Marriage Autopsy -- Part One

     I listened to this letter, read to me by a highly emotional wife, in her therapist's office   about 3 weeks ago. To say it was heart-wrenching is rank understatement. Never have I  experienced such an utter sense off defeat, abandonment, and failure. I pray I never will again...   

     Since this is my blog -- I will interject my perspective (in bloody red) between her words. In all fairness I think it was a brilliantly composed discourse especially for someone under such great emotional stress)  For me, it is a brutal and (somewhat) hostile terrain, not easily traversed the first time, let-alone again.

We entered into our marriage broken, whether we realized it or not. Um, hello? That was ten years ago!  And yes we were broken but I loved you then (and now) tremendously. Enough to marry you on your time-scale. My love and admiration for you has only grown in the intervening years --  as I always knew it would  I am writing this to help heal myself, not as an attempt to hurt you.  I was asked to look at my expectations of our marriage and to locate the pain that it held for me.  So I am reflecting on what I see as my issues or failings in our marriage. 

With so many failed attempts to find love, abandonment from Chris’ father and finally the man before you that I dated who told me that he loved me, but was embarrassed to be seen in public with me; had built up horrible walls for me. And I tore them all down, baby! Well, most of them. (Baby!) I was used, unloved and broken.  I was searching for love in hopes of healing myself and my own insecurities. Add to that the fact that I  was very independent. These were not good combinations. And you found a healing love! And those traumas you endured are terrible (including the one I edited out for privacy reasons) but they're also a part of what makes you the "you" that I love. You were recovering from your addiction with drugs. I still am -- but I was two years clean when I met you online -- well "clean" being relative... from my d.o.c., I mean. Two failed relationships, whom you lived with, that did not make you a better person, Tonya and Josie... and no, they certainly weren't the healthiest of relationships -- but I was in my mid-twenties and they sure as heck taught me a great deal. (Like don't shack up with a super-hot (and dangerously repressed) Mexican 'chica,' that birthed 4 kids by 22. Especially while your trying to run a pizza restaurant. living with your mother who was and is an enabler and spending most of your time in a basement, secluded, without friends and content with your lifestyle.  I was paying rent, helping my aging Mom, working my butt-off  and making decent money, writing all the time, (producing strong works) listening to awesome music -- loudly --  the way it was meant to be listened to; (which you can only really get away with in a basement or a club) .... free of my addiction. I was in semi-slacker heaven! And as for friends, there was Jeremy and Alma! Both of our "brokenness" should have been seen in advance, but I suppose it was my fault that it wasn’t recognized, at least by me. Yeah, I certainly saw it -- I was completely aware of you're biological-clock dilemma -- and our character flaws -- I am pretty smart and self-aware. (Like I totally know I am a raging dork/ delusional narcissist -- nobody's perfect!)  I certainly didn't marry you without fully considering our imperfections.  I figured, that we would "become one" and together our complementary strengths would shore up any brokenness.  I am right!  Or delude myself that I am; Or I was... right-up until I swallowed the plastic and nearly died. Then I kind'a broke again. Big set-back... sue me! Oh yeah, you are!  I wanted marriage so badly and worried that with my age; no one would want me for much longer, so I overlooked many of our differences.  I wanted a provider, a protector, an equal that would build me up just as I did for them. Oh this makes me feel reeeal good. Blind, ye be! That's exactly what you had! (... mostly!)  Someone who wanted what I wanted and had the future completely in sight, not just for the moment. Future/smuture! What about now?! Delusions of grandeur aside, have I not always made it completely evident that I will settle for nothing less than true greatness from my future? (Hmm, probably not... but inwardly, I never expected anything less from myself! )  So, I guess, "greatness" is not enough? Well it probably isn't... but nevertheless I will most certainly get-around to attaining it! (I'll just have to shoot a little higher...  as greatness for me included having you at my side.  Someone with the same goals and aspirations I had. What? Utter mediocrity?! I wanted the fairy tale. (Again, blind! Oblivious!)The first time we met I had worked so hard to go from a size 22 to a size 14 to impress you and still I felt like that “fat girl” when you looked at me. (She was holding a sign at the airport with glitter and a crudely drawn airplane that said: "Step off of that plane and into my heart!" I was already in love with her so that's just her insecurity talking. I knew perfectly well what I was getting myself into ...(or not.)  I still remember our first meeting when I said you told me you were taller and you told me I was supposed to be thinner.  We laughed at the time, but I knew in my heart you had issues with this. Yeah, but they weren't significant enough to keep me from marrying your plump-butt!  I loved (love) you more than to let "mere physicality" stop me from wanting a life with you. I proved that, gallantly -- again and again. We are, far-more significant than these bodies. I am also aware of how having a sick body can mess with the balance and harmony of a mind as well as diminish the light of a spirit. I had so many “red flags” with our relationship before we married and I refused to acknowledge them, thinking love would solve everything. (Yeah... until the wacked-out-lady going through her own mid-life crisis decides to just flush ten years of your life and dumps you!)   I re-read a journal entry recently that reminded me of a fight we had in the summer before we became engaged.  You told Alma that it was going to be hard to make love to a woman that repulsed you.  Repulsed? That's pretty harsh... I'm not denying it outright  -- but that's highly unlikely. (And if I did say that to Alma -- how would you know about it?) Repulsed was the word you used and it ripped at my wounds and dug into my insecurities. What? A little alarm didn't go off then?! I still remember fighting with you in the car when I visited in NY.  When confronted about it you said it wasn’t meant that way, rationalized the comment and I wanted to believe you, so I did, because I loved you. Oh, no. What I meant to say was I was compulsed by you, I just used the wrong word! What does that mean? Uh... uh.. I don't have the words to explain it because I'm so crazy in love with you!  See? This is why I have a problem with this story; I hold a (fictitious) PhD in rationalization and I wouldn't know where to begin rationalizing away such stupendously intractable wording. I'm too good (at bad) to dig myself a hole that deep. 

That same summer your mother talked to me privately and told me not to marry you.  That you and I were “unequally yoked” just as she and your father were. That's my mom folks! She told me that she was to blame for making you as you are. What the hell is that supposed to mean? A loving, caring, and compassionate human being with, at times, overbearing artistic sensibilities? Because if she meant that, she nailed it.  That she enabled you and basically crippled both you and your sister by making you so dependent on her.  She controlled your lives, your money, your home, everything. (I think you dreamt this exchange. I'm not saying it isn't accurate (though it isn't completely) but I can't imagine why my Mom would "come clean" like that -- if it happened at all, it was more likely an attempt to derail our relationship because in her mind nobody could be good-enough for her precious son. She's a lot like Ray Romano's mom.)  I didn't want to listen to anything she said, but she was right, I see that now. Gee thanks! Uh, slight exaggeration there! Crippled? Nah. "Struck-lame," kind'a. [Update: I talked to my Mom today and read this part to her. Her response: "I don't remember that at all."  Possibly true --  but I noticed a slight hesitation in her speech as if she was recalling something... that she didn't then mention. She also said she was very offended by the idea that she was "controlling" and used  my sister's "lost" days as proof of not controlling anything -- a case might be made that our individual rebellions were, in fact the "slingshot effect" results of precisely the controlling nature to which Crystal referred. Update #2: Crystal says that she talked to mom about this ten year old conversation last week and Mom remembered it perfectly during their  conversation. That's my mom folks!]

When we got engaged you wanted our wedding to be in November the following year and I pushed for February and won even though you were not ready.  Ready? I'm just about ready!  I should have listened and perhaps we wouldn’t be here today. Where's "here," exactly? About to sign our divorce papers -- and me writing snarky italicized comments (in bloody red) on your most heart-felt confessional, while feeling my heart tear a little more with every, dripping letter I type? During our engaged encounter you confessed that you were not attracted to me.  This I did. You stated that you loved me completely, but you weren’t attracted to me. I actually said that you shouldn't expect us to be having too much sex, because I wasn't attracted to you.   I licked my wounds by convincing myself that you would grow to love me completely, as a wife is loved. And I did -- I just didn't feel particularly motivated towards sex with you. Adoring and cherishing you fine. And I always wanted to be near you and touching you, holding you kissing your neck... still do. I thought I made love to you everythime we were near one another -- I felt that way in my heart. )  So I disregarded my feelings and believed all would be ok.  I was so upset that you would rather sleep through sessions that were supposed to be important instead of making me feel as if I was most important. I think I fell asleep once and, obviously, I took our engaged encounter seriously or I wouldn't have told you about our sexual incompatibility. You didn’t even carry through with the journaling and when I asked you why you wouldn’t do it, you told me that I knew how you felt.  Maybe I needed to hear it from your own lips. ( I saw that workshop-journal recently -- I saved it! There's stuff in it! Not a lot but I did many of the exercises -- well some of the exercises... and we had to share them with one another anyway -- so yes, I would tell you instead of reading, I think that shows a lot more dedication to being "in the moment." Thank- you-very-much! You should know I'm not a "follower.") 

Another red flag I notice you never mention"green" flags. was the fact that you left on the night of our rehearsal, you said it was because of Chris, fear, whatever.  You were so angry because you wanted Chris to go to the car in the dark and get your camera, and when he cried you shoved him around the neck up to the wall.  You scared him, shocked my family and broke my heart.  You ruined this night of joy for me because of your temper.  I should have known then this wouldn’t work.  I firmly believe that if Fr. Steve hadn’t called you to come back, you would have kept running, and maybe I should have let you. Alright, finally! I always wanted to write about what happened here. Wedding rehearsal night: I have no less than three people (one a priest) calling me from different directions each giving me different instructions. Crystal my bride-to-be wanted the camera from the car. I asked Chris (her son and soon to be my step-son)  if he could please help me and get the camera from the car This kind, gracious soul said he didn't want to. Someone called for me again; "One second, I'll be right there!" I turned back to Chris. "I really need your help Chris, please?." (The car was about 30 yards away.) He reluctantly agreed took the proffered keys, turns away, takes two steps and threw the keys back at me over his shoulder. They hit my chest and I caught them stomach level. "Chris!"  He continued walking. "Chris!" I call again. He turned, shot me an anxious glance (and a wicked little smile) turned away and  began weaving through the crowd that was now filing into the Church from the vestibule. "Chris, come here a second, I want to talk to you." I shouted after him. I was still outwardly calm but inwardly I thought to myself: "What is his problem? Little shit. "Chris, come here please!" "No!" he spat.  "Little shit!" I think again  -- "Chris come here a second and talk to me, I want to know why you did that!" Now I was getting angry. I closed the gap with five steps and grabbed his shoulder. He dropped to the ground; just buckled. I held on.  "Chris, I only  want to know why you did that? Come talk to me." He jerked away, scrambled to his feet and attempted to flee yet again. He didn't get far. I picked him up from under both arms. He begins to wail like a stuck pig. "Stop it! Put me down! Owww, that hurts! Your hurting me!" All the while he's bucking and twisting like a netted catfish. I carried him about 8 feet and placed his back against a wall by the main doors. The second I let go he starts to drop to the floor again. I lift him erect and looked straight into his eyes. (If I touched his neck and I don't think I did, it was at this moment.) I knew I had to get him out of there; although most of the people had already moved to the inside of the church. He was being ludicrously ugly. "Chris, I will go with you to the car. Walk with me, I need to talk to you." I started to let go and turn towards the door and once again he tried to bolt.  I grabbed him once again and he hollers! Owwwww! Stop it!" Then predictably dropped to the floor. I pushed open the door with one hand and said "Fine, you don't want to walk, that's your choice. We're still going to the car. Stand up!" But he wouldn't, he just dangled from his elbow still in my grip. "C'mon, get-up!" I insisted yet again --"Whaaaahhgh!" he bellowed.  I opened the door and pulled him outside. "Get off of me why are you doing this?!" He plead. "Just walk!" I huffed. Yes, I was pissed. "Whaaaahhgh!" He wasn't even crying just being a nuisance. So I walked through the doors and kept walking. I dragged the dysfunctional-twit about twenty five feet. All he had to do was stand-up. All along the way he screamed his (literally) stupid, head off. (Oh, it didn't actually drop-off  that part is figurative.) Someone came out of the Church "Hey! what are you doing to that child?! Oh shit! This is so fucking bad! I walked to the car, got in and fucking drove.(Camera and all.) I remember thinking: "Holy-shit, what was that all about?" And: "Now what am I going to to do?!? Where am I going to go now? They probably called the police, shit! I'll drive to California! I'll become a screenwriter! Alright! Whew! Close-call there!" And a joyous sense of freedom descended upon me. I was free!! Then my damn phone rang... It was, of course,      Father Steve who was a really awesome man and spoke with great power and authority. "Paul." He said softly and calmly. "Where are you?"A lilting, low tone. "I'm gone, Father!"  I said. "Paul... there are two very upset people here, you need to turn around and come back." Coming from Steve O'Connor with that perfectly level voice made it nothing less than a direct order. I thought about pulling a Chris and fleeing but I couldn't bear the thought of how upset, scared and confused  Crystal must be and I also wanted to apologize to little-shit, uh, Chris. So I sucked it up. "Be a man." I thought and said: "Alright Father, I'm coming." Fast-forward ten years later -- writing in bloody-red.) Update: I talked to Chris about the incident today while we were waiting to sign over the Truck title to his name --  he says I never touched his neck. 


                                               End Of Part 1

"Watch T.V." "Sleep" "Obey Authority" "Marry and Reproduce"

          With a (knowing and cautious) nod towards my second blog -- I shall now discuss how I  (drum-roll, please...) "Watch T.V."
           T.V. can be a huge time/soul suck -- talk to anyone with any significant societal accomplishments and they usually say -- I don't watch T.V.  It also extends to the debate over the "nature" of entertainment in general. (Yes, way-to vague.) To elaborate a little: let's take what I consider to be the three primary types of entertainment. The cerebral, the escapist and the exploitative --elements of these three are blended and "twisted" (similarly as  the colors red, blue and green are blended)  to create the entire emotional and visual palette utilized to tell the stories that inspire, shock, tickle, distract and sedate us. Emotional-replicators (just like in Star Trek  human experience broken down to their component elements (motion, e-motion and thought.) Unlike in Star Trek where "computer" turns these waste-derived elements into any imaginable tool, machine-part or food --  the final construct of the visual entertainment medium represents the life-blood of many, many  talented individuals (artists and artisans) who utilize (thereby diminishing )  their very life-energies  in the creation of a  product where all but a ("chosen") few have control over how successful the end-result will actually be. Even with a well conceived and executed work -- a breakdown in marketing and promotion can result in an artistically successful  project languishing in obscurity and "failing" commercially.  Hey that's "art!" (Go cry to Poe or Van Gogh.) There really isn't any viable intersection between true artistry  and commercialism. -- though truly there is no crime in iterweaving delight within the various inspirations.
          Just now watching episode 3 of "The Following" with Kevin Bacon. Meh. It's not a bad show,  it's "puffed-up-average." (Annie Parrise sure isn't average.) All the individual elements are "fine." The acting is fine, production value is fine, writing is fine. (As far as the naturalness of dialogue and how it contributes to the narrative flow; it's where it flows, or fails to, that dismays me.) They seem to be telling a movie in, drawn-out, serialized form. The premise: what if a half-assed  (no, quarter-assed) Hannibal Lecter type, managed to gain internet access in prison? Answer:   (Aside from accessing sundry masturbatory aides...) He would brainwash and manipulate an unknown quantity of strategically, stationed "followers" to initiate  an elaborate revenge scenario on his behalf. [Brief aside: I can't mention "Hannibal the Cannibal" without mentioning how I think Thomas Harris is, easily, one of my favorite writers. He just publishes so darn infrequently! (5 books in 38 years!) Part of me thinks: "good for him" but the selfish part is all: "get over your perfectionist and/or lazy self!" Also, there's supposed to be a Hannibal series coming to T.V.,  that could be cool. Just don't shy away from Hannibal's true nature -- which is of a pure and supernatural evil. If you read the books you know what I mean. If you didn't:, I'll spill it: he's so evil his eyes, at-times, glow red.)  Back to "The Following:" There's very little escalation of suspense -- murders are just shock-value affairs,with little shock. So far this episode: a burning, a stabbing (nope, 2 stabbings) Oh, there's a car door bludgeoning (she's just unconscious, but it'll be permanent soon-enough.) The FBI are swarming in full- force but these rank-amateur "followers" are getting the drop on them like they're cold-war, KGB Ninjas something. Ha! Now the only guy they managed to capture committed suicide by gauze! Nah, I think I'm done with this one. (Speaking of cold-war, KGB ninjas, the first 20 minutes of  "The Americans" was better than anything I've seen in three episodes of The Following. Hmmm could be potential in this one! And Keri Russell, is awesome. UPDATE: Yes The Americans is a good show. Suspenseful, very well written/acted, a little dopey (not automatically a bad thing) some great action sequences -- I love reliving the 80's (who would'a thought!) and the fact that it's an FX show means they can "go places" Network T.V. wouldn't touch. Reccommended.
          The reason I brought this topic up today is that I can't watch certain shows with Crystal, (my ex-wife) (ex-ex-ex,,,) (Ooh, an echo!)  (The Following being one of these -- though no longer an issue.)
          She dislikes anything supernaturally or terrestrially  "dark." If it shows even the slightest glimmer of  "dark" -- she's out. (Mad oxymoron yo!) The only way she's able to digest the monsters and demons is if they're candy-coated  like in: Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Angel. (The "candy-coating" in these cases being  an element of "silly" or overtones of comedy and romance. (See also: True Blood; also one of our faves.) However, don't dare mix a monster with any element of suspense. (Even though I think that this is where all the technique and skill shines through; utilizing that most primal of emotions:  fear, smartly, with finesse and originality. (Not cheaply, with gross-out gore fests (I dig those too, in context, not for mere shock-value) or a cat-jumping out of a cupboard.)
          So demons (and other assorted monsters) and (kick-ass) violence is o.k. (She says, Vampires and Zombies are not real so their not scary ) I say : Vampires are certainly supposed to be scary -- they're soulless blood sucking demons who've hijacked human bodies. Not the mopey, pretty-boy, girl-magnets they've become in recent tropes.) As for Zombies, no, they aren't evil, they're just hungry. (And contagious!)
           I've known true horror! May I tell you, dear reader, what is truly, truly  horrific? The modern-hell that is reality television! For the past decade I have graciously endured all of her mind-obliterating, soul-disintegrating reality shows. Biggest Loser, Project Runway, (are there seriously no straight male designers?)  American Idol (and all the other singing competitions. Fuck-you Simon Cowell ! )  Hells Kitchen, Next Top Model -- Storage Wars... (Really?!?)  Lord, I'm a freakin' saint!
          Overall though, we showed darn-good compatibility with T.V. shows -- we both love Once Upon A Time (Jane Espenson, a T.V. goddess (of awesome) is a contributing writer and producer -- she's been involved to varying degrees with about ten of my favorite shows!)  Crystal and I currently enjoy Arrow, Person of Interest, Elementary and The Neighbors, Glee, Being Human, Nikita, Touch (our apocalypse themed shows: Falling Sky, Revolution, and The Walking Dead,)  Hawaii Five-O, older shows like, 24, Lost, Smallville,   Battlestar Galactica, Jehrico and the aforementioned Buffy, Angel and True Blood (I also indulge her "The Vampire Diaries" (I'm, personally,  out on that one -- mainly because  as I mentioned, I abhor seeing the vicious-vampire "prettified." During the show I will read a comic or web-surf while stealing glances at the ultimately-magnificent Nina Dobrev.) There are some reality shows I do enjoy like The Next Iron Chef (genius-chefs, cool!) and, uh...uh...  hmmm, I can't think of another one.
         She won't watch any of "my" shows like Supernatural (don't know why it fits her monster criteria perfectly) or Breaking Bad (too dark!) , Dexter (well, obviously, out) And God forbid she's even in the house while I'm watching American Horror Story... Sherlock (too cerebral, too British.)  Sheesh .. these last four are in my top- ten of all time. (Dr. Who squeaks by as a jointly watched show but I don't think she truly appreciates/"gets"  British quirkiness -- who really can! The silliness is the point.)
          Paradoxically, I think she's actually quite a dark person herself. I offer as evidence: this divorce. (Although if she wasn't happy "for a long time"  it is kind of heroically courageous of her to extricate herself from our -- sacramental entanglements with one another! (Grrrrr...) Also, here's something weird: I often viewed it as an omen that our relationship was ultimately doomed. At first, it confused me, then it started bothering/angering me (while still confusing me), then I just (grudgingly) accepted it. (Accepted being confounded and angered by it.) But no matter what we're watching, no matter how hard I am laughing, or excitedly, exclaiming/fidgeting... Crystal just sits there emotionless. She never laughs with me. It is as if she doesn't want to give me the satisfaction of enjoying the show with me. I have had a very difficult time understanding this behavior. However if I leave the room momentarily, to let the dog in, fix a snack, or get water) then and only then, she will exclaim and laugh out-loud. WTF?! I've discussed this with my therapist who just went: "Hmmm." I asked him why he thought she does this, to which he replied: "Why do you think he does this?" (Damn! Therapists can be so frustrating; no answers, only more questions.I guess that's "the process." Great help, really. )
         My next wife (next...next...next...) (Oh! I know why I'm getting that echo... The Black Keys: "My next girl -- will be nothing like my ex-girl!" ) anyway, she will love and appreciate the artistic temperament in all it's glorious forms (especially in music and myself. ) even if it gets "dark" or is otherwise intellectually and emotionally "challenging"  She will love Jack White, Sam Raimi the Cohen Brothers and Woody Allen! She will also enjoy being scared (and cuddling.) She will laugh and shout with me joyously/excitedly; sharing her emotions with me graciously and gratefully.
          A man can dream...or watch T.V.

Oh, Good Morning! I Didn't See You There!

        I accidentally clicked "New Post" -- so now I feel obligated.  Good Morning peep-o!
Lot's of thoughts running through my groggy noggin... cup'o-joe before me; is coffee killing me? A slow poisoning? I bet the sugar inside it is. It's raw, unrefined sugar -- but still. That's one for the "No More" List.  Like: No more coffee, no more pizza, no more carb binges -- No more cheese, never anything fried! No more video-games unless I've worked-out for 30 minutes to an hour.  (I need to, minimally, do some cardio; to get that heart beat up past 120 for 20 minutes -- ) -- Which leads me to think about my stomach problems -- you see,  I swallowed a small piece of plastic -- (like the corner of a scissors-opened battery package) which necessitated one emergency room surgery to remove it (along with 9 inches of small intestine) -- and three more surgeries (so far) to repair the resulting  incisional hernias. (Deep sigh.)  I was actually working-out with a trainer before this happened. All shot to hell. My core! From whence all strength emanates!  Then there's that "stupid" poem I did yesterday about the vet, Edith Klien that killed her pets and herself -- -- which,  however much it sucks -- (I think it's rather cute, clever/sad  actually) deserves to be completed -- I thought it had been,  but started tweaking -- and well, now it isn't. And it's  posted.. (Sucks being a (semi-) pefrectionist!) (Ha!) [UPDATE: I officially "called" McFluff Gets Whacked on Feb.17th 11:45 P.M. Finished! (Upper-mediocre, at-best.) UPDATE 2: Gawd! I read the damned thing again -- and changed it one more time I think I "got" it ! 2/23]  I am also wondering when the money from my Dad's estate will arrive. He died in 2010 with a will and only 2 beneficiaries; nobody contesting anything. What took so long? Well, that's a loaded question... Dad thought he would acknowledge his niece by making her "person of responsibility" (She had been a para-legal -- but more importantly has three beautiful children and he wanted her to know how much he valued them and her, for having them; genetic continuity and all.) He owned two homes, one in Connecticut and one in Orlando, FL --  so legal residency, first needed to be established... That took a year (?!?!) Then the condo in CT needed to be sold. (Another year?!?!) Around $20,000 dollars has been paid-out in legal fees -- because, evidently, it's true and some lawyers are crooks. (Duh.) On January 25th everything was finally "completed" legally, in court. all that is supposedly left is dispensing the money that has been "sitting" in an Estate account for over 2 years... and there really isn't much of it.  There won't even be enough to buy a car -- (though the frickin' attorney could!)  It will help me move.  In 2008 he tallied up his net-worth and it came to $800,000 Post-recession and legal costs; my sister and I will split approx. 1/11 of that amount. Something is "off." Ahh,  hell with it -- not worth worrying about. (only money.)  More importantly, both dog's need baths -- (I need  to feed the fish,  shower and get my bottom out of the house and improving small businesses' bottom line. )
        [Update: I had a paragraph here on my excitement about it being a comic day and what I was particularly looking forward to -- but decided to save it for a later blog. Don't know why really -- I think it has to do with mixing the tone too drastically and not wanting to sabotage my readership so early in my blogging life-cycle by appearing anymore immature (and scatterbrained) than I already do.]
       Alright! Piss-Yorkie scrubbed -- look-out Schnauzer! Let me touch-up that poem a little first...
       I don't know... wife or no wife -- life can be good!


UPDATE #3 (12/2/13) : Lord! What a pointless and mind-numbing Mid-Life Metanoia entry. It did however, cause me to edit the poem yet again. And rubbed in my face that I just ate pizza (with extra cheese) and still don't work out and that I am fatter than ever. Also reminded me how much I miss Cain (The piss-yorkie) and how I will never get over my anger at how the estate was handled. All things I will eventually address in the ongoing entries. (except the estate as that's just to annoying and counter productive to contend with... but you never know.)

A Grim Aside

From The Daily Mail, Jan. 15th 2013 

     A vet is believed to have injected her six pets with a fatal dose of drugs before taking her own life Monday at her veterinary surgery clinic. The body of Dr Edith Klein, 48, the owner and head vet at The Pet Health Care Center in Pelham, Georgia, was found alongside her four dogs and two cats by an employee at 8.30am. The Mitchell County Sheriff's Office says a motive for the suicide and deaths of her pets is unclear, although they suspect financial issues involving the business could have played a part.

McFluff Gets Whacked

On Mill Pond Road in Pelham,

Love met a day-glo end --   

Six furry lights extinguished by,  

Most trusted human friend.

Broken, anguished Doctor Klein

Depressed each bright syringe.
Not daring meet confounded eyes,  

Reflecting points out past sanity's fringe

Now where is this? McFluff does sigh -- 

Aware unto the realm of sky. 
Sees Peaches there, big smelly Clem -- 

(Who doesn't smell so bad just then.)

There’s Jowls the Pug, look tabby Jinx! 

Where’s Wags and Mom? McFluff next thinks.

Wags glides over; why so serene?
But mommy’s never-ever seen...

Glowing peace-draped form floats down,

While death descends on Pelham town.   

  

R.I.P.  Dr. Edith Klein  

How Am I Going To Do This?

Alright back to "business" after the supremely bizarre detour that was my last blog. ..

                                             Questions/Conclusions

How do you say goodbye to the only people that matter?
Just pack up the junk and leave the most important stuff behind?
How could I be marginalized by the only people in the world I have to love?
I matter so little.
Especially when I really didn't do anything wrong --
Except, perhaps, not accomplishing enough that was right.
How can she think that I don't adore her?
Or if she does know, not care that I do?
Did I not always meet her with a smile, caress her with true affection and tenderness,
Care for her tirelessly, quite perfectly, when she was hurt or ill?
Did we not, endlessly, resuscitate each other --  in "Borderlands?"
Kneel beside each other flush with Christ, souls a'soarin' after Eucharist?
What made her decide she knows better than God,
And reduce Sacrament to capricious whim?
Why should I lose everything I worked for and cared about for over a decade?
With nothing to show for it except a wounded heart?
This is my home too, damn it!
Where do I go from here?
Is nothing and no one preferable to the company of (pen)ultimately-wonderful me?
Maybe I'm not nearly as wonderful as I believe...
Nah -- she's just gone nuts.


Here's the plan:

1. Pack up everything I own somehow... I have tubs! (Gonna need more.) It's a little more complicated than it seems as I had an accident 3 years ago that is still causing a few, not inconsiderable, "limitations." ( That's for a future Blog -- for those keeping track -- that's the Ouija board story and "The Accident" I may eventually share.)  
2. Get a couple of "friends" to help me load up a U-Haul. (Darn, too late to make some! Guess I can pay people.)
3. Have them drive the truck down while I drive myself and the dog. I haven't decided if I should take both dogs. (Crystal says it's up to me.) I don't think my daugger (Willow) would care one way or another; they hardly acknowledge each other's existence. The piss-Yorkie (obviously a breed)  has been a royal-pain since day-one with it's indiscriminate, nitrogenous discharges-- I remember the day Crystal called me from her office: "Honeeeey..." she crooned, "How much do you love me?" So came into our home one adorable, somber "Raisin-Cain." He of equally stout heart as stature.   The "raisin" was soon dropped and "Cain" (or, as I often call him: "Little Guy;)" spent the next 6 years obliviously pissing on everything and anything and seemingly despising me in our endless "alpha" jockeying. He recently developed severe allergies -- which took nearly 6 mos. to get under control. (A "cure" that is probably only temporary as steroids have limited efficacy.) It must also be understood that I am not merely the dog's primary care-giver, I am pretty much their sole caregiver... and because I am the "villain" that needs to repeatedly wash, trim, cut nails and administer medicines -- I'm not his favorite person. (You would think the feeding would make up for it.) However, Cain sure does loves his mama -- for that matter,  so does Willow. I guess I'm going to have to explain to her that Mama, "Bubba" and "little guy" went with the angels to see Jesus."  I'm not looking forward to that (one sided) conversation.  How do people with actual children cope? How hard that must be! I consider myself almost fortunate. Although, I'm pretty sure that if Crystal was able to have children we would have had at least two by now and none of this would be happening. Then-again, as she is experiencing a metanoia of her own -- if  we did have kids this al could have been much, much worse.) 
4. Get back to work, and stop feeling sorry for myself. 

Alright -- not much of a plan -- but it's what I've got. I've decided to leave "Little Guy" with his mom. And if he doesn't adjust well I'll come and get him. )  At least that will minimize the piss damage in the Orlando home as a lot of the tubs (targets) will be put-up prior to the determination of whether or not he needs to be with me. (There isn't any question with Willow -- she's all I have left -- and we're "beings-entwined."  (Whatever that means.) 

The Invisible War or, Is That a Demon In My Soup?

     Indeed there is a war raging. An unceasing battle with countless deceased. (Casualties infinitely worse than those merely corporeal.) Mostly unseen, on a plane beyond the narrow scope of human perceptions.  Though it rages right in front of us as well; in the violently insane (these are prime vessels; see: Newtown ) in the drugged, the hateful, the jealous, the lustful... knowing where to look is not always sufficient you need to know how to look as well...
     Kind'a reminds me of how it was portrayed in  the John Carpenter film "They Live" with  Roddy Piper:
"Sleep, Obey, Marry and Reproduce, Watch T.V.... "

     Many of the fallen walk among us unaware they have been struck down. Spiritual zombies. Going about their routines with little thought or care for their untimely demise or of how they were unwitting co-conspirators in their own bleak departure. Some might be resuscitated. I'm of the opinion, however,  that most of the spiritually-slain couldn't care less about "living" one way or another. There are many for whom  , merely surviving to experience the next meal, the next beer, the next orgasm, the next episode of their favorite television show or football game is all the impetus needed to carry on. They are resigned to a nominal existence. All the while believing (incorrectly) that such grim mundanity and/or material deprivation (whether self or socially imposed) assures some form of existential sanctification; -- And there are those who strive daily with every fiber of their (physical) being(s) to acquire and maintain a lifestyle rich in knowledge, in accomplishment, in possessions; these folk believing (also incorrectly) their many successes, sufficient to claim a "worthy" existence. In their living-deaths, both are equals.
     Don't ever make the mistake of believing that because you are aware of the evil around us (or because you blog about it...) that your "knowledge" places you outside the realm of it's unyielding (near) omnipresent influence or notice.
      I am  writing of  the "principalities" peep-o! Spiritual "beings." (Each, a dynamic, self-conscious, malicious entity.) Operating on a level well beyond our abilities to comprehend. (which doesn't mean we shouldn't try to comprehend them , only that we won't succeed.Then again, It could mean precisely that -- that we shouldn't  try to understand these "hyper-beings" -- but what-the heck, too late!) They can turn the most apparently noble act to their excruciatingly twisted ends. They are capable of seeing  to the very end of each ripple our actions effect. Presented herein is good-intentioned, somewhat whimsical outline, the specifics are well out of my league. Try explaining quantum mechanics to a dachshund; the dachshund has a better chance of rediscovering the theory of relativity than I have (or for that matter, the Pope has) of  deciphering the devil's playbook. (I stand firm  in my belief that the realm of the principalities is even outside the purview of His Holiness, Pope Benedict the XVI,  also believing that he is far more capable of defending himself in spiritual battle.  (Who do you think would have a better chance in a cage-match with The Undertaker; Triple H or Justin Bieber ?) Concordantly,  he merits considerably greater scrutiny and interaction from these forces. (As, has been illustrated by far too many priests (and their cowardly superiors) around the globe laid waste to in their twisted zeal. I  can conceive of no more sinister an act than to use your position of trust and spiritual authority to manipulate yourself into a position to receive sexual-gratification from an innocent. That's blindingly glaring evil! ) A demonic entity's desire to cause damage and the force required to do so, would,  logically, be in direct proportion to a targeted spirit's (purported) "holiness.")  A spirit, being most efficiently engaged at it's weakest, which is while it is bound to a corporeal entity. (Demonics 101) Would it not also stand to reason that the physically weaker the vessel the more vulnerable to attack is the spirit within. Or am I mixing-up "realms" here? (Physical and spiritual.) There does seem to be some evidence that bears this out: The aforementioned "insane" executing extreme acts of violence, for one.  I'll never forget a newspaper article I read in which a man that was married for over 20 years, offered police only "she overcooked the spaghetti" as his rationale for staking his wife's excised heart and liver upon his front lawn. (True story.)  Or take as an example St. Francis who was engaged in spiritual battle often throughout his, sickly, corporeal existence. (He rolled around in the thorn bushes to take his mind from these temptations. Those very same bushes have for centuries (and inexplicably by earthly accounting) grown without thorns.) Although there are conflicting accounts, I've read that Mother Theresa suffered some form of demonic possession on her deathbed --but, as they are wont to do, Church leaders did not acknowledge she was possessed, only that an exorcism was indeed conducted for her in the hospital; as attested to by Archbishop Henry D'Souza. Wow, weally weird!  See:  Exorcism for Mother Theresa?
  
     Eph. 6:12: For our wrestling is not against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the world-rulers of this darkness, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.

     I recently (mid Jan.) attended my (soon-to-be-ex) wife's "Life Night" which is the weekly, communal portion of the  Catholic Teen youth program known as Life Teen. (She's a youth minister.) This night it was held around a bonfire (for effect) with the theme of the evening being : The Occult. The speakers on the subject were the Pastor,  Reverend  Monsignor Stephen C. Bosso, Parochial Vicar, Reverend Richard Schamber  and myself, "evil-maniac #1". Monsignor went first and gave a highly detailed and well spoken account of the nature of a cult vs. a religion and the overlapping and detrimental effects of New Ageism, he fleetingly mentioned exorcism without mentioning the criteria involved in determining its necessity, in fact he didn't really touch upon "the true nature" of evil -- except to say towards the end that evil was real and that it was not to be dismissed off-hand. --Father Shamber was next and went a little further in elaborating on the nature of evil -- he actually mentioned demons and used the term "principalities" -- but didn't elaborate on what a demons or "principalities" were -- Evil-maniac's turn --my wife (falsely,) introduced me as having invited me to talk about my experiences with the "occult" (I had actually come of my own accord to hear what Monsignor had to say on the topic.) I said a brief inward prayer that I wouldn't say anything to lead these impressionable youth astray,  a calm came over me which I took to be a good omen and I began: I spoke of my past experiences with the Ouija board and the supernatural manifestations evoked by it's Parker Brothers, branded enchantments. (Stupid piece of plastic messed me up badly! A subject for some future blog... if ever.)  I boldly proclaimed the reality of the principalities and the means by which they might protect themselves, which I will relate to you, dear reader, in short order.  I saw a lot of widened eyes and slackened-jaws -- but in the end I got the feeling that I made the supernatural sound too damned "dramatic" and consequently enticing. It could-be, that despite the "calm" I had felt  -- I had made a dreadful mistake.

     Fun Fact: Every diocese has an exorcist. Well they're supposed to, and  the Pope recently upped the training to supplement their numbers. (Not making this up peep-o!)   

     The time-worn practice of the Church is to not call attention to the power of the devil,  but to instead shine a light upon the Love and compassion of The Father as evidenced by His "Son." (Actually, the Church does the same thing with miracles, not wanting people to put their faith in supernatural signs -- I guess,  precisely because they are evidenced with our senses. And our corporeal selves are poor judges (to put it mildly ) of a far more "substantial" spiritual realm. (yes I am aware of the paradox therein.) Our souls are a part of this God and this God is something far greater than some event/occurrence counter to the "natural order" -- I guess He is the "natural order" or more accurately, the natural order is whatever He want it to be.) Nevertheless, I am unconvinced by the Church's battle strategy;  but who am I to say I know any better? I would like to say "forewarned is forearmed" or paraphrase Sun Tzu about "knowing your enemy." Yet, neither applies to freakin' principalities. Since we can't really know them (neither can we really know our God, only what he wants us to know) we must turn instead to what we can know and use this Love of purest commitment and sacrifice as a shield -- a shield that must be consistently and conscientiously reinforced. By prayer and by fasting, and most importantly with the Eucharist.  
     I believe that I, Paul R. Martinez,  have discerned (what may quite possibly be) the truth behind why "The Invisible War" is a subject the Church prefers keep shrouded in secrecy and glossed over and breached only with great care and  marked discretion. A reason actually quite beautiful in it's elegant simplicity -- but I can't tell you.
     Just-Kidding!    Heregoes:
     If " The Truth" was indeed made known, (that the battle raging around us was so unyielding and so prevalent, that millions of people were the victims of demonic influence daily, (some peripherally, others directly;)  if the extent of this Invisible War could be comprehended and evidenced as well as persistently proclaimed:  evil would at the very least score another colossal victory and it already seems to be running the show. The resulting fear and confusion would result in multitudes , switching into "denial" mode or "disbelief" mode and effectively removing themselves from the playing board -- not merely mentally, or physically (pills, alcohol, suicide...) but by not engaging in battle spiritually -- that's the hardest choice of all -- by far. It requires faith, conviction and dedication -- and the final five episodes of Breaking Bad start soon. Y'know it's all kind'a similar to why the government won't fess-up to all the U.F.O. activity that's been going on... but with infinitely higher stakes.
     I have a fear that I am isolating (have isolated) myself from many a reader with this seemingly "fanatical" line of thought; perhaps I am. This may be the next in an endless stream of ways the  bastardo supremo hopes to demoralize and discourage me. I have an idea what many of you think about Catholics and "The Church" and even that "crazy idea of a savior sent from the heavens."  Let's just shelve all that for now as it really doesn't have much bearing on the reality of this invisible war. (Only on it's outcome.)
     Believing or not believing in God doesn't make him any more/or less, real.
     I am fully aware how bizarre all of  this sounds -- o.k. "crazy;" but that doesn't make it any less true. (Of course an alternative possibility is that it isn't true and that I am indeed crazy... or, hey,  a third possibility --  I am crazy whether any of it is true or not!)
     Loathe as I may be to  loose the "fanatic" -- [especially this early in the game as I try to build an audience for my blog in the hope of drawing from my community's  wisdom and strengths in my time of great need]  I must not shy away from the weight of this knowledge and hope it falls upon a few sympathetic ears; or more importantly, a few unsympathetic one's.
      If you must, (take yourself from the "playing board")  look upon this "divergence" -- as part of the necessary total-breakdown on the way to my metanoia.

Feb. 3rd -- Super-bowl Sunday! (Color me distracted!)

Message from Il Papa:

  In social networks, believers show their authenticity by sharing the profound source of their hope and joy: faith in the merciful and loving God revealed in Christ Jesus. This sharing consists not only in the explicit expression of their faith, but also in their witness, in the way in which they communicate “choices, preferences and judgements that are fully consistent with the Gospel, even when it is not spoken of specifically” (Message for the 2011 World Communications Day). A particularly significant way of offering such witness will be through a willingness to give oneself to others by patiently and respectfully engaging their questions and their doubts as they advance in their search for the truth and the meaning of human existence. The growing dialogue in social networks about faith and belief confirms the importance and relevance of religion in public debate and in the life of society. 

Mid-Life Metanoia :A Journey Begins

  

     In Carl Jung's psychology, metanoia indicates a spontaneous attempt of the psyche to heal itself of unbearable conflict by melting down and then being reborn in a more adaptive form... Jung's concept of metanoia influenced R. D. Laing and the therapeutic community movement which aimed, ideally, to support people whilst they broke down and went through spontaneous healing, rather than thwarting such efforts at self-repair by strengthening their existing character defenses and thereby maintaining the underlying conflict.     Metanoia: Wikipedia Article   

     Metanoia -- yeah.

     I don't mean to sound pretentious -- it fits. 

     There are psychological, theological and rhetorical uses of the word -- they all fit.  

     There comes a stage in one's life,  in my life,  where "pretense" is about as productive as swallowing a WMD.

     Blinding flash! Truest desires, needs and capabilities -- dissolve. 

    Recently, and to my shame, it came to, glaring, light that I failed miserably. Not all at once,  but over an extended period. (That's where the shame comes in.)  And no, not for anything I did, it's more about what I failed to do. 

     With my failure I lost my only friend. I am terrestrially (and terribly) alone. (But more on that later...I can't start feeling sorry for myself; it is too destructive, too easy, and is counter to everything I want to accomplish with your help. You deserve better -- I deserve better. )

     So what I need for now is Metanoia : correction, repentance, healing -- CHANGE.

     I don't want this blog to be a confessional... it would bore you to death. (I'm probably already succeeding on that level.) 

     I want it to be about virtue, truth and self-discovery; about courage, strength and rising to accept and embrace my destiny. (Is it pretentious to believe I have a destiny?) 

     Do not despair -- I certainly have plenty of "tawdry" tales to share -- both wild and true. many of which, I suppose will eventually  make their way here. 

     In these pages, on these screens -- I will reach out to you as a voice calling from the deepest, darkest woods -- that is, after-all, just where I am; lost and alone. 

     Fearful... yes.; but faithful too -- 

     Someone very special  is listening (reading) and drawing closer with each new shout.   

     I will discuss LOVE -- in all it's agonizing, glorious, eternal and fleeting manifestations -- and right-here/  right-now I vow to never fear Love's grand embrace, though Her joyous soul-grip must inevitably drop away.

   (She said to me: "I love you, I'm just not 'in love' with you anymore." To which I replied: "What are you, fifteen?")  

     Here, I shall chart my journey from sick and bloated, cynical, man-child; one long-separated from productive societal interaction; to fit and functional citizen of the world -- a man as great as my God intended for me to be.  

     I may even find a friend or two in the process.  (Wow -- that sounds exhausting and exhilarating in equal measure. )          

     The one Truth I know so far: I can't accomplish this journey (my Metanoia) alone.       

     I am counting on you faithful reader/friend (?) to call me to task for my failings (especially those beyond  my limited sphere of perception) as well as laud me for my triumphs as this will be my fuel to carry me onward and upward -- eventually to the stars. 

     In turn, I will try my best to be there for you. 

     Laugh and cry with me -- travel with me, grow with me -- change with me.   

     

     For the greatest Truth is, indeed, beyond perception.