150 Words Plus A Sentence

Well into week 4 already, I still feel as if I’m finding my way through this Master Class endeavor. Am I doing well, or doing poorly? I’ve no idea, as I haven’t received very many grades back as of yet.

That being said, I should (hopefully) be able to hear from all of you as to how I am doing, since Master Class has now instituted a voting mechanism to see who readers feel deserves to go to the head of the class in a given week. That means, from this Sunday morn through Monday night, you’ll be able to vote for whom you felt did the best job, after clicking here and reading through all the entries.

That being said, and without further ado, here’s my homework submission for week 4 of Master Class 2013′s spring semester.

storch-badge

And (like it or not) here’s the song I found myself humming along while I wrote it…

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(im)Possibilities

Looking up, I realized that the sky was impossibly blue, which as a phrase, is an utter and bold-faced lie. I mean if it were an impossibility, then my eyes would’ve never been caressed by the hue that they were in the first. Turns out, the blue of the sky was quite possible after all, despite any negative terminology I used to describe it.

This of course, could call into question a couple of things. First off, the idea of just what’s possible. Besides men giving birth – or my ever understanding the lure of shows like “Jersey Shore” – I see damned little on the human level that is impossible, and yet we’ve not accomplished quite a bit due to the concept’s existence. Could it be that everything is possible, and we only throw the little “im” bit in at the beginning to ensure that we never have to make it so? I’m none to sure. And neither are you or anyone else. Because in a world of possibilities, we find ourselves constantly strapped down with phrases like “it just isn’t done that way,” “it’s never been done before,” “I can’t see why it would work,” and of course, “it’s impossible.”

Not that I’ve all the experience required to make this next statement, but I’ve never really observed anyone put forth the effort required on anything (besides my ever understanding the lure of shows like “Jersey Shore”) to actually validate the impossibility of something. Even in my own life, when I found myself sitting at the airport – weeping over the fact that stupid weather and union pussy regulations were keeping me from spending time with friends I haven’t seen in something like a hundred years – getting there wasn’t actually impossible, I just deemed it to be so after looking at the logistics of the thing. “Impossible,” I’m thinking is a snow job we allow ourselves to get suckered into, every time we feel we’re too weak, unworthy of, or just don’t give a damn about a particular possibility. We don’t care enough – or feel as if we can – make the world better, so we say that any effort to do so would be “impossible.”

Which then leads me to my second “thing,” the power of words. The idea that by simply saying something, it must be true. This is most prevelent in politics and religion of course (and yes you atheists, I talking about you as well), but it also washes across our daily lives. I’m constantly blown away that simple words have such power. It’s sort of like the power of money, in that something of no worth is given high esteem. Of course, unlike money, words can have worth, if spoken from the heart. But so often they’re not.

I’ve a friend who calls me both a music and a word whore. Right on both counts, although I feel better about my musical whoredom. You see, lyrics notwithstanding, with music all we can do is build. By its very nature, music uplifts, creates, caresses and provides us with more at the end than we had at the beginning. Words do very much the same, but they can also be used to the opposite affect as well. Words can destroy. Words can abuse. Words can be twisted so that they spread hate, all while appearing to be spreading love. Words can – and do – tear us apart from each other, build up barriers between classes, and provide those gifted in intellect – but not soul – with endless ammunition with which to destroy their opponents. In short, words are dangerous. But then again, anything we hold power over is.  The difference between a person yielding a hammer and another yielding a pen however is that while the one with the hammer can only clobber one opponent at a time, the one with the pen can literally wipe out an entire race with just one little stroke.

So, when one who is gifted with words says that something is impossible, most-to all of us will be inclined to believe them, without ever first giving it a go ourselves to see if they’re correct in their assessment. Again, the world suffers, simply because someone somewhere decided that the logistics of the matter were just too much effort to actually make the idea a reality.

As for me, I’m tired of “impossible,” whether it be the color of the sky, or something loftier. I’m tired of being told that this, that and the other thing cannot be done, because it simply isn’t done in that fashion. I’m no Punk Rock Warlord, but I agree with Joe Strummer that I am stuck in my mouse trail – and maybe even you in yours – and it will only be when we crawl out of our impossible little ruts, that the Possible will be realized.

Sorry Mr. Como, but while it was a close call, in the final analysis the boys from Carter USM beat out your “It’s Impossible.”

8/24 unwelcome visitors and Candymen

A most unwelcome visitor came to me last night. One that i haven’t seen in quite some time – and one that i would be simply thrilled to never have to see again.

It begins as it always does – with my bladder gently yet urgently nudging me awake, after feeling neglected for what it thinks is far too long. Rising in a stupor (only after realizing that the task of ignoring it further is just not going to work in either of our favors), i go to the restroom and provide it with the “quality time” it feels is deserving. And then It hits.

Now, i don’t know what exactly “It” is, but it’s there. Standing directly behind me, in front of me, all around me. And it means me grevious harm. i just know it – i can almost feel it’s hot and bloody breath upon my neck – it’s eyes boring into my very soul. It means to not only destroy me, but any memory of me as well. It wants to decimate me, grounding my very existence into the floor. And the worst part is i know that it can.

So much so, that at the age of 42, i still find myself running from the bathroom, eyes shut tight and being careful to avoid looking directly in the mirror. i blindly run down the stairs like a frightened four year old – risking a broken neck in the process – simply to get to the relative safety of my and C’s bed. C sleeping gently through the experience. After several minutes of very close snuggling with her, i finally find myself free of the god-awful fear that recently gripped me, so forcibly as to make me abandon my good senses. Eventually, i fall back to sleep.

Now, i do realize how ridiculous this may sound to the average observer, but to me (in the moment that it takes place at any rate) it’s very real. And much like Carter USM once sang “like many a nut job before him, he thought he was the son of God. And like many a nut job before him, maybe he really was.”, i sometimes almost think that just maybe It is really real. Which scares me even more – for if this “It” is a real something or other, then it must think i’m something worth its destroying. And if i’m something worth destroying, then that implies that i am more valuable then i care to attest to. And if i’m valuable, then that just won’t work well with the low self-esteem i seem to pride myself on. And – well, i’m sure you can walk down the rest of the road i’m headed in without my actually boring you with the details. Suffice to say, if it is real, i’m in a whole other ball of wax.

i have had friends and loves tell me of seeing angels and demons, and shadowy men in dark suits that say nothing – and i believe them, seeing as they are all smart people, who believing it themselves, have no need to lie or fabricate – let alone tell a tale that would potentially diminish their good standing in lieu of enhancing it. That being said, i don’t believe that my particular “It” really exists anywhere other than in my mind – especially the late night mind that is unguarded and not nearly drunk enough to sleep through the protests of a somewhat spoiled bladder. As such, it is still very much an “It” that needs to be dealt with. The question is how?

Do i make light of it? i’ve tried something similar many times in the past, and it has met with a certain amount of success. The best example i suppose i could give would also deal with monsters, but of a different variety. As a youngster, i had the bad habit of trying to be “a man” in a effort to impress my dad. As such, we would watch horror movies, and i would accordingly have the bejesus scared out of me for months afterwards. And i mean months. And by the way, these “horror” flicks were of 50’s vintage, black and white and overall just plain silly (yeah, i was badass). Regardless, after watching several, i had a nice mental army of monsters built up in my imagination, always there and always on the search for a way to, if not outright destroy me (and possibly even eat my head), then at least make my life a living hell.

They were constantly with me in my minds eye, and there were very few places i could go to be in peace from them, one of which was the bathroom (he says as he starts to see potential dots connect…). Then one day it hit me. Instead of running to the bathroom to escape them, i should invite them in with me instead. Surely a sign of friendship such as this might win them over.  And (not) surprisingly enough, it did!  For a spell, they still followed me around, but now as friends (well, acquaintances at any rate) instead of enemies. And one by one they slowly disappeared, fading to obscurity. And i again “grew in strength and wisdom”.

So, is this It just one final monster? One of my own making, that occasionally tries to pull me back into being that scared little kid again? Or is maybe that scared little kid actually still somewhere deep inside of me, pretending to be a big bad It to scare my slightly-more-sober-than-i-care-to-be mind? And if so, could it all be in a effort to “keep me in my place”, maybe out of fear that i might some day realize my full potential, thus forcing “It” into oblivion?

Quite honestly, i couldn’t give a shit anymore. i’m too damned old for these games or to figure out who or what is behind them – and i feel as if next time It visits, i will tell it exactly as much.

Wish me luck.