Hate Cont'd

I was out with my friend named Big B tonight and we were talking about Mark Maron and how courageous he was for just putting it out there in his beginning podcasts.  How ballsy it was for him to just say exactly what was on his mind.  To just say I fucking hurt and heres is why.....blah, blah, blah.

So, I guess this is my first copycat edition of why Jon Pauley hurts.  I would say it begins with......And this is a story I have only told a few close friends, or possibly only FL.  It begins with a flea market and my mom's manipulation of a scenario I was comfortable with and was used to, but then was twisted upside down.

Often times, on Sundays, my mom and I used to go to flea markets together.  Rarely, would she give me more than a dollar or two to spend on total bullshit.  A comic book here, garbage pail kids, etc.  That day she splurged.  To this day, I can't remember what I brought home.

We returned to our childhood house, but stuff was missing.  Immediately, I was suspicious.  (Or at least in this adult telling I was).  Things were not in the house.  Things were missing.  All of my dad's stuff was gone.

I begged for him to tuck me in that night.  My mom, god bless her soul, allowed me to buy all of this useless shit at the flea market to dull the pain.  Yet, it didn't matter if I had the entire collection of series 1 of the Garbage Pail Kids.  It didn't matter if I had a cool new hot wheel that was made of true die-cast steel.  What mattered was my dad saying good night to me.

So, that may be where the hate begins.  There are old Catholic school stories to tell of horrible things nuns had done to me.  Yet, I think this defines the moment where hate, doubt and skepticism of those you are not supposed to feel those things towards had begun.

Hate

This is my first posting via iPhone. It may be my last. We will see how that goes. This entry is titled hate because so much of it has been pouring through my veins lately. First of all, I am writing this while facing Ocean Parkway in Brooklyn. FL is fast asleep, yet she is the one prompting me to address this fucked up, pent up negative energy inside of me. And by prompting, I mean a good thing. One of the best and open conversations of my life took place with her a couple of nights ago.

First of all, I thought that all moved forward in life. The brain just moves on and you forget shit. These days, I feel like I'm in a backslide. Memories are boiling to the surface. Ones I had thought I had forgotten are simply reappearing like random ghosts and I don't even see myself clearly anymore.

There is no melodrama here. It is just hard to take inventory of your life at the age I've made it it to thus far and just remember things out of nowhere.

Guess this is an ambiguous post on an ambiguous platform. Let's leave it at that. More to come on hate part 2.

Pops

Father's Day came and went as it always does with very little celebration in the peanut shell mind of mine, but it is important none the less.  I always look at the tattoo on my arm and the memory/specter of my father flashes through my mind.  As a really young kid, maybe 6 or 7, I was deathly afraid of heights.  My dad, I guess you call him fearless or irresponsible, threw me on a roller coaster called the Jackrabbit at Kennywood park in West Mifflin, PA.  In my mind, West Mifflin is Pittsburgh, but in reality, it actually isn't.  Anyway, my dad tosses me, quite literally on this roller coaster that climbed 90 feet or so into the air.  The only thing holding me to my seat is a leather strap, much like a barber's sharpener, and my pop's arm.  He wore a smile the entire way.  I cried the entire way through the ride.  This coaster, not to sound super geeky here, included a double dip segment.  It was built in the 20s, I think and was made by John Miller....coaster god!  Anyway, it had this segment of track where the hill is interrupted by another hill, much like a rabbit hop.  My father, I swear, protected me from flying out of the car.  Therefore, I owe my dad my fear of "getting over heights" by force.  The ride ended.  I swear, tears in my eyes, balling from earlier, all I said was, "Let's do it again."

Thank you dad!

Win?

Cannot begin to state how great tonight was. Jud at Yankee stadium. Friends due. Nova pitching a gem.

Break Shit

All I wanna do is turn over the entire apartment.  I can't , but man how fun it would be to just pretend the entire apartment were bugged.  Every couch.  Every pillow.  Every tear.  Just gone.