Monsters INC

Monster Recognition

With little doubt, the first step in getting well, clearing a path back to the pond, is learning to recognize a few truths. The first truth, no matter what any one adult has ever told you, is that monsters do indeed exist; they live and work in your mind, your energy, your demeanor, your touch, your sleep, your anger, and most warmly in your denial of monsters.

The term, monsters, really came to me when a friend was talking about how he steers clear from cocaine. He said, "It became something dangerous, with a voice I couldn't ignore. It was inside me." Frightening. To be sure, I'm not talking about cocaine in this blog. I've never snorted cocaine, never had the desire... seemed to me, as far as I could tell, that cocaine was really expensive and I rather spend my money elsewhere.

When the word monster is spoken, it becomes real to me. This living being that careens and swerves with deliberate wanton severity. Not so much human, no lungs but a capacity to scream and to shake. I suppose it would be amorphous... the only form that comes to mind is the large hairy orange monster from Bugs Bunny, you know the one that's wearing high tops? Humorous digression aside, these monsters start small and grow... not some deformed grotesque abomination... that description would be more apt in describing our own likeness after giving in to the monster within... no, all monsters start out as small fetal things... defenseless, however...

Suckling on your disappointment in yourself and those around you, these monsters can grow almost as big as you, any larger, as in some cases it has been reported, a person's personality ceases to be recognizable. They become someone else, entirely. The monsters' nest, your brain or maybe your heart, certainly your liver with all that bile sloshing around, cannot be removed by conventional means. Fire. I guess self immolation would work... but that would be extreme. The first step in ridding yourself of emotional monsters is to stop feeding it. Yes it will be angry and start knocking at your door... sending you chain letters... sending you updates from Farmville on Facebook... undermining your trust in humanity... allow you space to question your friendships, your loves.

Those are the actions of a desperate monster.

But to be clear, and back on point, the less you feed the monster(s), the better you feel, the easier to communicate, the easier it is to sleep, pay attention to traffic at 70 miles an hour, cooking dinner, reading a book, volunteering at a local library... happiness should be free... monster-free.

The second truth: The people you love may be the people who cannot recognize a monster from granola bar.

Grimm

parts of speech

article: A
adjective: tired
noun: musician
adverb: quietly
verb: reconsiders,
interjection: "Yes!
conjunction: And
pronoun: you?"

pressures

sometimes i have bad dreams. bad. for example. every once in a while... while something particularly stressfull is occurring in my life... i have bad dreams. the most common, for me, is this one where i'm revisiting a house or building i used to live in and to get to my bedroom i have crawl into and eventually through a small space, barely shoulder length wide and always filled with stuffy air. my heart races... my arms begin to twitch... i'm not stuck but, i cannot breathe. for the life of me i cannot take air in or send air out. scary man. scary.

i guess i feel like that now. i was commenting to a friend the other day that something big was on the horizon for me. good or bad, i couldn't tell you. but i know it's there. i can hear its slow thud. it is heavy. for certain.

my blog is in disarray... my websites out of date. i am out of date. the record was tracked but needs work to be done on it still. mixing, mastering... maybe a round of touch up with a little extra tracking.

hard to tell. other projects are under way. we're composing by looking at the stars.

spent some time at a birthday party in carroll county. i miss carroll county. open open open space... i'm sure harsh chemicals are treating the soil... but the sky was this thick blast of blue... the sun clear, hot. not angry hot like in the city... just matter of fact.

in the city... during this heat... there was a dead rat out front of our house... at first i didn't notice him... i'm desensitized to dead rats, i suppose. but the next day he grabbed me by the nostrils and bid me to notice him. I named him, Stinky.

After a couple weeks he has been pounded and ground into the asphalt... joyce carol oates... at least i think it was her... had a poem about roadkill being mashed into the pavement until it took the consistency of a an flat dish rag... i changed his name to Skinny.

he has since moved on... washed away? floated up? scraped off? faded through? blown to?

who knows...

i'm struggling back to my small space...

Grimm