Identity


Sometimes I forget my Identity
NOT my NAME
But who and what I truly am in this life.

It is an identity I learned
I realized long ago.
An identity I often tried to reject
to cut it from my skin 
and burn that bleeding parchment in fire. 

It is an identity I remember
that Awakens me
That is ME
fully ALIVE INSIDE
shining inside,
a light seen through my wilderness
I reach for
embrace
pull it around and feel it’s comfort
it’s often insecurity 
but who I truly AM,
My Identity…

It is an old comfortable pair of shoes I can never throw out
something, 
in the realities of life I shy from
I fear from 
then it comes for me from inside
rising like a fog
a new skin
my original spiritual Face
and for a while
I am so ALIVE
Being who I truly AM in life
But so few can see
Or I am too shy to let see
a man of visions
that grew from a terrified lonely child
a man of visions,
that took that fear and loneliness
and created 
found
his own IDENTITY
so often a secret to myself
forgotten
so often never witnessed by those 
and the world around me.

Bent, Not Broken

Today at work I had a moment in which I felt and remembered how many bullies I have known. In the factory. In the office of the factory. At home. My father. Others in my family that want to push me down and humiliate me. Bosses that often threatened to fire me for… stupid shit that never mattered beyond a moment. A moment of POWER they felt they had over me to push me down. 

I bent, 

Over and over I bent and at times the pressure of the bullies made me weep. 

But I always pulled myself together and rose up again.

I was never fired.

I bent

I put on my mask 

I put away my rage that could have killed

them and me. 

I was the only kid in my family my father gave beatings to. The other kids have no idea what that was like. They have no idea what it was to be the hated child as my father died, hating me in some part of his fading self. 

I have come to see that I am stronger than the bullies 

Because I do not choose to BE like them.

To beat someone down with my wealth

To beat someone down because I can make them jobless. 

To beat someone down because of some SICK joy at being able to do so.

I am and have been better than that

Better than all those that beat me down

but did not destroy me.

I am better because…

I chose to use them

as reflections

as images, 

OF HOW NOT TO BE.

Sometimes I find myself yelling at my bird for doing some thing of mischief

Then I laugh and treat it kindly

Because I am not THAT person 

To the smallest 

the weakest 

the most innocent 

as I may have been,

No,

I am better than that

I am stronger

I can reach in 

reach out

with KINDNESS

FORGIVENESS

EMPATHY

COMPASSION

And in my strongest moments, 

unlike 

and opposite all those that tried to

and did

beat me down….

I can reach out with LOVE

and in THAT,

And am stronger than them all. 

Distant Storms

Sometimes

A distant thunderstorm 

Makes me wonder 

And imagine

IF above the clouds the ancient gods are warring

Or celestial beasts fighting

Or perhaps the artilleries of fallen armies

Roam the clouds 

Constantly fighting over and over

Battles long won and lost

Only remembered in history books

And broken clouds from ghost cannon fire. 

Perhaps the raging winds are the ghost voices of charging battling armies

Howling celestial beasts,

Or gods fighting and yelling in god speak. 

Idea Fishing Late At Night

I sit in the dark late night
Waiting
Casting my baited thought lines out into my subconscious
Into the darkness around me
Waiting 
For something to inside me
Or outside me in the dark beyond my vision
Waiting
For my open
Welcoming mind to connect
To suddenly SPARK!
Like a personal 
Big Bang
AN IDEA!

(Slowly reel it in kicking and screaming 
Pull it into the boat of my mind
Remove the bait and ….
Embrace it
Cuddle 
Feed it my attention
Nurture it
Empower it
And help it grow
A living thing growing 
Of words…

My God

(I am an atheist but this is what I would believe as any kind of god in my life)

This Is My God

When I feed my pet bird and give it comfort

I feel joy doing it.

It does nothing for me but exist as itself

The joy comes in that existence in my life

And the joy of giving to it and nurturing it.

That moment of “joy” is the only god I know.

When I talk with someone and we share something to smile and laugh about

A joyful moment

There is my god.

When I do a kindness to some person or thing without asking or expecting anything in return, 

There is my god

A spark of joy 

In giving 

In helping

In perhaps making another life better. 

When I set a bowl of water out for some creature of the night to quench it’s thirst,

KNOWING it will help something

I feel joy in that

There is my god.

When I spread some matter on my lawn that trees can use for food when decayed, 

I feel a small joy

A tiny spark

Knowing that that will have done some good.

When I pour water on the ground near some trees and know that the roots will suck it up

And help the tree

There is that spark again

Of joy in a moment knowing I helped another living thing. 

When I give ANYTHING unconditionally

Words and 

Actions

In positive nurturing ways

And feel no desire for anything in return

There is a small joy

A spark

There is MY god

When I ask what I can do for others 

And find an answer

Live an action, 

There is my prayer

And prayer answered

In selfless action

And a moment 

A spark of Joy INSIDE 

As my reward.

Gun Loving Kid At The Grocery Store

Today at the grocery store,I asked the kid bagging my groceries how old he was. 16 he said. The man checking me out laughed and said that at 16 he was firing Kalashnikovs! He was a Russian immigrant. It was part of his schooling long ago. The kid bagging the groceries said that he liked guns. He liked them A LOT. I felt quiet rage growing. I wanted to ask him if he had ever SEEN OR FELT what a bullet does to a body. Did he know the horror or being shot at? Of having a friend killed near you? Of being shot in the guts and knowing that bullet was going to bleed you out ? Did he know SHIT about violence? I am sure he did not. He was all talk and spoiled white boy USA. Yeah he loved guns. Turn one on him and would he go piss himself? I made a sarcastic comment about how the AK is a great machine for killing and that is all. Not good at any distance but good for splattering bullets around you at short range. Bitch boy spoiled brat of 16 would not know that. Not know the pain of a bullet wound. Not know the crippling of them. Not know the horror of it all. It’s all movies and video games hey kid?

Hey kid, you ever had bombs going off around you?

Ever seen a person blown to bits near you with their blood and body parts splattered on you? 

Not cool or cool? 

How fucking real!

Yeah and a barrage of artillery slamming you around no matter how deep you dig. Coming up for air all you can do is scream until your voice is gone. 

Pretty cool aye spoiled American brat?

Ever seen your family lined up and killed with an assault weapon?

Hey kid not cool or is it?

Reality is the most horrifying thing. 

But you grew up on violence – OTHERS dying and you only getting cramps from playing video games. 

Wow guns are so cool eh kid?

I never had any experience of it but I do not and will not glorify guns. They are machines made to KILL. Not for some bullshit thing like… target practice. Targets represent living things. It’s all about ending life. Hey kid, you like to end lives? How valuable is yours? Some other kid may point a gun your way and then what? Guns so fun then?

Empathy For Women Receiving Dick Pics

I understand what it is like for women to receive dick pics in email or some other media. I got a taste of something sick like that last night.
From that international dating I added a south american woman to a chat app. Seemed like a nice person until I had to google translate all she wrote. She asked me some obscene questions like would I like to lick her… ok some hole on her body. I was disgusted and curious about the person. What was her thing her deal why talk that way to a stranger? I realized it is also the way some men probably talk to women. I told her my simple basic sexual likes – BORING due to I am not a kinky person. She sent me a breast photo. Ok seen those before but rare for a stranger to send me them. THEN she sent me a photo of her most private place and I was like what the fuuuuuuck? A WOMAN sending a man this stuff? It reminded me of how men sometimes treat women! She mentioned something about “goats” and sex. I thought google translated it badly or hoped it did. I let it go as just some very weird stuff. About an hour later while cooking supper, I got a call on THAT app and answered without thinking or knowing who it was. THERE on video was THAT woman with camera between legs masturbating. I am no prude and have seen much porn and gosh I had a wife and lovers in my past. But THERE was a woman contacting a man to show herself masturbating and grinning like hell when she did it. There are some pussies that are attractive and some that are not. Body parts and people can be works of art good or bad. This was very very BAD art. Dumpster stuff. I felt sick and turned it off and blocked her.


I now know how women feel about some of the sick shit MEN inflict on them. Empathy. Oh… I canceled that dating site for a while until I get desperately lonely again. I will side with women in that sexual stuff between people is fine when there is affection and trust. Otherwise it is mild sexual assault. Especially if the stuff is dumpster art 😉

I Don’t Believe In God But Maybe I Believe In Phil

I am an ATHEIST that has no belief in any god or the supernatural but at times I wonder as I wondered as a child if my oldest oldest brother is looking out for me.
You see, 2 years before I was born, I had a brother that was killed in some stupid incident at his school. He was 8 when he died. All my life I have been haunted by that. I suppose all 3 of my siblings have. I have always wondered: WHAT IF… he had lived through that knife wound. Had not been killed by that knife in his back. WHAT WOULD his life have been like? How would my parents have been without the life changing grief of his death? WOULD I HAVE BEEN BORN? HAD my parents had another child had Philip lived, I would not be the I, I am. Probably some other “I”.
I have wondered if in some way, Phil has lived. Continued on as some benevolent force looking out for his stupid living little brother he never knew yet wondered about him so often.


I wonder if it was HE that pulled me out of the pond when I fell in and had no idea how I was rescued from under the ice that horrid winter’s day.

Did HE save me so many times during my drunken druggy times?


Did HE save me from suicide that time?


Did he save me from drunk driving near deaths a few times?


A few days ago did HE make me swerve in time to escape hitting cars when I was driving with exhaustion?


Yes, although an atheist I have wondered about such. I have no belief in any god or supernatural things but…
I do wonder if Phil is still around some how some way looking after his at times stupid little brother.
I wonder if in some way did Phil grow to be an adult Phil just hanging around watching over others?
Or is Phil just an eternally young force of good?
As a salute to my oldest older brother, maybe if someone asks me if I believe in god I can honestly answer, “No, but I believe in Phil”.

Prison Escape

Locked in a room

Chained to a bed

The tortured man leaves that room

That shackle on his ankle

Closing his eyes

He walks down a corridor to a dark door in time

Pushing it open 

He looks inside at a child of perhaps 3

Lying on the floor on a blanket

Through a window, 

The sun shining brightly on his fetal bent form

Smiling the child is

Smiling the man is 

As he crouches down to the child in the room

Touching him

Entering him

Becoming him smiling

As the other room disappears down the corridor inside he came from

A distant CLANK!

As a manacle falls to a floor free of the object it held

A bed sighs free of it’s occupant

An occupant now inside himself 

In time

Rising in a room as the child he was

Smiling at the sunbeams passing through the window

Reaching for them

Embracing them

Climbing the sunbeams through a window

To freedom in a blinding light

As a child 

Through a window

After doors 

Within prisons,

Within prisons 

Of time

Of age

Of lost innocence

Found,

Within a corridor inside a torture chamber of a mind. 

Statue

Within this statue I am in life

There is a life of me

Beneath the surface

Beneath the flesh and bones

Chipping away

Cutting

Moulding 

Patching 

Bandaging and healing

Removing and adding, 

A master sculpture within this statue

Constantly chipping

Removing

Adding

Refining

Cursing when a renovation done wrong

Ooohing and ahhhing when something works 

And all seems to become right

Within this statue 

This work of art

I am

You are 

We are.