the cost of our men. I want men to be men, and not be afraid to be men because we live in an over-sensitive, easily-offended society bent on their emasculation.

FUCK THAT! And if my feminist friends want to hate me for that - so be it, because I really don’t want or need their vitriol hate in my life. If they’d concentrate on loving themselves and loving each other, perhaps we can end all this hate someday. That’s all it is – hate.

Till next time,
~The Fanatical Feminist

Why I Don't Love You

Inspired by the CW show, Jane the Virgin, I don’t want to tell you all the reasons why I love you. I want to tell you all the reasons why I don’t.

I don’t love you because you’re the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. The first time I laid my eyes on you I lost my breath and my heart nearly leapt from my chest. From your pictures I thought you were kind ’f nerdy, a bit on the skinny side, too pretty for my taste, and not my type at all. I used to think that lightning wasn’t real and that love at first sight was the figment of an overactive imagination. But, baby, I’m still burning and finding it hard to breathe. I dream of you; you’re the star of my fantasies.

I don’t love you because you’re the smartest man I’ve ever met.  The things you say make me question some of my own core beliefs and push me to look outside my box. I don’t always agree with the ‘way’ you see the world, but I find ‘how’ you see it absolutely inspiring and amazing. I never thought I’d meet someone as thirsty for knowledge and nerdy as me. You push me to learn more, to try harder, to think stronger. I love that you often beat me in the intellectual games we play, that you disagree with me at almost every musing, and you argue with me about even the basic of understanding and enlightenment. While I hate to lose the game or the argument, I smile because it turns me on to know there’s depth behind those dark, sexy eyes.

I don’t love you because you’re the funniest man I’ve ever heard. All the jokes and videos you send me somehow arrive at the moment I need them most, usually when the world seems like it’s caving in on me and a laugh is the perfect thing I needed. It never fails – NEVER. You always seem to message me JUST when I’ve been thinking about you, like we’re tuned into the same frequency. It could be days between correspondences, but you always show up on time.

I don’t love you because you’re the most romantic man I’ve ever encountered.  The songs you send me not only move my feet, they move my heart. I’ve found myself several times with tears streaming down my face because the words, the music, the message in the songs you send are the words, music, and messages I’ve always dreamed of hearing. You may not write an epic fantasy, or a string of poetry, or a ballad to melt the heart, but you sure do know how to pick the songs like a true artist.

I don’t love you because you’re the bravest man I’ve ever known.  You’ve put your life on the line in the name of duty, without hesitation and without fear. I feel safe in your arms, so safe I keep falling asleep. For an insomniac, that’s the greatest medicine in the world. My favorite moment with you was lying in your arms, listening to your heartbeat, feeling your chest rise and fall with each breath, and your fingers gently stroked my hair as we watched television together. I fell asleep, so deeply, so comfortably, and so relaxed. The harshness of the world I’ve experienced makes that moment pure heaven to me. It was never about sex with you; it was always just you.

I don’t love you because your voice is exotic. It makes me smile when I hear the way you pronounce things, or the sound of your laughter when you find something extremely funny, or the way you sing, or the sarcasm that drips from your lips like honey. I especially don’t love you for the command and control I’ve heard in a tone that dictates authority, control, and unquestioning confidence. For someone who is never satisfied with the unanswered questions of the universe, to hear that particular sound of assurance is like ethereal music to my ears. My body reacts to your voice like a chord strummed in perfect tune – the joining of two sound waves in sync. As a safety measure, I insist on maintaining control of every aspect of my life, it’s how I protect myself. But when I’m with you I lose all control. I fumble my words, all well-laid plans vanish, my thoughts get jumbled, my resolve becomes liquid, and I betray myself and all the plans I’ve made. I no longer think of me, what I want, what I want to do, but become completely immersed in pleasing you, which in doing so, pleases me more than I ever dreamed.

I don’t love you for all those reasons listed above. I love you because I can’t imagine this world without you. Even if I can’t be with you, just knowing you exist, knowing you’re alive, knowing you’re happy is enough. I feel honored to have met you and privileged to have loved you. I know I’ll never stop loving you because you’re a part of my soul. I love you enough to let you go. Because of you, I now know amazing, passionate, and deep love really exists. I have enjoyed falling in love with you and discovering how beautiful it can be. I honestly didn’t think this kind of love existed, and accepted the imitations it’s offered me for so long. In loving you, I realize the kind of love someone once offered me, before they were taken away, was more beautiful than I ever imagined. Thank you. I never truly understood it before, but now I do.

I know what I want now, and I can’t and won’t accept anything less. The kind of love I have for you - I deserve that kind of love for myself. I want it. I want to be adored, admired, respected, wanted, desired, appreciated, and passionately loved. Part of me believes that’s impossible, a dream that’ll never happen, but before I met you – I thought you were an impossible dream too.

Till next time,
~T.L. Gray

How Do I Say Goodbye to a Dream?

How do I say goodbye to a dream, when the dream has been better than anything I’ve ever seen? How do I say goodbye to a love, deeper than the oceans or any love that ever was?

How do I say goodbye to my heart, beating stronger when we’re together and nearly stops when we’re apart? How do I say goodbye to my breath, the very one that I lost at the very moment we met?

How do I say goodbye to a friend, who’s constant companionship I’d thought would never end?

How do I say goodbye? Where do I get the strength? I know what must be done, but I can’t even breathe. How do I say goodbye to the greatest love I’ve ever known? How do I say goodbye? How do I move on?

It’s killing me to leave you, it’s killing me to stay. I want nothing more than to run into your arms, but I must run away. How do I say goodbye to you, how, oh how, do I breathe? You are the greatest love of my life, but I really have to leave.

I can’t stay here any longer, you’re not real, you’re just a dream. You’re the devil sent to torture me, the angel to unravel my seams. Did you ever love me? Did you ever care? Or was it all just my imagination and a fool’s hat I wear?

How do I say goodbye? Where do I get the strength? I know what must be done, but I can’t even breathe. How do I say goodbye to the greatest love I’ve ever known? How do I say goodbye? How do I move on?

It was a lovely dream, and I wish I could stay. But life is calling me, it’s pulling me away. I can’t worship you any longer, and pretend that you’re mine. You belong to another and I’ve been left behind. To pick up the pieces of my broken, shattered heart, With my arms loaded with shards, down the broken road I start.

Goodbye, my dream. Goodbye, my heart. Good bye, my love. Good bye.

Evil Video Games - Be Damned!

*Caution: This rant contains strong opinions. Weak-minded and close-minded individuals need not read any further. You've been warned.

Just in the last few days I’ve read no more than a half dozen Facebook posts linking to articles talking about the evils of kids playing video games. Yet, NONE of these articles reported any scientific facts to back up their claims, just a bunch of close-minded opinions from parents, geriatrics, naturists, and social opinionists. (Yeah, I made those last two up, but so fucking what, I’m a writer and I make up shit with my imagination.)

Before you jump down my throat and to your biased opinions, I want to warn you not to take me wrong. I’m NOT pro or anti video games, I’m just another one of those opinionists who has had the privilege to see things from both sides of the issue.

What exactly is the issue? Is gaming evil? Is our youth being corrupted by the video game industry? Are kids learning anti-social behaviors due to excessive amount of video gaming? Are we desensitizing our children to violence and corruption through video games? Is video gaming destroying marriages and dating lives?

My response: You’re the fucking parent. PARENT your children. You’re the spouse. Be the best SPOUSE possible. Quit projecting excuses of shitty relationships onto inanimate objects and activities for YOUR failures… and communicate. Quit trying to make your kids into mini models of yourself and let them discover who they are. Quit trying to force your spouse into an idealistic mold of what and who you think they should be, and let them be themselves. Did you fall in love with a person, or the idea of a person you want? Want to raise your kids right – raise them to be inquisitive. Raise them to be curious, adventurous, and exploratory. Teach them to learn, and then stand back and LET them learn, their way. Want to make a marriage work, then love the person for who THEY are and don’t be close-minded to the things that bring them joy. Try out their stuff… and encourage them to try yours… and between the two of you – find some common ground. Most of all, communicate with one another.

I play video games, and guess what? I enjoy it. Believe me, it takes skill, timing, talent, patience, determination, and dedication to become proficient with many, many, many of these games. There’s a whole gaming world out there, filled with like-minded people. Now with online gaming, chat sessions, fire-teams, and MMPG, new social skills are being developed.

As with ANYTHING, there’s always down sides, bad points, and abuse by players and non-players alike. Do you know what’s more destructive in a parent/child relationship – a parent yelling at kid, putting him down, putting down the thing he loves to do, the thing he’s excelling at, the thing perhaps his peers appreciate and applaud him for – simply because the parent doesn’t understand and they don’t take the time to find out. Because it’s different than them, their experience, or their understanding – they tear it down and look for everything negative. That’s abuse. That’s bad parenting. That’s despicable.

I watched a video of parents crying because their kids were more excited about playing video games or using their tablets than going outside and building a fort. Instead of blaming themselves that they didn’t understand their kids, didn’t know what their children were doing, surprised their kids liked something different than them, perhaps they should have taken them outside and built a fucking fort with them. I guarantee the next time that kid got into a chat with his friends, he would have been excited about telling them all about building a fort with their parents, and who knows… they may have just inspired a handful of OTHER kids to bug their parents to go outside and build fucking forts too. Instead, video games got blamed for their bad parenting. I wonder how many parents would actually take the time to go outside and build a fort with their kids? Perhaps THAT’s the answer to why some kids spend so much time on video games.

I heard a couple arguing not long ago while I was in a chat session with a fireteam during a raid. The girlfriend was in the background whining and complaining about how her boyfriend spent too much time on his video game, more time with his gaming friends than her, and that he obviously didn’t love her as much. That was an example of manipulation at its finest. This was also the same guy that often talked to us in our group, telling us of all the fun, adventurous things he and his girlfriend did all the time together, how much he loved her, how much he was trying out all the stuff she liked to do – some he liked, some he didn’t like. But his gaming time was getting less and less and less. He was a fantastic and gifted player and had dreams of playing on a MLG team, but he received no support from his family, from his friends, and now from his girlfriend. None of these ass-wipes were willing to play with him, or allow him the time to perfect his skills so he could chase his dream. In their minds, gaming wasn’t an acceptable option. Perhaps had he been a musician, writer, artist, dancer, singer, or actor he’d get the support he needed to follow his passion. Oh, wait… most of those don’t get much support either – because it’s not practical to follow an art. He’s fucked.

I don’t know why it has to be one or the other, gaming or nature, art or hobby, right or wrong. Video games are not evil. Playing video games is not evil. NOT communicating with your kids or your partner – that is what is evil and THAT is all up to each of us as an individual.

I’d love to have a relationship with a gamer, a writer, a musician, an artist, a hiker, a naturist, an adventurer, etc. I’d love to be with someone passionate about something, not some lame-assed fucker blaming everyone else for their failures, or someone who always takes the safe, practical route because it’s what’s expected. I’ve known too many of those. And… if you are one of these artists (gamers especially), perhaps the smart thing would be to choose relationships with other artists, or at least open-minded people who will understand and support your passion. If you choose a lame, close-minded traditionalist, then you can’t bitch when they bitch at you for not being just like them, or when they don’t understand you. Keep it real.

Anyway, since I saw all these blamers putting out their articles, I thought I’d put out one of my own. Bottom line: Stop blaming video games for your shitty relationship habits.

Till next time,

~KV Kvothe



*Image from: http://www.zazzle.com

It's Time

It’s time. I’ve been putting a majority of my life on hold, refusing to make any major decisions, actually panicking to do so. Not because I’m afraid of change, but because I’ve been grieving, grieving a life that once was and a dream of a life that will never be. This is part of the grieving process I find fascinating. Not in a good way, but as a point of observation and understanding. When we lose someone, or go through a major shift in our lives, we grieve the dreams that died because of the loss or the shift. I had many dreams that I’ve had to let go, and their loss broke my heart.

It’s time. It’s time to finally look at all the broken pieces and start putting them together again. I can’t remake the image that once was, but I can make something new, something beautiful, a new dream. For the longest time I didn’t want to think about a new dream, because I was still hurting over the loss of the old one, but I have to let it go and move forward. That’s how life works. I will die inside if I remain where I’m currently dwelling, because I’m just existing, I’m not living, I’m not dreaming. I’m afraid. I’m afraid to grab another dream, because what if I lose it, too? Can my heart take it? Can my soul bear any more pain? That’s been my fear, still is my fear, but fear cannot stop me. It’s time.

It’s time to pull the covers from the mirrors, to open the doors of adventure, and get back to my life. I had made so many strides forward before the detour of cancer and heartbreak interfered, but it’s time to get back to progress. Pausing causes roadblocks and complications. My life is somewhat a mess because of my inactions, my indecisions, my grieving, but it’s not hopeless. It’s time I quit existing and surviving from day to day to building a better tomorrow, to striving toward new success, new adventures, new opportunities. It’s time to get busy. It’s time to let loose the woman inside me, who for so many times and so many years made shit happen, accomplished amazing feats, and scaled mighty mountains. She’s amazing and the things she can accomplish are absolutely mind-blowing, and I’m glad to see she’s waking up and taking control. I’m so tired of hearing myself say, ‘I used to …” It’s time.

Is everything going to just magically happen, opportunities going to land at my door, miraculous blessings make all my dreams come true, love come walking through the door to sweep me off my feet? Not in my experience. No, the journey is just beginning, and every success I’ve ever enjoyed required hard work, determination, drive, energy, focus and sacrifice. It’s hard. It’s always been hard. But, it’s time.

The dreams I once had are dead; they’re gone. It’s time I start dreaming new ones. I don’t care what I used to do, what I’ve done, or what I’ve once achieved …I’m a new person. That person I used to be died along with the cancer that invaded my body and the ache that attacked my heart. Those dreams, relationships and aspirations died too. Will I do similar things I did in the past? Will I be a badass, a writer, an entrepreneur, a lover, an explorer, an agent, a gourmet cook, a fitness guru, a motivational speaker, a wife, a leader, a volunteer, etc.? I don’t know, maybe some, maybe none, but it’s time I start dreaming, and whoever I become – she’s going to be beautiful and amazing.

It’s time… it’s time to live. I’m turning 44 this week. I’m starting my life all over again. Watch out, because it’s going to be amazing.

Till next time,



~T.L. Gray

Happiness

Happiness. Is it real? Does it really exist? What does it look like? What does it consist? What are the rules, parameters, stipulations? How can something undefined, unsolidified exist? How can something so distinctly relative and individually interpreted be definable in any common sense or in a general definition?

According to Webster’s Dictionary, happiness is the state of being happy; an experience that makes you happy. But, what is happy? Again, Merriam-Webster declares that happy is an adjective that means feeling pleasure and enjoyment because of your life, situation, etc.; showing or causing feelings of pleasure and enjoyment; pleased or glad about a particular situation, event, etc.

Well, then everyone in the world has had such moments, even the most depraved, repressed, depressed, enslaved person has at one time or another experienced such moments. But, does that make them happy?

A writer friend of mine, Tom Piccirilli, well, more or less a writer acquaintance of mine, passed away a few days ago. I had the pleasure of interviewing him last year for West Georgia Living Magazine. I think fondly on our interview, on his appreciative words about my article, on his gifts as a wonderful writer. His wife posted about his passing today on his Facebook account. My heart broke that he had finally lost his battle with cancer, but it wasn’t sadness I felt when reading his wife’s words, it was something deeper than that, something precious. I was being shown what happiness was in the midst of grief. His wife spoke of the happy years they had together. Sure they had plenty of bad times and bad moments, he battled cancer – it was tough, but they spent those times together, loving each other, supporting one another, and that is what made them happy. Bad moments couldn’t destroy their overall happiness; they didn’t matter.

I remember loving James during the most stressful time of my life, and when he died and the darkness settled in on me, that’s when I knew I had been happy right in the middle of the struggles. I have many, many happy moments with my kids: I remember playing outside in the rain with them, splashing in the mud, lying in bed telling them stories, slip-n-sliding in kitchen floor (it was my way of mopping), smack-talking during a board or card game, having Guitar Hero competitions, letting them show me how to pop waves on the jet ski, playing the clean-up-race-game, dressing up in costumes for a mid-night book release party, and so on and so forth. My kids loved me and I loved them... and I was really happy.

Things change. People grow up, lives get disrupted, and some leave this world and leave us behind. My world has changed so much in the last few years and I’ve shed quite a few tears because of it, but you know what… I’m still happy, I still know happiness, it’s just in different things and comes in different ways. It’s never in what I think it should or would be. I’m kinda lost trying to figure out who I am and where I belong. Happiness, for me, is now found in a random text, while killing aliens, in an occasional touch, in a sweet kiss, or in a simple embrace. Some days I’m so sad I can’t breathe, but even in that I find happiness.

I can’t go back and grab happiness from anything in my past. Those things don’t work for my present. I can’t sit and wait for happiness to happen, because it’s not something you can make happen, and tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. It’s a present state of being, regardless of feelings, because of what is happening here and now. I’m learning happiness comes from loving and being loved… and I love very much, and am loved very much. Is it ideal, how I think I should be, or consists of what I should do, or wrapped in a way I think it should come? Does it matter? No. I can’t fit my life into the shape, the mold, or the ideal of anything other than what it is. It’s crazy. It’s odd. It’s different. It’s unconventional. It’s weird. It clashes with every group of society and I’m really sick and tired of trying to make it fit somewhere. I don’t fit in, and those strange creatures who don’t often understand why they love me, love me for all that I am. They can’t seem to get rid of me, but they can’t define me either. Doesn’t matter… as long as they love me, I’m happy.

Should I leave this world tomorrow… know that I lived today and I was happy.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Chimpalooza!

POR FIN QUIEN ES EL ANIMAL JAJAJAJA
POR MONOS
Posted by Orbita 92.9 FM on Friday, August 8, 2014

My Fourth of July Moment of Joy

Okay, while most of you were sitting on a beach, sipping on a cool drink, or having a cook out with your friends and family, my single butt spent Fourth of July sitting at home, playing on my Xbox, spending the day with my adopted family, fellow gaming clan members of Omega Victrix Mortalis. You know what? I had one of the best days I’ve had in a very, very, very long time.

Sometimes dating sucks, being single sucks, and watching the rest of the world go through the ‘family’ adventures (been there, done that, loved it, and got many tee-shirts) while you’re excluded sucks too. I’m divorced and my kids are grown – family activities are on hiatus. However, the freedom to do what I want, when I want, how I want, and with who I want is a pretty good payoff.

I had several date offers for the Fourth of July, but you know what, I didn’t want to spend my holiday with someone I barely knew. I wanted to be with family. While my natural family had other plans, some of my gamer family was online. I didn’t expect many of them to be there, since they all have families of their own, but several of them were. The mama in me wanted to yell at them to get off the game and go spend time with their families, the other part of me reasoned I wasn’t their mother, it wasn’t my job, and as their friend, decided I needed them too. I really love this group of guys and gals.

There was one moment my boys touched my heart so strongly I got choked up. I pretended my mike muted, so I could get off and go have a cry. Not sad tears, but happy ones. People come into your lives sometimes when you least expect it, and it seems they’re the right people at the right time. If you try to make things like that happen, it won’t work. You don’t see it coming together, but every once in a while you get a glimpse of the beauty of humanity.

So, what was this big moment that got me all choked up? Well… (Bear with me, I’m a writer and don’t know how to tell the simple story.) I just wanted to have a good time, and do what others would classify as a meaningless quest, and go ghost hunting for all the dead ghosts I’d previously missed in my Destiny game. There were 77 of them and I only had 51. The quest excited me, reminded me of the old Nancy Drew interactive computer games I used to play. I’d been grinding it out on Iron Banner and Prison of Elders for days and I didn’t want to do anything intense… just have a little fun. Of course, I didn’t want to do it alone, so I hopped into a party chat with some of my online clan members and friends. Well, two of my friends were having NAT issues (you guys really need to get that fixed) and couldn’t do party chat, so we found ourselves in a six-man fireteam and talking in game chat. That’s the maximum amount of people you can have in a fireteam to do POE, Raids, or Crucible. The problem … I didn’t need to do any of those and the maximum fire-team was three for a simple patrol. (Bungie – you really need to allow bigger fireteams in all areas of the game.) I didn’t want to break off into a team of three, because the six of us (Phoenix, Rev, Hi Power, Noizy, & Jallak) were having fun together discussing current events, politics, jokes, game strategies, weapons, armor, and life in general. So, while on Venus, we started the VOG Raid, but didn’t actually do it, but just stayed together in a fireteam of six as we explored the planet. Those guys spent the next hour or two with me helping me find my ghosts and just goofing off.

Those times just hanging out together, those are the best times. We work great together as a clan not just completing the tasks we need (Raids, Strikes, Missions, Quests, Crucible, Bounties, Farming, Trials (not me) and Prison of Elders), but also hanging out and having fun. I’m the player I am today because of them. Our clan isn’t about being the best player at the game, though the guys in my clan ARE some of the best players in this game, but it’s about sharing something we all enjoy while at the same time enjoying each other’s company.

These guys and gals are my family now. I care about each and every one of them. Some people just come on to play the game, and that’s all good and well. But, I play the game to be with my family, to not be so alone, to spend time with people that actually care about me. I may not have spent my Fourth of July drinking, partying, or cooking out with friends and family, or on an awkward date, nor did I see a single firework, but I had a very wonderful day surrounded by friends and family who love me and who I love very much… Oh, and I found all my ghosts.

I cried, because in that moment I realized I was a very lucky girl and I was genuinely happy.

Till next time,

~KV Kvothe

(btw – I pronounce my gamertag Kvothe as… Kah-voth-ee)

Jameson - Zella Day

*Words in italics – Song lyrics to Jameson  - by Zella Day  *Go out and buy this song!!!

This song really breaks my heart.  According to an interview with Zella Day in LA Times, she states, “I've never really written a song like that. It's about falling for an alcoholic. It has this hopelessness, but at the same time there's this light at the end of the tunnel, so there's this sort of weird war. It's kind of like love, but being in love with something you can't have because something [else] already has it."

For me, this song is about loving someone you can’t have, someone that’s gone or with someone else, and the war inside is one of bargaining and pleading to let go, but being unable.  It’s all five stages of grief. 

I remember the stage of negotiation, begging God to change a difficult situation, and being completely helpless to change anything.  The only choice left was to face the pain, acceptance, but it was the kind of pain that couldn’t be faced at once.  I remember when my fiancé was deployed to Somalia.  He’d been deployed a few times before, but all those other times he wasn’t mine.  This time, he was my hero, my love, and he took my heart with them.  Many nights trying to get through the day, I’d stare into the stars.  I’d bargain with God to bring my soldier home. I remember saying the words aloud, “The world doesn’t need him like I do, please just bring him back to me.”

Words are meant to be taught.

My hero didn’t come home.  My bargaining didn’t stop with his death.  The only thing that changed were my prayers.  “Please God, you don’t need him like I do, send him back to me.”  When that didn’t work, I told myself every day I was okay, but I wasn’t.  I hid inside middle class morality and wore my mask of obedient compliance and contentment,  yet inside cried and battled a pain that wouldn’t go away.

Love’s not meant to be lost.

You said that if I’m happy you’re cured,

But I’m not.

I thought I’d never feel fire again.  I had loved others, but my soul hadn’t danced in more than twenty years, not until I met a particular soldier.  By all common sense and practicality he wasn’t what I thought I wanted or needed in my life.  I tried to run, to hide, to not love him, but my heart betrayed me.  I tried so hard to be indifferent,  to build my walls, to pretend I didn’t care.  I knew the moment I met him he’d break my heart. I was scared more than I’d ever been. I don’t know if it was because I pushed him away, or he just never felt the same fire, we got stuck and ended up in the friend zone.

I know you have a delicate fate,

You’re a quiet man, but in the worst way,

I’m not a follower and I won’t follow you down

He went on to love another.  I stopped breathing the day I found out he got married. I felt my heart stop. Then the bargaining and war between my heart and head enraged as I became the other woman.

Oh, Jameson, you’ve had your fun, stop holding him I want to be the one.

I promise you, I’ll treat him right, don’t want to fight. You don’t need him like I do.

It was supposed to be a zone of safety, getting to enjoy all the good of him, but safe from me getting my heart broke. Instead, I grew to love him even more, to love his mind, his heart, his courage, his sense of humor, all of his stupid little philosophies.  I tried to find that fire in another set of eyes, another pair of hands, another heart – but it was him I was looking for in every smiling face staring back at me.  He was my last thought before I closed my eyes and the first when I woke, and often the star of my dreams.  So many nights I fell asleep on a damp pillow and stumbled through the day hiding wet eyes behind a smile and a pair of glasses.

I waited in the street outside, sat in my car till my tears dried.

I’m justifying people with pain, tonight.

It’s so easy to say ‘just turn it off’, but I’m finding that’s impossible.  The right thing would be to move one, to forget the past, to open my heart to someone new.   That’s what my head says all the time.  My heart …well, my heart is an idiot. The world has their judgments, and has found me guilty.  Many would say I deserve the pain I feel because I dared to love another woman’s man. I loved him first.  I’m my greatest accuser; my harshest judge, but I have no shame for loving him.

I watched your fingers point at the blame, it’s the darkest of gray when you explain.

I’m not a follower, I won’t follow you down.

I have no right to be angry - not at her, not at him , not even at myself.  She’s just a woman who fell in love with a man.  She’s no different than me, except he loved her back and chose her.  While my heart wants what it wants, I have to learn to survive, I have to learn to heal. I have to learn to breathe again.  Denial, anger, bargaining, depression… acceptance.

Oh, Jameson, you’ve had your fun, stop holding him I want to be the one.

I promise you, I’ll treat him right, don’t want to fight. You don’t need him like I do.

I have no choice.  I have to move on.  I have to breathe.  How does one exist without their heart? One day at a time.  I’ve since had many opportunities to give my heart away. I’ve had proposals and offers for rational, practical relationships – but I won’t settle for anything less than the hottest of fires.

I know I’ll be okay.  Don’t tell me where or which way you go.

Find someone else to take my place.  You want me, but treat me like you don’t.

Oh, Jameson, go have your fun, keep holding him if he’s really the one.  Just promise me you’ll treat him right, don’t want to fight, and need him like I did.

My hope is to love again, and that it not take 20 years for my heart to heal. I deserve someone who will love me, completely, as I love them.  The man who finally gets my heart is going to be a very lucky man, because I already know that I’ll love him with such deep devotion … something beyond my comprehension… something more than words can contain.  How do I know?  I know… because I’ve already done it twice.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Crisis of Faith

I try to steer away from politics and religion on all social media forums… well, in life in general, because those are two topics, along with money, that destroy relationships, friendships, and any kind of ships really for that matter. It’s a hot topic. Well, I’m not here to debate any of it, just share with you a little crisis of faith I’m having of my own.

No point going into my history, just know that I had both religious and non-religious parts in my life. I became a Christian at 24 and served in the ministry for nearly 17 years. I don’t need a history lesson, nor am I about to give one. I just added that bit of information so you’d understand that what I’m talking about isn’t some idea I pulled off a meme somewhere or heard in passing. I take my faith very seriously. I think it’s probably the thing that broke my heart most when my life fell apart a few years ago.

I don’t have a problem with God, the concept of God, or really any of the teachings attributed to God. The people who claim to represent God, well, that’s another story and one I’m not getting into.

In my meditation this morning I was feeling angry, but I wasn’t quite sure who I was angry with. It could have been directed toward myself for having made a really stupid decision lately where I thought I was helping a friend, but instead was just enabling them to use me. I could have been angry at another friend that had lied to me and made me feel unwanted. I could have been angry at yet another friend that left me high and dry when I needed them most. I could have been angry at myself for being unable to make simple life decisions because I’m stuck, I’m in a numb place, a place of indecision and confusion. I could have been angry just because my pre-menopausal hormones have been going crazy the last few days and have made me want to crawl out of my skin. It could have been one of a million reasons, but as the tears bubbled in the corners of my eyes, it was toward God I directed my anger.

I’ve been reading a lot of religious and anti-religious meme’s lately. Not because I’m searching them out, but because many of my friends have been posting them in light of the Supreme Court decision to legalize gay marriage. I’ve seen them for both sides of the issue. I’m not going to debate that either. I’m not gay and I’m not married, so it’s really none of my business. The majority of these memes I know were meant to be inspirational, to give hope in a time of hardship and pain. But they weren’t. Instead they came off as condescending. Don’t tell me when I’m hurting so bad I can’t breathe that God has a plan for me – that He allowed me to go through this pain so that I can learn some proverbial spiritual lesson that’s going to make me a better person. Don’t tell me because something just became legal all the world is now rainbows and unicorns. FUCK that!!!! I’ll say it again, FUCK THAT!!! If you got a problem with my language, then you don’t need to read my stuff. I’m free to speak my mind – and my mind sometimes uses foul language.

God’s got a plan for my life? You, who thought the fucking world was flat a couple hundred years ago and crucify people daily for being different, thinking different, and believing different… have the right to tell me God has a plan for me? Don’t get me wrong, I believe GOD has a plan for me, but YOU think YOU know what it is, what I should do, how I should do it, or what I need to do to help God help me???? I don’t think so. FUCK THAT. And just because you don’t believe in God, don’t try to tell me I’m using my faith as a crutch and can’t think for myself. Both of you… get over yourselves and stop judging me because I might be different than you.

Shit happens, whether I’m good or bad, obedient or faithful. SHIT HAPPENS. I’ve had a lot of shit happen. Instead of sitting on your righteous high horses and telling me what you think you know of what GOD wants from me, for me, and about me… why don’t you just be real and tell me how you survived those low moments that happened in your life? Tell me how you picked up all your broken pieces and put them back together. I don’t want a magic solution, a supernatural fairy tale, an example of miraculous faith of God swooping down off his throne and showing favoritism because you mumbled a few magic words. Don’t tell me flowers and free love will solve all my problems.

What’s miraculous to me? Being able to love in the midst of such a cruel judgmental world, having hope for a brighter tomorrow, having the courage to chase a dream, having the guts to take a leap to follow my heart, having a compassion to love my neighbor in the middle of tension and hate. Stop telling me what God is doing FOR you, but what you’re doing for yourself, what you’re doing for your neighbor because you love them, not because your religion dictates you appear compassionate, or your lack of religion makes you appear intelligent and all-knowing. Show me your faith, what you truly believe with your actions, not your words, not your mouth, not your scripture, platitudes and memes. Some of the most cruelest people I ever met sat in a church pew or stood in a protest line holding a picket sign. Cruelty is on all sides of fundamentalism – whether conservative, liberal, gay, straight, black, or white.

I see god and enlightenment all the time in a touch, in a smile, in an act of kindness, tenderness, and compassion. Please, please, please for the love of all that is, stop trying to save me and just love me. If God is love, then love is what will heal me and help me. If love is your god, then show me that love. Just stop. It’s not YOUR job to save or enlighten me, only to love me. Let ME save ME. Let me learn what I need to know, because I’m the only one that can.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Letter From a Reader

Awww... I want to cry. I just received the following message from someone that reads my blog. BTW - I responded and told him I appreciated his letter and that I won't publish his name, but that I wanted share what he wrote because it touched me. He answered, "I figured as much. I read your blog everyday. I think I had an idea of how you'd respond. Thanks for respecting my privacy and you're more than welcome to share my words."


Anyway: Here's his message:


Dear, T.L.,


Yes, I'm writing with a greeting. I can't help it. It's how I was taught to write. I'm from the old school of things. When a man wants to write a letter to a lady, he should open with a greeting.


I know we've never met but I've been reading your blog for almost a year. I first stumbled upon it reading a review you wrote for Anthony Ryan. By the way, that was one of the best book reviews I've ever read. I purchased the book immediately and Mr. Ryan didn't disappoint. Raven's Shadow was everything you'd written and more. I hope Mr. Ryan appreciates your enthusiasm for his work.


I'm not writing to flirt with you, only to tell you what reading your blog has meant to me. It's literally changed my life. I'm highly professional and somewhat of a high profile, but inside I struggle trying to self identify. I've lived my life being defined by everyone else around me. In my case, it's been a good definition. I can't complain.


Some of the things you've written touched me very deeply. There were times I misdirected those feelings, believing perhaps I was falling in love with this beautiful soul being poured out week after week in front of me, but I kept telling myself you weren't real, more than likely a created persona to enhance your writing career. Yes, I'm a skeptic. I'm in the entertainment business and question everything. Just when I'm convinced of this created persona, you then write something so naked, so heart-breaking, you'd literally have me weeping at my desk. I knew in those times that you were a real person and you were being honest while sharing the intimate pain of your life.


So many times I wanted to write to you and tell you how beautiful you were to me. I've seen some of your pictures and think you're a very pretty woman, but the beauty I witnessed poured out in those blog posts have greatly exceeded your pretty face. It broke my heart to see you often doubt yourself, doubt your worth, and believe yourself to be unlovable. It boggles my mind how you're alone. I wish there were more like you in this world. Every time I received a new email notification that you've posted a new article, my hope was always to find you'd found your happiness. I wouldn't have to wait long when you would post again and it be something happy, something brave, something that showed you did see yourself as the beautiful soul you really were. I sometimes pondered if you were perhaps bipolar because you often went from one extreme to the next. I slowly began to understand your process. All this time I had felt like you were writing to me, or at least to a captive audience, but you were not. You were the audience. You have been the targeted reader all along. I want you to know you're simply amazing.


I don't have a blog and never will. I'm not as brave as you to expose myself the way you do, but I am taking a page from your example. I've started writing a journal to myself. The first few entries were stilted, odd, and somewhat confusing, but freeing at the same time. I'm not the same caliber of writer as you, but seeing my words on the page helped me see them in a different light and understanding. I'm learning a lot about and not struggling so much with self identity. You've restored my faith in people. You've reminded me about the important things.


I want to thank you Ms. Gray for sharing your heart with unknown strangers as myself. I sincerely hope you find the happiness you're searching for. That man will be one of the luckiest men in the world, because I have no doubt he will be loved like he's never been loved before and appreciated like he's never been appreciated before. I may not know you, but I know your heart. You once wrote a post about why you call someone in your life Beautiful. You, my dear, are the truest example of Beautiful I've ever seen. I work with beautiful faces every day, but they do not possess the kind of beauty I witness in you.


Please keep writing. I believe you're changing many hearts across this world, not just mine.


Sincerely,

Your Faithful Reader


*** With a hand full of tissues, I'm wiping the wet tears off my face and gobs of snot dripping from my nose. *** This just made my day. Hell, it's made my week, my month, and probably my year!!!!

You Don't Get to Choose

I had a dream last night. Yeah, yeah… those of you who know me know I dream all the time, so I visualize you all right now rolling your eyes, saying, “what’s the big deal?” The big deal is the way this dream felt. It’s hard to describe, but it’s like that feeling you get sometimes where your subconscious is screaming at you, “pay attention, this is important!” So, that’s what I’m trying to do, pay attention because this dream feels extremely important.

My dream, as with most of my dreams over the past year, starred Emi (short for Exotic Man of my Imagination) as he climbed upon the back of a tall, white thoroughbred in the middle of a dark, gloomy, wooded area. Everything was outlined in silver moonlight, making the majestic white coat of the horse practically glow. While she was white, her mane and tail were pitch black. Emi’s beautiful brown eyes missed nothing. He saw every motion of every creeping thing in the woods, yet he didn’t react to his surroundings, keeping his temperament in a calm, collected, controlled state. He was dressed in a pair of cargo pants, a white buttoned shirt with rolled sleeves, and brown boots. Not cowboy boots, more like military or the hiking kind.

Emi climbed onto the back of the horse, and then looked down at something he wore on his wrist. It wasn’t a watch, but perhaps a smartphone like a watch. I’m not sure, but whatever it was, I got the sense it was what prompted his urgency to get somewhere. He tightened his grip on the reins and gave the mare a swift kick in the side.

She didn’t move.

He kicked her again, snapped the reins, but the mare still refused to budge.

Emi jumped down from the horse, pulled a pistol from his side holster and pointed it right at the horse’s head. The mare still didn’t move. She just stood there, her big eyes unblinking, staring back at him. He flipped the safety of the gun with his thumb as he stared down the sight aimed right between the horses eyes. His index finger rested on the side of the trigger, itching to move into place to take the shot.

There was something in the horse’s eyes, a sadness, a deepness, a mystery that caught Emi’s attention. A knowing feeling washed over him. In that moment he knew the horse wanted him to pull the trigger, to end her sadness, to release her from her pain. She knew he was strong enough to do it. He knew what she wanted, and why. I, the dreamer, don’t even know why. But Emi did, and he wouldn’t do it.

Emi sighed. Flipped the safety back with his thumb and holstered his pistol. He was angry, yet filled with relief at the same time. He pointed to the horse and said to her in a loud voice, not yelling, but one filled with all authority and command, “You do not get to choose.”

The horse lowered her head. A small trickle of silver tears spilled from her eyes. Emi mounted her once again. This time when he tightened the reins and gave her a swift kick in the side, she moved. Together, in rhythm, they galloped off into the dark wood toward where Emi needed to go. Even as the dreamer, I have no idea where it was he needed to be, only that there was an urgency for him to get there.

I woke with such a sense of compassion, connection, and confusion. I know this dream means something, but I can’t see it. Please don’t send me any ‘interpretations’ you might have, because I don’t want them to interfere. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a dream this intense, this detailed, this …I don’t know how to explain the overwhelming sensation. I don’t know what it means, I only know it feels important. If I’m meant to know, I will eventually discover it. Perhaps I just need to eat something because I also feel like I’m starving.

Till next time,



~The Weird Dreamer

Hollow Moon (Bad Wolf) - Awolnation

Yep, I found another great song to add to my collection. This time it’s the imaginative song “Hollow Moon (Bad Wolf)” by Awolnation. Wow, this song has really tugged at so many aspects of my heart and imagination. Layers upon layers, yet all packaged in a fantastical tale behind a beat that makes you move. Also, for Destiny gamers… this is a great tune to run around shooting enemies in the Crucible. There’s just something going around thinking you’re gonna make a deal with the bad wolf… by shooting his head off. LOL! While playing Crucible, I changed the words to … “I’ma make a deal with the bad wolf, shoot the bad wolf, ‘e won’t bite no more.” It made for extremely fun play.

Okay, onto the rest of what this song pulled out of me. I have to say right off though as a writer and editor, I can’t help but notice the double negative in the chorus, but I don’t care – it works.

On the surface of this song, I smiled at the imagery of a someone running through the dark woods beneath a huge hollow moon from a vicious werewolf, you know, like in those old black and white horror movies. It was awesome. The story that played in my mind was so great, I don’t know if I want to watch the video.

On a deeper level, I switched to a Red Riding Hood-esque storyline, but a more adult version where Red is giving into her temptations because she knows she’s lost, and the safety and security of her ideals have been shattered under the power of the Big Bad Wolf - the temptation that follows her, haunts her, and causes her to doubt her very existence. (Breath – whew… I know, I know… a loooong run on.) In facing her wolf, Red can’t deal with the cages – the bondages (ideals) we thought kept us safe, the lies we once believed about what it meant to be free. Her eyes are now opened and she faces the ugly, dangerous truth head on.

Dying on the inside, dying to a way of life, an ideology, something you’ve always known and choosing to walk a new path, is like rising from the dead, being reborn, being made into something else. Most of us have this ideal that we should completely become something else altogether, but I have to disagree. That’s not changing or transforming - that’s erasing what was and creating something else, and none of us have the power of creation (to make something from nothing). We are still part of who we were, yet have somehow morphed, changed, transformed into part of something else … a hybrid... a battle between nature and will, choice and being choice-less. I still have my broken, damaged human pieces, but I’ve sharpened my nails, enhanced my eye sight and hearing, become stronger with a thick coat, grew more muscles, and covered myself in a suit and a growl that scares the shit out of my enemies – yet I still have my humanity. I’m not fully human, not fully wolf, I’m a werewolf… containing both the good and bad parts of me.

I accept me as I am. I know that when the full moon comes, when temptation and my selfish natural desires kick in, I’m going to have a struggle to retain my humanity. To deny there’s a beast inside, that’s the true danger. That’s where we make mistakes, where we falter, where our inner wolves take over and create the chaos in our lives, messes we spend our lifetimes cleaning up.

So, in my closing… I made a deal with the bad wolf so the bad wolf don’t bite no more. My enemy (me)is a friend of mine in a friendly place to be seen. I’ve been running from it all my life, but there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m now in my right mind. I’ve found my head. I’m no longer lost, no longer dead inside. Motherfucker, I’ve come back from the dead and I’ve accepted myself for who I am. I’m not waiting anymore, taking up space, hoping for a false dream. I’m no longer scared of the future, because it’ll be what I make it. I might not be free in this blind society, but I’m free from their self-righteous bondage. If you listen close during the hollow moon, you’ll hear me howling. They’ll never find me here, because where I am they cannot go.

So readers, enjoy the following song… and see what story, what truth, what bad wolf you face with in. Then, after that… go be a beast and wreck some enemies in the Crucible.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

"Hollow Moon (Bad Wolf)" - Awolnation

I’ve been running from it all my lifetime

There’s nothing wrong with you, I’m searching for my right mind

Oh, you should’ve seen it they were resting on the restless

This happened, literally - woke up I was headless

I woke up I was headless

[Chorus:]

Ima make a deal with the bad wolf so the bad wolf don’t bite no more

Ima make a deal with the bad wolf so the bad wolf don’t bite no more

Ima make a deal with the bad wolf so the bad wolf don’t bite no more

Ima make a deal with the bad wolf so the bad wolf don’t bite no more

Ima make a Ima make a bad wolf Ima Ima bad wolf Ima make a bad wolf Ima Ima

Ima make a deal with the bad wolf so the bad wolf don’t bite no more

You’re all still here

Motherfucker I’ll be back from the dead soon

I’ll be watching from the center of the hollow moon

Oh, oh my God I think I might’ve made a mistake

Waiting patiently was waiting taking up space

We are waiting taking up space

[Chorus]

The earth below is above my feet when the clock is laughing at me

When copy cats and the lazy brats are the last thing I want to see

No, my enemy is a friend of mine in a friendly place to be seen

Hey, you know I'll run away for a couple years just to prove I’ve never been free

They will never find me here [x4]

Yeah

Ima make a deal with the bad wolf so the bad wolf don’t bite no more [x8]

I Don't Give Up

I want to give up every day. I want to give up on life, on love, on happiness, on dreams, on myself, on the humiliation of being beaten now over 30 times in a row at chess by the same person. Every day. But, I can’t. I won’t. I want to, but I won’t. I don’t give up.

I’ve had people tell me all my life they believed in me, but they lied. As I tried to avoid watching everyone I know honoring their fathers and celebrating with their families yesterday, I hid among the aliens on my XBoxOne playing Destiny. Even there, I couldn’t escape facing another temptation to give up.

Casual readers can skip the next few paragraphs, because unless you play Destiny you might not understand the gravity of what I’m about to write. Those who do play, just shake your head and continue on.

Yesterday I woke up determined to have a good day. I’d been a little stressed lately, extremely lonely, and my melancholy had effected my playtime. However, I was buzzing with excitement at 7am ready to conquer the things I’d recently failed, namely the Level 35 Prison of Elders. By this time I have tried to beat Skolas five times and have failed every time. Yet, ALL my friends have fought on to victory, claimed their banners, received their rewards, and sent me their wishes of sympathy. Some tried desperately to help me out, but I still failed to claim the victory. Most of them, now complete with their goals on Destiny moved onto The Elder Scrolls and left me behind - still incomplete, still failing to meet my goals, still battling the desire to give up – every day.

By 9 am, after cooking my son breakfast, doing a few light chores, and making sure I would be comfortable, I jumped onto Destiny ready to win – no matter how long it took. I wasn’t giving up.

By 3:30 pm, after zipping through the first five levels and then facing Skolas again - and again - and again - and again - and again - and again (get the picture), the trio I was with decided to take a little break, get something to eat, and re-energize to continue our fight. We tried strategy after strategy, each time getting closer and closer, yet not quite enough to bring the beast down. We were hopeful we would finish soon, yet determined we’d stick it out, no matter how long it took. We were nearly 6 hours in already, too much was already invested to stop now.

I stayed in airlock (This is the waiting station at Skolas. We couldn’t log off. Logging off would mean we’d have to start all over and go through 5 levels again just to get to the point to battle Skolas), and kept moving around to keep from lagging out, talking with my friend in game chat, and just chillin’ until our third party returned. However, the universe had other plans for me. My friend and I were booted from the fire team and sent to orbit. Thank you Destiny servers – you can kiss my ass! Our third player didn’t return in time, and due to inactivity (he was away from his controller) was kicked to orbit too. Bottom line: we lost our place, our check point.

I was devastated. 6 hours. I’d put in six excruciating hours. My wrists hurt, my fingers were stiff, my shoulders ached from six hours of intense battle. Now my stomach hurt. I mean, it literally hurt like someone punched me really hard. I left the party chat, stepped away from my game, and didn’t even make it to my bed before the tears of frustration began to spill down my face. I’d failed… again… for the 6th time… after 6 hour. I tried to reach out to a friend for encouragement, but got a pithy remark reminding me how fast he completed the challenge, and advised I wait till the new DLC comes out, level up, and then go back to beat Skolas - meaning I was a shit player and couldn’t do it at my current level, which happens to be the highest level in the game. He wouldn’t even play with me to try again. I don’t blame him, who’d want to play with someone who’s tried and failed six time already?

I felt like shit. I felt like giving up. I felt like the weight of the world, the weight of the stress that’d been gnawing at me for days, eating me from the inside out, finally came flooding out. Why had I been stressed? Why had I been so intense? Why did I walk around with this huge knot in my throat? As I lay on my bed and stared at the sunlight beaming down on a branch just outside my window, I let the thoughts I’d been trying to suppress rush to the forefront of my mind. I was alone. I had no father to celebrate, to honor. I had no family that needed me anymore. I had just spent two days with some of my kids – and their presence (which I loved more than I can ever say) reminded me just how lonely and isolated I’d become, and it was of my own making. I’d pushed everyone out of my life, except my kids.

I thought I was going to die. I’d been diagnosed with cancer. But, I didn’t give up fighting, and I beat death, and now I’m forced to face the shattered mess I’d made of my life. I realized I had surrounded myself with people that couldn’t disappoint or hurt me by giving up on me – because that’s what had happened. All the people I pushed out of my life, that I had loved and thought loved me too – had given up on me. They let me walk away, alone. They didn’t fight for me. I fought alone. They just left.

Fuck them! Fuck every single one of them. I don’t need them. Clearly the last few years have proved that. I didn’t give up on me. I might have created a mess, have to start all over in a lot of things, but I didn’t give up. I get up every day and I fight for my life, for my happiness, for my health, for my passions, for my dreams, for my heart. Some days are harder than others, and some days I fall back a few steps, but some days I take off running. I love, even when I know I’m not loved in return.

I wiped my tears, washed my face, grabbed a bottle of water, and jumped on LFG and found me two players. I took control, led the battle, and kicked Skolas’ ass in less than 50 minutes. Don’t ever tell me to give up!

I - don’t - give – up! I also don’t hang onto what’s given up on me.

I will eventually conquer the things that are important in my life, or I will die trying. I will someday find someone who will fight for me as much as I fight for myself. Someday I will call out, “Check Mate, Bitches!”

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Change

Change starts with the individual.  If we set our eyes on our neighbors proclivity for/against change, it will skew the changes we dare to make within ourselves, and therefore prevent any true change from occurring. 

I'm sick... I mean, I'm literally sick of the boxes we put around other people.  We see a victim and a terrorist in every box.  There is no right side of hate/anger/victimization/terrorism. It's all hate.  Hate is the true offender. 

I'm so sick of the violence committed in hate. I'm also sick of the repercussions committed by victims of hate, who now in hate, commit the same acts of violence. 

I'm so sick of the ignorant white community who think there isn't a race problem in this world, not just the United States, but in many different countries, involving many different races.  Blacks are not the only victims of racism.  ALL races, including white, have both victims and terrorists.

I'm so sick of the ignorant black community who think there's no compassion or action in this world against the violence committed against their race. Whites are not the only ones who commit racial hate crimes, and blacks are not the only ones standing firm against them. 

I'm so sick of religious and class wars, racism, sexism, human slavery and trafficking, drug abuse, sex abuse, child abuse, animal cruelty, waste, environmental and corporate greed, gluttony, poverty and disease. 

What can I do? We will never be free of these plagues, the evil and hatred  we humans commit against one another.  I can't save the world.  I can't change my neighbor's mind. ALL I can do is love my fellow human being.  Love them as I love myself.  Love them regardless of their color, their sex, their status, their religion or their heritage.  Grieve with them, fight beside them, show them mercy, love, and compassion.  I'm not talking about letting someone hurt or walk all over me, because just as much as I will love them as a fellow human being... I will also fight against their hatred and anger - no matter their color/religion/sex/status.

If ALL you can see is the hate and the differences between us - you are blind.  That anger, even as a victim, will take root and the result will be just another strain of hate.  You will become what you currently despise. 

I hate what this young man did in Charleston.  I hate it with every fiber of my being.  My heart hurts for those victims.  This young man committed this terrible act of terrorism in hate.  Don't let your own hatred, your own anger, your own prejudices, your own hurt make you bend to his level and become the next instrument of hate.  Because YOUR actions will either lend toward furthering the divide that already exists or else serve as a healing balm to breach the gap. 

Choosing to love and not focus on color, isn't ignoring the race problem.  It's helping create a human solution... one individual at a time. Before you hit the streets, before you make your signs of protest, before you start lopping every person you know, and many you've never met into one box or another - stop. Close your eyes.  Stop being black, white, victim, or crusader - and then open your eyes and be human - no matter if your neighbor does likewise or not.  You change YOU, and then YOU will affect the world around you. Hate will NEVER change hate.  Anger will NEVER bring about peace.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray