Where Rubber Meets Road

After 8 ½ years, an ugly incident has again resurfaced as my
stepfather has been released from prison.

Already the press is on the story, because apparently a 75 year old Fraud is much more important than all the other murders and rapists that return to the St. Louis Area when they are released.

So I must, must, MUST remember to keep my shit together. I already blew my stack today when I learned that people were calling the halfway house (perhaps but unsure if those were threatening phone calls).

Everyday Avatar: today I am a god that walks the streets, I am healing and I am strength and I am mother-fucking peace.

Death Rides My Left Shoulder

While Alessandra and I were watching Alias Season 2, not more than 30 feet away, my neighbor Mike died from complications from having his stomach removed... surrounded by his loving family. It’s the closest I’ve ever been to death, and I was watching tv.

Death surrounds us daily and we rarely think about our own personal death. We create elaborate, fantastic cosmologies to explain what happens when our bodies stop functioning, but don't often think about it. I used to think about death a lot more, and except for those nights I wake up screaming at night because I am afraid of my impending death, I rarely do now.

“Put Death on your left shoulder” says Don Juan, the Shaman of Carlos Casteneda’s books. I don’t remember much about those books that I read nearly 20 or a million years ago, but that one piece of data really sticks out.

As I am again consciously walking some sort of personal evolutionary path, it’s time to remind myself and everyone that reads this, that we need to wear Death on our shoulders to remind us that one day we will die. We need awareness of the quality of our living. What have you done to make yourself or the world a better place today? Are you living the life you want? Are you the person you want to be? Why the fuck not?

I need to be reminded daily. I’m going to add it to my daily affirmation. Death brings me the perspective I need to judge the importance of the events in my life. How does this event relate to the death of myself or a loved one. Is it really all that big a deal? I hope to keep this awareness with me as long as I can, but I know that over time, I will again begin sleepwalking through life.

I am reminded of the other thing I learned from Castaneda: that when one makes the Journey to Ixlan (the magical city), one must make the journey alone, and if that traveler returns, they still reside in Ixlan. You can’t come back. A metaphor for the lonley journey of the Shaman Apprentice.

Castaneda did not forsee the Internet, and I realize that none of us here are making the journey alone. Just as we have hitched our wagons together can we hopefully remind one another that Death rides our left shoulders(or in Fenderson’s case, on his head.) We can remind each other that we need not go back to sleep.

Global Healer

Somebody on the Interweb found that that I’m a Reiki Master and invited me to join the ReikiGlobalPeace group at Yahoo. I figured since I had done such work before with a smaller group, I saw no reason not to join a larger group. Even if I don’t particularly believe in Reiki, what harm could come from it.

A few days later, I was offered an opportunity to be attuned to the other members of the global group in order to assist in intensifying and unifying our energetic output.

In order to be attuned to the group, all I would need to do is ask for the attunement and open myself up for healing. So I got my small, but heavy glass globe I had used for such things and sat on the couch and started it up.

The experience can be best described as a feeling of Agape while in a room full of strangers where were surrounding me, and then later were inside of me. Also I felt the energy going into the globe then coming down from above, as if a larger me was sending the energy down. Recursive goodness.

Then my cat Tala (very unsocial, scared kitty) came to sit nearby while I was taking the healing, and she let me scratch her for a long while (often unheard of), so I used her as a life-template or something, as representative of life on Gaia, and sent energy to her as as above so below stuff.

Then time went by and I got bored, so I went upstairs to use Alessandra as my template, but she was having none of it this morning and got out of bed.

So when all is said and done, I have the opportunity to take on the role as Global Healer, and it’s a nice, warm, comfortable, fuzzy feeling. I've been feeling like that all day since then. Lots of tolerance going on. I almost feel like I smoked some weed but without the crippling paranoia.

That said…I read the Jesus Wants You to Fuck Me posted at The Cabal, and I found it completely hilarious.

External Avatar

When I started my business, my inability to be an overt asshole was a clear handicap. To cover that weakness, I hired an attorney that was both meticulously ethical and a real mean-spirited indominable badass. He was the bad guy to my good guy. We really did play "good cop-bad cop" from time to time, and it never ceased to amaze me how effective it was. Even intelligent people who surely knew that he wasn't doing or saying anything without my approval played along.

At the time, I didn't know what to make of my relationship with him. We were, on one level, very close. As close as a married couple in some ways. He knew as much about my business and goals as I did and worked to achieve those goals just as diligently. In business, talking to him was the same as talking to me. He was not a friend, however. We didn't socialize and I'm quite sure that we would not have liked each other in any other context. Respect, yes. Like, no.

In retrospect, I think it can only be understood in terms of avatars. He was my External Avatar, or Avatar by Proxy. This was magick at work -- I had split myself into "good John" and "bad John".

Rebirth and Renewal

Today I am at my In-Laws farm, and as I am surrounded by the mundane but not insignificant activities of friends and family. My Harvey is working his stock market magic, Anabela and Alessandra, and friends Val and Xange are watching a Brazilian soap opera while I cruise the Interweb for acoustic guitars. It is gray and rainy, the satellite connection is slower than molasses and I’m tired and lazy-ready for dinner, but I feel the tidal force of the Vernal shift into Spring flowing through me.

While I’m not Randy Pan the Goat Boy, I can feel the sap within me shifting, and old cells being swapped out for new. The energy emits from my chest and the interface between where the molecules of my body end and the invisible world begins, seems much thinner right now. There is an upwelling of energy, even though, I feel generally the same.

I am headed towards God mode, and my hands are hot as if I turned on the Reiki, which I most assuredly did not. I feel the magic as I wonder about dinner and whether I will win at Dominoes later on. Perhaps I can reach for the ether and win.

This is the Everyday Avatar awareness that I wish and hope for, the intertwining of the sacred ritual and the daily bread. Each action can be ritual, and soon I will praise the food as I chew it up and swallow, even sooner thanking the piss for having been a part me as it leaves my body (a practice I had long since forgotten).

I am blessed by a moment of the awareness of perfection, and now the dinner bell is ringing.

Remember the Spring, feel the Renewal…Stay Gold Pony Boys and Pony Girls

The Way of Fun

Have Fun. Make Fun. Be Fun.

What's so funny?

Laughter is the reward of being human, but it is also the price. Humor comes from the misfortune of others. Every single time from the explosion of the shotgun into Daffy’s face to ironic smirk of the Stand Up Comedian, someone is taking a punch. So with that said, over time our Western Culture has decided what is appropriately funny and what it isn’t. It’s ok to laugh at some a Darwin Award nominee who puts a Lava Lamp in the oven and dies because it explodes sending a shard of glass into his heart, but other subjects are taboo.

I’m saying my Man-tra that “Today I do no harm”, as well as “I laugh at myself, and at you too…sorry.” And that’s the way that I feel. I will laugh at you because I am laughing at myself. Life, because of its tragedy is comedic. I/we laugh because we identify with the hurt, shame and embarrassment, or to frighten off the Boogie Man. But occasionally the “Do no harm” comes into conflict with “Laughing at you”.

More brief flashback: My stepfather and his brother ran to South America avoiding prison for real-estate fraud. Later, after my mother was set-up for a drug bust by plea-bargaining mercenary, my stepfather was forced to come back to the United States. His brother, left with no money somehow managed to commit suicide while under guard. Later, I discover an experimental jazz ensemble names the band after dead brother, and put out an independent CD with a picture on the cover along with a photo of the building where he jumped.

I am telling this story to my therapist when he tells me, “That’s sick!” I just look at him, and he asks, “You don’t think that’s sick?”

“No,” I reply, “I think it’s humorous. Just dark, black, BLACK humor. I believe that just because I laugh at something so absurd when it happens to other people doesn’t mean I shouldn’t laugh when it happens to me. And while I think it’s funny, I hope his family never finds out. Let that tree fall in the forest.”

So me, I’m amused by this story, and am telling my co-workers, while conveniently leaving out the detail of the Shrink. They know none of the back-story, which I inform them, and I forget, this is a story I know well, but hearing it from the outside is pretty fucked up.

I wrap up my tale, and my co-worker Val looks ashen and, says “Jesus, I need to go the bathroom, I think I’m gonna get sick.” And she proceeds to tell me that while I couldn’t possibly know it, just last week she had to put her cat, aged 21, down on the 7th anniversary of her mother’s death by suicide.

Do no harm…that’s my wish for the day, but she’s pretty freaked out by my story and really doesn’t find it that amusing. Things are smoothed over with a physical joke of me putting my foot in my mouth and a piece of carrot cake.

I do and I don’t feel bad. It’s wasn’t her mother I was making fun of, and I didn’t know. Alessandra was not the least amused by my telling of this incident later on that evening.
“Death is not funny. Ever.” She tells me.

But it is. We have at laugh at the Reaper; it’s a safety release. I have mentioned this here before and it will come up again. My father lost the family business; the bank foreclosed on his house, while he was out back scooping leaves off the pool he fell in and drowned. A lot is said about how he got into the pool: loose brickwork, heart attack, was he dead before he hit the water? Did he hit is head? All kinds of stuff. Then the observer realizes as I tell my story that he had a swimming pool for over 20 years and didn’t know how to swim. And that point, I have to laugh because it never once occurred to me that he would ever fall in the pool and drown. I picture him floating in the deep end on a raft, summer after summer, never realizing that if he let go, it would be all over for him.

Life is absurd, you gotta laugh or you cry. And at the same time, I had hurt someone’s feelings, and I feel bad about it, but like I said…there were no hard feelings, and the carrot cake, I hear, was pretty good. It’s possible to experience contradictory things and not feel the friction of the anxiety. I’m working very hard at being MAN and taking responsibility for my actions. I accept I may have hurt someone’s feelings, and did my best to make amends, while still being true to my vision of my self.

Stuff I Learned Later In Life

The Cap'n was curious, so here we go.
When I was maybe 11 or 12, I was snooping around my dad's office and came across some court documents regarding dad getting legal custody of me from a guy named Crane.
I don't remember his first name, I only met him once or twice when I was very young.
This, of course, brought many questions that I couldn't ask because I wasn't supposed to be snooping.
So it had to sit in my head until later on in life.
I had dropped all contact with my parents after I turned 18, for other, more complicated reasons.
So at some point, I asked my younger sister, the only other kid from mom and dad, what she knew.

Mom and Dad met at some "alternative" church in the 60's. They were both married to other people and had 3 children each.
This "church" was actually a swinger's party. Mom hooked up with Dad at this party, and when the debauchery was done, they went back to their respective spouses.

Little problem.
Dad knocked Mom up with guess who.
I guess that and other elements caused the two couples to split up, Dad would marry Mom and then adopt me. I was born during all of this, thus the need for court intervention.

Dad was a medium at the time, and getting paid for it, much the way John Edward does now.
He told me many stories about his experiences in the field, one of which was that when he'd enter the room, the spirits were so calamatous to be heard first he'd have to tell them to shut up and wait their turn.

Anyway, Dad was under the impression that Mom approved of and would encourage this practice, as she told him she would.
Turns out no. After they were married, she forbad him to continue because it was The Devil's Work.
Mom's always been a manipulative bitch, when she wasn't being completely complacent and emotionally absent, and Dad was rather spineless when it came to Mom's directives.
So he gave it up, which resulted in his resenting my ever being born. He was now trapped with 4 kids on Mom's side and alimony for three from his first marriage. He stuck with it though, which I respect.
He died a few years ago of an aneurism, still married to Mom.
My sister says his last words were "I'm sorry".
I never reconciled with Dad.
I still have not reconciled with Mom and my other siblings, and probably never will.

As to my having the Freak Gene, yes, to a degree, but I don't see dead people.
At least not at this stage of my life.
If I trained myself, maybe.
But since Dad has yet to show himself to me, I rather doubt it.

The Friend vs The Father

I've known Joe almost 20 years now. He introduced me to the Discordians, although he is not one himself. He gave me half of my Holy Name, "Fenderson". He made this picture of my avatar last year.

I met his new girlfriend at his New Year's party this year. That the woman was married didn't set very well with me, but The Friend insisted that it's none of my business and I should ignore it. When I heard that she was a very light drinker (a condition I share), The Trickster decided to see how drunk he could get her. My plan required me to match her drink for drink. A few hours later, everyone at the party had decided to go out for a post-midnight rampage on the beach, but we were far too intoxicated for that and stayed behind.

That's when she Confessed. The Trickster hates that kind of shit, so The Reverend came out. She told me all about her relationship with Joe. She told me how wonderful her husband and kids were and how much she loved them. She told me about how her husband knows about Joe, and won't divorce her if she goes back to him soon. She doesn't want to lose her family, she said, but she was bored and Joe was exciting and besides, she loved him too.

At the mention of children, The Father shoved The Reverend aside. The Father had an opinion on this matter, and all of his opinions revolve around a "kids first" philosophy. She was throwing away a stable home for her children, including a good man that she loves, in exchange for excitement and a slim chance that she'll be happier with Joe. The Father thought that perhaps everyone would be better served if she found another way of filling her emotional needs.

The Father spoke his mind. The Friend was appalled at this breach of loyalty. So was Joe when she told him what I had said and that she wasn't so sure the relationship was a good idea.

I don't blame him for being angry at all. I dealt him a terrible blow. I still don't know what else I could have done. If I had stayed silent, I would have betrayed my own principles. By speaking up, I betrayed a friend.

Last month, he sent me a new picture of my avatar, taken on that night. He named it "Devil's Details". I am no longer a saint.

Perhaps the ugliness there isn't evil, though. Perhaps it's the duststorm caused by the battle of The Friend and The Father. I hope my friendship with Joe isn't a permanent casualty of that battle.

Looking back, I still wonder how I could have handled this better. Any ideas?

On the Outskirts of Edge City

I live in two worlds. In the everyday world, I play a young "starving artist," struggling to live and create my writing and music and art in the belly of 21st Century corporate America. Even though I have anarchistic and bohemian leanings that place me on the edge or underground of consensus culture I am still a normal guy who works a day job, does his housemate’s dishes, goes out drinking and dancing with his friends on the weekends, and dreams of meeting a creative and compassionate woman to eventually settle down and raise a family with. Preferably after selling a couple novels to buy a house.

In the other world I am a shaman, a prophet, a warrior; an avatar of all that is good and intelligent and utterly bewildering in the Universe. In this position I know that the self and reality are merely convenient illusions to be juggled at will, and strive to use this to break humanity out of the dead end Western reality-tunnel and ease the transition into the Next, while hopefully avoiding a nuclear apocalypse in the process. This is the life of my dreams and personal mythos, and though it takes on near unbearable epic proportions, it is no less of an everyday reality then my "normal life." I am always wearing both masks.

Though these worlds exist simultaneously they are rarely compatible, except at night or at protests, and I often end up feeling like Superman, pretending that I am Clark Kent so I can get by in a world that just doesn’t believe in super heroes. From my experience I don’t imagine many people see or want to see their lives through such a mythic interpretation. Even crazy artist types can have a limited sense of the real. It takes too much strength and calls too many basic truths into question, and it’s already near impossible to eke out enough of a living to enjoy a few moments of freedom a year in the everyday reality. Why bother going through all that strain and near insanity of envisioning another?

For me the reasons are obvious. They might be for you too, but I can’t even say that much without getting frightened or pitying looks from even my closest friends (except for the few that face this dilemma in themselves). Sure, I can hang out at the local coffee shop and chat amiably about the weather, work, the latest bands and art projects, "even the state of the world these days" (as if the world and its wars weren’t here). But in my head the shaman-warrior frantically wants to grab people’s shoulders and shake them, screaming that they "can and have to take up their own power, now, because the war is here and it will take all our imaginations together to see its end." The words and spittle flying from my mouth like some deranged harbinger of doom and gloom. Occasionally I imagine putting on a dirty robe and standing on the street corner with a sandwich board that reads: "The End is Here!"

Not that people really pay much attention to such extreme tactics in the post-modern spectacle, but that certainly wouldn’t make it any easier to lead a normal life, and I have a hard enough time with that when I’m rational. Money and small talk just seem so irrelevant.

Another thing this role makes difficult is dating. I thought the last girl I was seeing had a similar enough world-view, but after building up enough trust to be able to share my pre-apocalyptic anxiety disorders with her she said it might be better off if I let myself just go mad, and that we probably shouldn’t be seeing each other (she was trying to get her life straight, I was trying to never do that again, and I wasn’t making things easier for her). Later she rewrote her memories of the relationship and decided we had never had anything to talk about in the first place, even though I distinctly remember many night-long conversations about magic, the spirit-world, and the necessity of changing the direction our world is headed. I didn’t know it was possible to drive someone sane, but it seems I did it.

Some days I just want to drop this other reality all together and go back to the ignorant bliss of the normal world where work and weather are the hardest things to worry about. But I can’t and wouldn’t even if I let myself have that option. Through the isolation and sense of impending doom that haunt my cloudier days, that deeper level contains such magic and beauty I could have never imagined had I not been there, and at this point makes my life worth living.

So I ask, how do the rest of you stay sane and functional in your everyday lives while still assuming the power and responsibility that comes with realizing your own avatarhood? Either I need to stop letting this dichotomy of worlds be a source of tension and anxiety and treat my internal god as the secret seed of hope and power I know it can be. Or I need to stop pretending that these worlds are separate at all, and start living as if real life shaman-warriors are precisely what society needs to inspire the realization that living within the mythic power of our dreams is possible every day.

Hiding Out

I'm not here.

You didn't see me.

Shhhhhhh!

Personal Responsibility

I’ve been thinking about the nature of personal responsibility for a while. One of things I had put in my daily affirmation is that I take responsibility for my actions. In the world of my career, that is a dangerous thing. I work in Advertising and things go wrong all the time and everyone is constantly looking to place the blame on everyone else for reason things go astray. Unfortunately, as a Production Artist, even if it’s not my fault, blame gets passed on to me, even though we sort of have a system of checks in place. This is on top of the errors I may be prone to make also. There are a lot of ins and outs to my job, and nearly every job is handled differently, and sometimes stuff gets by me. My first week on the job, the owner of the company yelled at me because I fixed one thing on a baseball schedule, and made an error elsewhere. I blamed the system I use for processing jobs, and I didn’t realize until later it was actually a judgment error. Needless to say, in my career, taking responsibility for your actions can have dangerous side effects, mainly you could get labeled a “Fuck Up”, and that’s the kiss of death.

Irregardless of that, I have decided to make sure that I take responsibility for my actions, if for no other reason, I’m sick of being afraid. I am not, however going out to find troublesome things to be responsible for, nor will I volunteer responsibility when it’s not my fault. Unless the boss is in a firing mood. I should add I will be responsible for my actions up to the point of stupidity. I have to remember flexibility in all things, as I am in danger of being to rigid. However, it is this quality of being accountable for my actions that I find to be empowering as it gives me purpose on the job at least.

By taking that responsibility in all areas of my life, I am granted the vision to see what it is, if anything that is wrong. And my life is, I’m have to admit, somewhat problematic because I don’t have that awareness. “What is my part in this?” is what I should be asking all the time. And I “should” be unflinching in my self-assessment because the issue is the huge disconnect between my image of myself and reality of myself. Witness the amazing powers of denial.

I have found at times when I do take responsibility for not only by actions, but responsibility for other things such as say, fielding a client phone call at work (which is not my job), that people tend to have a lot more respect for me as a person. And sometimes it spooks people too. I’ve picked up a little piece of paper next to a trashcan and put it in, and I’ve gotten stares from the passerbys. Strange.

Again, I’m at the end with no sum up thought. Uhhh… so kids, take responsibility for your actions and watch the magic happen. It gives you clarity of vision gobs of character and it helps define you as a person as opposed to scores of people who like to blame others for their personal misfortunes when they should clearly be pointing the finger squarely at themselves.

Everyday Avatar: Who and Why

I'm kicking my inital post back to the top because while I'm happy with my current guests, I want more men to get in on the dialogue. These posts serve to define the themes of Everyday Avatar. Speak up! Celebrate yourselves.

Hunter S. Thompson is dead, and I've been thinking about my life. Hunter was a Warrior who fought what he believed to be the good fight against the corrupt elements of the American Power Elite. He often played the role of the Fool with his drunken excesses and fevered literary rantings, but what it all comes down to is the fact that he was a Shaman who lived on the outskirts of Edge City, and he Warped the World with his Will.

The Warriors and Mystics are dying off. Who is to take their place in this world?

What does this mean for us? Can we walk the Earth with purpose?

Thoughts a-ramble. Things to post of:

Fiction Suits

Relationships

Emotions and Junk

Healing Arts

Creativity

Magick

Fool-ishness

Rage

Male Sexuality

Walking the line between A Testosterone Supercharged "Man's Man" and New Age Wimp.

Our Victories and our Set-Backs.
Free of Dogma

I am of multi-mind. I don't believe there is anthropomorphic deities, yet I do. My actions may or may not effect the world, but I perform them anyway. I welcome the fact that there are biological reasons for the sprititual experience, I'm game to try and keep it with me and perform as a high-functioning mystic...mmmmm hahahhahahahha!excuse me while I pick myself off of the floor. Sure, why not? Operate as a person, and an evolved male. If the women can celebrate the Goddess within them, then why not celebrate, if not the God, then Archetype? We can put them on, and take them off at will. But, at this state, I simply cannot do it alone, and I need help and feedback from others who are trying to do the same.

I've invited you to post because I know that you do your best to walk the walk and that in many ways, we are very much alike.

You wanna to join a brotherhood of street gods?

Some words from my Headshrinker

So I’ve mentioned here that I’m seeing a therapist for Anxiety Disorder, and we are kind of there sitting around wondering what to talk about next, and he asks me about my marriage. My marriage is excellent I tell him, but because I am there for the honesty, I tell him that my wife and I don’t have sex as much as I would like. And he asks me if we’ve talked about it, and I say of course, but to be honest I will not pressure my wife to have sex with me. I don’t tell him this: I believe that Alessandra never has to do anything she doesn’t want to do, as far as this marriage is concerned. It’s written into our vows that I give the freedom to be the person she is supposed to be, and so on, but I do my best to get the point across.

Let me preface this next statement that I think my therapist is a good man I like him but he is, how shall we say it, old school. He is an Orthodox Jewish Elder, and as such, his reality tunnel is a little different from mine. He proceeds to tell me that I should impress upon my wife that she should consider occasionally having sex with me if she doesn’t want to. His logic is essentially: Why should desire have anything to do with it? “We often don’t want to go to work on Monday, but we do it anyway.”

My mind flipped out completely. I had forgotten that there are people who have opinions that are not mine, some of which would seem antiquated from my point of view. I tell him in no uncertain terms that, that is not how I operate. And we discuss sex in which he then tells me that “It’s the man who controls the sex in the relationship.” Which proceeded to blow my mind even further, because as far as I’m concerned, in my experience, it’s the woman. Why do you think I dig ‘em so much. Gatekeepers indeed. “With out an erect penis, there is no sex, and the womans needs are not met.” !!!!!!! For a few moments I wondered who this gentleman was in front of me. I guess he’s never heard of tongues and vibrators. At some point in the conversation he mentioned, It’s the man who controls the sex in the relationship, and the woman is a receptacle”. Then, however, he did say that he did support Polygamy, because he believed that in the old days if a man had multiple wives then he could just move on to the next one. I can live with that one.

What different world views! In this case I feel like Nü Man vs Status Quo. Look at where I'm coming from. I cannot believe in forcing my attention on someone who simply doesn’t want it. Of course, I could be more romantic, and I’m working on that too. Those kinds of emotions are what Everyday Avatar is about. Being able move past my own self-imposed limitations. In that way I feel different than other people. Something I have to be careful not to feel better than just different. When I ran this past JohnFen, he mentioned that the Doctor’s analogy was fair, but the idea of giving someone a gift is also a good idea. However, there’s receiving a gift, and expecting one, one I will accept, the other I won’t. Giving happens in the mind of the giver, and if my wife ever wants to give me a gift and not tell me, then that’s good, but I can’t abide the sexpectation of the husband, Alessandra is not chattel. Hottie yes, Property no. But to give the good Dr. credit, he did not say that Alessandra was property or owes me anything. He merely suggested she could occasionally put my needs over hers.

Sex is great, and it’s stellar when both people are working towards the same goal, giving the other pleasure, sharing and losing one’s self in the other. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A Real Man

My wife's grandfather had taken seriously ill while we were pregnant. I'd never met him, but had heard all about him from her. He was a man's man: beefy, rugged, and intellectual. A rancher, farmer, builder, businessman, and philosopher. Macho, yes, but not in the sense of base, mindless masculinity. Apparently this man could walk on water.

His wife had called us shortly before the birth, begging us to come as quickly as possible. An impossible request in the circumstances. It was a very long trip, and pregnancy disagreed with Irene enough that it was simply unthinkable. "We'll come as soon as we can after the baby is born." "He doesn't have much time."

Our daughter was two months old before we made the trip.

He wanted to die in his own house, where he had spent his entire life. His deathbed was set up in the living room. I laid my eyes on the Great Man, but couldn't see any sign of the greatness. Laying in the bed was a frail and used-up skeleton. His eyes were glazed and he seemed not to recognize what was going on around him. Irene took his hand, kissed him, and then left the room to cry.

I pretended that he was lucid, introduced myself, and placed our daughter on his chest. His mouth twitched -- I knew it would have been a smile under other circumstances. With great effort, He lifted one arm and placed his hand on our baby's head. The love poured from him, almost visible in its intensity. I recognized instantly the gift he had been saving for her. Nobody had mentioned that he was a shaman, but somehow it didn't really surprise me.

Although he had a hospice worker, she only came by every other day for a couple of hours. His wife had been caring for him all by herself for all these months. We took turns watching after him, to give her a badly needed break.

During my second shift, I was holding his hand and telling him stories about Irene and the little one. He showed no sign that he heard me, but it seemed natural to do. I was nearing the end of a story when it happened. A pulse of energy burst from his body and, in part, coursed through my own. I saw his jugular bulge. He was dead.

His wife came in from outside minutes later. "He's gone," I said. She smiled. "I knew it would come quick. He wasn't going to die until he met his great-granddaughter. It was his final wish."

That's how I met a Real Man and learned what it means to be one. A man so full of love that he held death itself at bay just so he could pass it along to the next generation.

To Play Hide-and-Seek With the Stars

I need to keep reminding myself of our nature as stars, quantum gods and goddesses incarnated only in flesh-swaddled genetically-programmed nervous systems.

This programming does not seem bound to bio-survival alone. Do we have the honesty, the courage and the love to take a place alongside our companion celestial bodies?


synthesis 1 by crist-blasts-0ff

I have worn the mask of No Face, a non-avatar that thrives by consuming and nullifying the identities of others. Every other avatar becomes stuffed into a black-hole of memory, twisted to illogical extremes and regurgitated like a broken-mirrored zombie caricature. A hungry ghost aping the normal mimicry of domesticated primates. Hayao Miyazaki depicted this shade wonderfully in Spirited Away:



What remains when I remove this mask? A non-existent core, a dark vacuum, no Self, fear and looming destruction? Or do I then have the freedom to try on any avatar at will, to shift between existing forms in a holographic harlequin mash-up of archetypal realities?

This mean letting go of everything, especially the illusion of control over my self and the rest of Universe. It means losing myself in the ocean of human existence, a star at the bottom of a 238 thousand mile gravity well looking up with not just a bit of trepidation. It means falling in love with everything and everyone again each moment.

Revelations

People occasionally tip me off to things about myself that, while blindingly obvious to everyone else, I had no idea of. I've long been fascinated by these sometimes stark differences between my ideas about who I am and who I actually am.

Lately, this has been happening at an ever-increasing pace, so I thought I'd present a select list of some of them. The list may seem whimsical, but I assure you that it is not. Each of these items represents a fundamental break with reality that cannot be lightly dismissed.

What's on your list?

1) I like macaroni and cheese even without ketchup on it. Until I was an adult, I never saw anybody eat it any other way. That mac & cheese could exist without ketchup was a possibility I had not considered. I never quite got over the shock when my first roommate declared the practice "disgusting".

2) I prefer tall, skinny brunettes. I genuinely thought I didn't have a special preference about such things. An interesting corollary is that none of my serious relationships were with tall, skinny brunettes.

3) When I think I'm being an asshole, I'm really just being assertive.

4) If you want to seduce me, cook for me. In hindsight, it works without fail. The odd thing is that I don't generally like food. I don't dislike it, it's just not a special thing for me. Well, I can't really say that, I suppose. Apparently it is.

5) I am absent-minded. Yeah, I'm so absent-minded that I hadn't noticed I was absent-minded even though I have occasionally been unable to recall my name when unexpectedly queried. When I wasn't on drugs.

6) When I get angry, I get quiet. I always thought that I yelled and slammed things about. In fact, I only do that on extremely rare occassions, when I run out of fuse. Until then, I'm a paragon of peace. On the outside.

7) I intimidate people. I still don't understand why, but once it was pointed out I started noticing that it's true. It also seems to generally work in my favor.

8) I shouldn't make jokes at school functions. My daughter requested this of me. The problem, as she explained it, was "only mom and I can tell when you're joking. Everyone else just thinks you're weird."

Comments

EA has a new commenting system now. No old comments were harmed in the changeover (but they did whine a lot). The most visible change is that EA can now have a "recent comments" section in the sidebar. Go, look! See?

This post is only partially to let everyone know. It's also to give me a place where I can add test comments without disturbing any conversations. If you have complaints, problems, or suggestions please leave them in a comment here or email me.

Deiophilia

I'm going to have to coin a new term here. Deiophilia, attraction to Gods and Goddesses. It seems that far back into my childhood I've know about sex. As long as I can remember I've always been interested in Titan Sex (thanks for the history JohnFen). When playing kissing games with my next door neighbor at age 5-ish, I was always Superman, and I insisted she was always Wonder Woman. Now as an adult, I am insisting on playing Gods and Goddesses. That's why I am turned on by self-empowered Goddesses.

To me sex is energy, it alway has been. It's not about control of partners, but one of mutual worship. Equality. Through sex, I am able to trancend Time and Space. Perhaps through orgasm I am having a God Experience. But the root causes and neurology of the event don't really mean anything to me other than being an very interesting phenomenon. In this case science only adds to my wonder.

About 4 years ago or so I tried to get a Global Orgasm Day going. One big interconnected union through orgasm. But it didn't really take off because the people in the U.S. are afraid of really enjoying sex. But that's another story.

In my fantasies I am both Mark and the earthly representation of the Male Archetype and my wife is Alessandra, and a Goddess, represented in my mind as Ishtar. Together we are creating the universe. At this time, Alessandra is the avatar, and it is my desire to bring praise through pleasure. It is empowering for me on many different levels, but I consider us to be of equal stature. Of course, the mentioning of Goddesses and worship during love play tends to make Alessandra very uncomfortable because to her it's beyond us to become as gods, so I pipe down but continue to think it. At it is after the last time, that I realized this must be some sort of fetish that needs a name. When all is said and done, I know it's cheesy, but it's good cheese. There isn't much I'm willing to do about it. It feels pretty good to practice such things, and I believe it will help me on my quest to become more fully integrated with myself and whatever (if ever) such forces outside of me exist.

The Tyranny of Eros

In a comment earlier, Bsti had mentioned that he didn't always consider his penis to be his friend -- a sentiment that I suspect every man is sympathetic to. The penis is the domain of Eros, aka Cupid.

Eros/Cupid is a primordial god who existed at the same time as Chaos, before those latecomers like Chronos and Zeus were ticking and kicking. He is raw, thoughtless, instinctive sexual power. His slogan is "Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am." Aphrodite makes love; Eros fucks. His most feared ability is that he can cause both gods and mortals to become irrational and lose their will.

Eros lives within the loins of every man and every man, at least once, has struggled and failed to keep him chained up. I remember clearly the day I realized his terrible power. My very first serious relationship had come to an end, and enough time had passed that I wasn't really that heartbroken anymore. Boy, did I miss the sex, though.

I had stopped by her house to pick up some stuff I'd left there. She was cold and distant. I had no intention of doing anything but getting my things and leaving. Eros suddenly took over and before I knew what I was doing I had wrapped my arms around her from behind, cupped her breasts and kissed the back of her neck. Hot tears splashed on my hand as she leaned back into me and said "Jesus, John, why are you doing this to me?"

Oh, this was music to Eros' ears! The delicious submissiveness! The control I had over her! The power buzzed through my body. I could literally do anything I wanted with this woman. I owned her. She was practically begging me for it. Damn, did it feel good.

But her question needed an answer. She had called me out -- I was hurting her. No, it wasn't me. It was Eros, it was my cock. Shamed, I apologized and left. Ever since then I've tried to keep a close eye on that Cupid prick, and not always successfully. He's a sneaky bastard.

Someone once observed a truth about me. I lust after submissive women but want dominant women. I think I know why: according to legend, only Aphrodite could keep Cupid in check.

God Brought Him to My Door

So...that would mean God followed him around and allowed him to kill people (I won't say "innocent" for only little children are truly innocent.) for the purpose of bringing him to this lady's door and converting him?

A Small Victory - question of the day
"If God is so interventionist as to lead this homicidal maniac to Ashley Smith's door, then why didn't he intervene when Mr. Nichols was mowing down innocent people in a courthouse? Further, why didn't God intervene when Mr. Nichols was (allegedly) raping his girlfriend? Were the deaths and rape all part of some mysterious plan to get Nichols into prison to preach the word?"

Some interesting replies in the comments there.
"if someone out there really thinks this was the work of God, I hope their God never loves me enough to have me innocently gunned down in the process of improving someone else's life."

"Sometimes life just seems like a scary movie, an impossibility; how could so many people seriously believe in a faerie tale? Ah, it's one of the great mysteries..."

I am neither atheist nor agnostic.
I think I've made my belief pretty clear: God intervenes because we are God.
God kills, God saves. God performs miracles and also drowns a sack of kittens in a lake.
The purpose of existence is to Experience. Everything.
Good, Bad and Tween.
God is neither man, woman, nor transexual. God does not look like a human, or anything else for that matter.To argue with the paradox "can God make a boulder so heavy even He cannot lift it" is to assume God has human arms.
If we could see God, we'd be looking at everything that has, does, and ever will exist in all universes. When we say God speaks to us, we are really talking to ourselves.

Jesus' primary message to the world was "I am God, and SO. ARE. YOU."
He didn't just blurt that out though, because Jesus had an ego too, just like the rest of us.
That, and I think he might have realized that few would buy into that bit of information. He probably knew humans need to worship something, an ideal far above and beyond our human frailties.
To say that We Are God is to admit that God Makes Mistakes (which is just a mechanism of Experience.)
Nuff ramblin'.

Everyday Avatar is back up

You may continue godding at your own risk.

Redundant Dad

I love being The Father, and I'm very good at it. I was lucky that my daughter lived with me after the divorce, and that my ex was supportive of the arrangement. The truth is, I wouldn't have fought for custody despite that I desperately wanted it. She's an excellent mother, so such a battle would only hurt my kid, not help.

I raised my daughter as a single dad for four years before Eris stopped by to mix things up a little. I had to move to a different city for work, and my daughter moved in with my ex. I was devastated. Time went by, and life went on. My ex got engaged and to a man I like, fortunately. I was visiting them when the real blow came:

I overheard my daughter call him "dad". The word cut like a dull, rusty knife. I've been around the emotional block a few times. I've had my heart ripped from my chest more than once. But never by a nine-year-old child, and never had it hurt nearly so much. I was destroyed, and The Father was severely pissed off.

People told me they admired the sacrifice I made for her well-being when I quit my high-paying job and moved to be near her. They don't understand that I didn't do it for her at all. I did it entirely for The Father.

I am The Father. It is my right to have The Daughter be a part of my everyday life, and I demanded that right. The Father will not be denied. No intruder was going to take my child away from me. No way, no how, wasn't going to happen. I was on the warpath.

My daughter is the one that set me straight. She said "He's my dad too, but only you are my Father." I wish I were half as wise and smart as she sometimes. It's been years since then, and it's only recently that I fully realized what she taught me in that one short statement. Her relationship with him is a very different one from her relationship with me. She uses the same word for us both, but it doesn't really mean quite the same thing.

That The Intruder gained a daughter did not mean that The Father had to lose one. It only means my daughter's life is that much richer. I'm a redundant dad, and I'm happy for it. And besides, I remain her only Father.

Within and WIthout

Yesterday I had a visit with an out-of town family I am friends with. I heard an interesting, as of yet unheard-of loving criticism of their son; my soul brother and introduction into this wonderful family. They said that my friend (who has some health problems (is a very New Agey guy and, African drummer, and is engaged to a beautiful, devoted yogini) is a selfish person because all his new age thinking is all about centering his attention on himself, working with himself, getting in tune with himself. This has altered him, and in their opinion made him selfish because now he has cold feet about the upcomming wedding

Their opinion is the concern of a traditional catholic family whose son went rogue new age, but they do indeed have point. This is not the first time I've heard that statement about New Agers. So it made me think about my own selfishness. Even as I'm writing this on Sunday Morning, I'm sitting around the kitchen while my wife, and in-laws are who are eating breakfast talking about celebrity gossip and cats. I'm here, but I'm not there.

Part of this self exploration also involves engaging with the world, something I personally have trouble with. Very often, conversation on the outside, and this particular instance today and this weekend, are so banal. It's been pet talk all fucking weekend, literally. So of course I'm gonna tune out. I have things to work on...books to read, guitar to practice, yoga I wouldn't mind doing...stuff. However, as much as I hate the topic of conversation, or dislike hanging out with my side of the family, it's necessary to stay out of head and interact with the people around. Which I'm going to do shortly.

We can't grow unless it's tested in the laboratory of our lives. I myself need to strike that balance between interior and exterior life, that it is just as important, if not more so than the masculine/feminine balance we are talking about elsewhere. I could stay in my headspace all day long and work on my personal projects all week at the expense of time with my wife, so it is vital that I keep my head out of my ass. It's too easy for someone working on self-improvement to alienate himself from those around him. It's been said that "The Price of Liberty is Eternal Vigilance." I know the Founding Fathers didn't mean it for the individual trying to liberate himself from outmoded thought patterns, but I think such a statement can be applied to us who are hard at work on the road to personal liberation.

Ok, now I have GOT to go...

The Ecology and Magick Of Maleness

Thanks to Gaiagal for passing this along for us. This guy writes in an even more earnest tone than I do! It makes a number of very good points such as this, which articulates why I find the terms "feminine side" and "masculine side" very annoying as used in popular culture:

In a time when those resisting the industrial paradigm often characterize it as an expression of male energy, it’s no wonder we feel encouraged to nourish the qualities of creativity, sensitivity, emotionality, gentleness and intuition ascribed to the “feminine side.” It is indeed time to break loose from the rigid macho-male model in spiraling liberatory samba - but the very fact that they exist as aspects of a male body means they are as much “masculine” as they are “feminine.” I cannot accept that crying over sad songs, nuzzling small animals, tending to the needs of children, writing poetry or learning to make love real, real slow means a man has gotten in touch with his “woman within.” Nor do I believe a woman is tapping any latent reservoirs of male energy when she exhibits the strength, aggression, purposefulness or drive regularly attributed to men.

The problem is not with the nature of masculinity, but our disenfranchisement from our natural maleness. The solution is to become more ourselves, not less so. As with all social/environmental disease the cure lies in reclamation of our wild beings, not in the suppression of our instincts or the cultivation of some “higher” self.

Exactly so. There are unquestionably traits which are predominantly "male" and "female". Most of the male traits (usually sexual) are the subject of disparagement, particularly by women. I long ago decided that this was BS, and refused to be shamed for them. Do you disapprove because you "caught" me taking a second look at that beautiful woman I just walked by? Ha! You didn't catch me. I wasn't hiding it.

I am Trickster

Inpired by Harry's marvelous post on The Hunter, I present my own archetype.

Those of you who know me as John Fenderson, JohnFen, Cheeseball Girdlenose, Zal, That Jerk, and so forth will not find this revelation to be a surprise. The very fact that I use a bunch of aliases and yet do not hide that they're all the same person is a clear tipoff.

I am not a practical joke-type Trickster, although I do make it a point to pull one off every so often to keep the juices flowing. (I'm particularly proud of my last one, which involved placing Do Not Lick magnets on most of the police cars in town.) No, my style is more the mindfuck, the unexpected behavior or reaction. The more subtle and truthful, the better.

If you can't beat 'em, confuse 'em.

Potential enemies make me a low priority because I am a little too random. They cannot develop the necessary faith that I will play Victim, and have a hard time getting up the nerve to test me. The ones that do quickly find that I am indeed an unpredictable foe that will take more effort than I'm worth, no matter how assured eventual success is.

Trickster is equally useful in friendlier surroundings. He entertains my friends, charms my lovers, teaches my child. To be Trickster means being a little of every other archetype -- just as every other archetype has a touch of Trickster.

Trickster allows me to perform heretical mental gyrations with minimal discomfort. Trickster is the one that accidentally falls through the secret escape tunnel that leads from the prison cell.

Yes, I do sometimes don other guises, but my natural state is Trickster, and it is Trickster that I love.

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

I had to ditch Blogger commenting

It wasn't working for those who were not members of blogger, so I went to haloscan. I did lose most comments, but I saved some from the most commented posts. Please continue to comment, some of you have said some very interesting things...I may end up asking the Right Rev JohnFen how he does his system on DRT to show which posts have been commented on recently. If that is the case, I'll try to nab your comments before I switch out the system

A Hunter, Not A Warrior

I learned some years that I had to get comfortable with a persona who could be trusted to handle situations where violence was a possibility. The warrior's way is not mine. His craft focuses overmuch on confrontation and there are times where he must obey. I can't take orders without feeling sick and, where possible, I prefer to be stealthy. I prefer that my enemies not even be aware of my existence and I need no recognition from them. I want to survive, not win as it's defined in popular culture, and the goals of the hunter are better integrated into living with community and environment.

The moment where violence becomes real has to be survivable.

Speaking of Penii

First, because I find it almost impossible to avoid making inappropriate Monty Python references, The Penis Song

Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis.
Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong.
It's swell to have a stiffy,
It's divine to own a dick.
From the tiniest little tadger,
To the world's biggest prick.
So three cheers for your willy or John Thomas.
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake.
Your piece-of-pork,
Your wife's best friend,
Your Percy or your cock.
You can wrap it up in ribbons,
You can slip it in your sock.
But don't take it out in public
Or they will stick you in the dock,
And you won't come back.

You love your penis. You want to keep it safe from predators, crazy knife-wielding women, radio frequency interference, and large electrical shocks, right?

Well, this won't help with the electrical shocks, but it's mighty uncomfortable anyway: Chainmail for your penis. When you think about how precious your little buddy is, how can you not spend a mere $75 to protect it?

I promise that my next post will be serious.

A penis post

My penis is an appendage. It is a part of me, like an arm or a finger. It does not have a personality, nor a name. It used to have both, then one day I realized, that for me, it was stupid, so I stopped calling it Mr. Weenie. At least, that's what I think the name was. Perhaps I stopped calling it that nearly 20 years ago because the woman I loved who called it that ended up fucking a close friend of mine...we broke up, and she got both the friend and the name. Me? I got an STD.

So when it all comes down to it, penises range from funny looking to down right gross. Better people than me have said much more about the penis, in much wittier and funnier terms. It's been a long day and I don't have the patience. The real purpose of this post was to tell you, "Whatever you do, do not ever search for penis in Google Images. Alessandra and I were looking for something we could do for my Dr. Wang Costume, and we freaked out from all the vile, ugly penii there. But then we saw this guy who had a penis tattoo. I thought, "Yeah, that's worth sharing with the guys." Check it out (NSFW-obviously), it's stellar! And painful, really, really painful looking.

god on the run

As one can guess, it's tough to even remember to call up any sort of archetype when you spend your entire day in motion. In fact, I've spent more time wondering what to say than actually doing it.

Everyday Avatar has recieved a shitload of visitors. I welcome you all, and ask you not to be strangers. Get involved in the dialog. Welcome to the curious and supportive goddess ladies from Every Woman is a Goddess. Thanks for your support. Through your example and solidarity, I think we can become better males.

Tomorrow is a costume party for Alessandra's 30th birthday, and the theme is Super Hero/Alter Ego. After trying to figure out my inner self, I waffled between alien pirate, and or Cosmic Jester...but instead chose to create an new supervillan: Dr. Wang! One can get all serious about what the inner self is, but lets face it...when you laugh your ass off because you are wearing lycra boxers with Michelangelo's David's Penis silkscreened on it...all prior concepts fly out the window in the service of the belly laugh. Pictures to be forth coming.

I've signed up for a proboard, should the traffic and conversation pick up. That way we can post our starting conversation here, and then take it to the boards if need be. I found it tough to scroll down the pages looking to see if someone commented, the forgot how many comments there were.

So (you), I'm looking at you. Get involved.

Up the SOC (stream o' consciousness) with a broken paddle

I started Cap'n Marrrk's book The Long Road: A Fable tonight, got as far as Frank stumbling into Wiseman's door. Okay, now I got to a passing cloud crossing WM's face. Gotta stop there for a second and look into
iUniverse Book Publishing Company: Book Publisher featuring Self Publishing and Print on Demand
"iUniverse provides a wide variety of professional book publishing services that will put your book on the road to self-publishing success."

I compared the packages, and found that, while the editorial review is included in almost all, no other editorial services are provided, such as proofreading and line editing.
Here's an idea: have the people doing the editorial reviews also proofread the material.
That said, this seems like a pretty good idea for self-publishing. Not ecstatic about their prices vs service. The $300 Fast Track package, you get one free copy of your book.BUT you retain all rights to it. And upon browsing the bookstore, some of those run up to 23 bucks.

Back to the book~
I'm not liking Frank so far. I hope this is a long,l long road for him.
I'm not liking Wiseman so much either yet. YET. Reminds me of Ray Walston.
(Look here, they don't even have a picture of one of the greatest character actors alive).
He's coming off a little bitter and caustic for a Wise Man. But then, as stated somewhere below,
"Tomorrow's mystics are here today, but they aren't like the ones of old. They look just like you, your neighbors, your garbageman. They are invisible in their cloak of normality -- all the better to work their magic."

Someday, I might be that crochety,wisecracking old Wiseman that some sniveling kid comes to for answers, and I will respond in a similar way. In fact, I already know that will be true. But I am going to age gracefully.

When the student is ready, the teacher appears.

I'm not deep enough into the story.
I read ahead a little bit, just a sentence about a bag of gems.

I haven't even finished Mac's book yet, I am ashamed to say.
I used to be a voracious reader....until we got AOL.
Now, I fear I might have fallen into the trap of instant gratification. And provided imagry. I haven't actually finished a printed book in.....oh no, over a year. Ironic, since I own tons of books, many of which are still....unread.
That is my shame; I've been e-reading for too long.

Okay, so far I'd have to say a pretty bleak picture is well-painted in this fable.
On the large scale. Beautiful scenery, it almost reads like a screenplay. It's too early to say that the characters need more rounding. I'm assuming that's one of the points.
My dad was a writer. I almost spilled some juicy horrors about him tonight, but I'll say this~ he worked his whole life in a mundane job to support a mundane family so he could write at night.

And he never got published. Not a once.

Charles Atlas, Archetypes in Advertising

Modern advertising makes an indelible impression on the young mind. If you're, say, a boy from Austria you may have been influenced to take up an activity like, say, bodybuilding. Who knew it would lead to the governorship of a large western state? In this installment: Gene traces the evolution of the he-man in advertising, or what the state of California owes Charles Atlas.

I found this at The Presurfer. It's a bit political but is an interesting retrospective of societal programming nonetheless. You'll enjoy it for no other reason than for the photos and this paragraph:

My mother always said, "Don't mix politics and graphic arts," but since I ignored most of my mother's other advice, I'm going to shine this tidbit as well. I began to doubt my mother's wisdom about the time she made up those rubber-band-in-the-eye stories, and started chronicling the various fatal ailments you could get by drinking out of public water fountains.

BBC - Science & Nature - Sex ID

BBC - Science & Nature - Sex ID

Find out more about 'brain sex' differences by taking the Sex ID test, a groundbreaking experiment designed by a team of top psychologists:

Pit your wits against visual challenges.

Get a brain sex profile and find out if you think like a man or a woman.

See how your results relate to theories about brain sex.

Contribute anonymously to a future BBC television programme.

So we were talking of balance in another thread. Cap'n Marrrrk falls in at 50% right in the motherfucking middle. Neither male OR female. Hmmmmm. I need to A. Retake the test because I was at work and rushed (but still a very good indicator as I don't overthink the questions) or B. Figure out what this means to me.

via metafilter

Get Yer Sleep On!

Man, I can't stress the importance of getting a good night sleep to help you keep your shit together. I had decided that since I hate the concept of work so much, and the increasing surreality that has been occuring as a result of the new full-time schedule, that I would willingly take on the daily working avatar of the Hunter-Gatherer. Go into work with sharp eyes, do the job in front of me, be a member of the productive collective, and do my part to bring home the digital bison. Unfortunately, I woke up yesterday with what felt like no rest and I just couldn't get it together all day long, and my productivity yesterday sucked. To top it off, as I was headed out the door to guitar class, my boss got a call, and I heard the dreaded words, "Don't let Plattner go." But I swapped out my time with another worker and took off. Head filled with cognitive dissonance, I told said worker that I would call as soon as class was over and that I would come back to pick up the slack and work the late hours if needed, but he dodged that bullet too.

Cognitive dissonance, what I believed to be my responsibility as a responsible person, over personal desire not to have pay yet again for a class I missed. No conclusion, just story and a reminder to get your sleep.