Briefly…

Keeping within my seemingly new methodology of no longer using pages for these entries (fewer clicks equals more clicks!), following is this week’s 100 Word Song

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He would ofttimes find himself sitting idly by the dock, dipping his toe cautiously towards the tide, wondering if it would ever hold him again.

He could still feel the water beneath his feet. Or rather, himself weightless above the waves, as one minute he realized himself rushing towards his friend, the next drowning in trepidation.

How could he have faltered?

He was the only man who would ever know the feeling. It had been a simple, albeit brilliant mistake, one that would eventually serve for the remainder of his days, as a nagging reminder of his lack of faith.

•••

This week’s song was chosen by Linda:

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If.

If I had to do it all over again…

I would’ve been a female.

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I mean, and not to sound too jaded or anything, but as I troll along Blogsville’s well-lit streets, it does seem to me that it is the female of the species who garners greater attention overall.

I would have also stuck with more fiction. I understand that the idea behind this thing was to work through some issues in the first; but in retrospect that didn’t provide very much for the average reader to come running back for, now did it?

I would have figured out a way to disable my stats bar.

I would have publicized myself as well (just how in the hell I would’ve accomplished that in an anonymous fashion, I’ve no idea, but I’m sure I could’ve come up with something). I would have plugged my site, made sure that it was at least known about within my circles.

And finally, I would’ve left Jesus out of it. I can’t help but feel as if He’s rather upset with the idea that I spend a portion of my time telling you that He’s giving out (((hugs))), while I dawdle about the remaining posts, throwing f-bombs out and sulking in a general state of oft times unwarranted pissery.

If I had to do it all over again, I would start totally anew. In a new place, with a new name and a new focus. Simply to entertain, nothing more. I wouldn’t put my heart out so much so. I wouldn’t expect that anyone – busy with their own lives and concerns – would ever need to know of mine. I wouldn’t be so “me.” And hopefully, the resulting output would be better.

If I had to do it all over again… I just might.


Here’s a link, should you prefer to forgo the “live experience,” and simply listen to the prerecorded version instead.

…daD

Walk it off.

Dad, I’m walking it off for you.

Suck it up.

Dad, I’m sucking it up for you.

Be a man.

Dad, I’ll be a man for you.

Help your mother, she’ll need you.

Dad, I’m trying. I really am. But I am frost instead of ice. And I crumble at the merest touch, the lightest breath. I know that mom will need to lean on me. But right now, my shoulder feels much more like a morning dew than the Gibraltar that it lays upon.

Forgive me son, because I don’t believe Jesus can. I don’t believe he will.

Dad, I told you, the only man Jesus can’t forgive, is the man who won’t let him. You taught me that dad. You.

I’m scared son. I’m scared to die. I’m scared shitless.

I know you are dad. And I am too. You were always so huge. So much bigger than life. So – well – immortal. I think you almost believed it too. And now you’re dying, and now you’re gone. And now I’m alone. But not. I have mine. Mine, that grew out of you. You’re gone, but we carry on. You’re gone, but “You” will always be with us. You live on, in us.

I’m scared son. Your mother and I argue all the time. I’m scared. I’m afraid.

It’s OK dad. I’m afraid too. I’m afraid that J.C. will offer you a brotherly hug, and you’ll instead turn in disgrace. I’m afraid that, through your thrashing fear, you’ll first destroy the memory of 47 years with mom before you go. I’m afraid that you’ll pass, and I’ll be left here sitting mute – like so many in our family have done before – too fucking scared to ever really tell you how much I love you. Too frightened to expose myself like that. Too scared to hold you, knowing that I will then have to let you go.

I love you, dad. Not because you’re perfect. Not because you’re saved. And most definitely not because you’re right. No, I love you simply because you are you. And because years before I knew how to, you loved me first.

I never did enough.

No, you did. You gave what you could, when you could. And in the final analysis, you did so freely. Even if you might have felt otherwise at the time. And that’s why I love you.

I don’t think I’ll make it to see June.

I love you dad, and I don’t think you will either. But I will. And I will see June for you. And when we meet again someday, I will tell you all about it. OK?

Just rest till then. Please, find peace. And when we meet again someday, I will catch you up on all the Junes that followed after you. On all the June’s to follow…