This is What Fire Feels Like

I feel like I’m losing my mind. Unraveling. I’m scared(?) Yes. Scared of what?
Dying?
Fucking up. Having what family I have left disown me.

But I know there is no other path. I have to do this. I have to go back to Europe and play music. Get energized by the city. Berlin. I need to get to. I need to focus. Pick one thing and go for it. But first there something I have to attend to, when my body screams to focus on one thing and go for it, to stop wasting my time.

I am staying in Canada to make up a high school course I need for successful application to college. Its going to be hard but good to have it done and be registered.

As soon as its done I want to be gone. Perfecting my street show. Touching people with my music. I’m so good. And I’m getting better every day. The practicing is getting so high-level and sophisticated. My fingers are getting more adept, dextrous and deft. I really enjoy the sound I’m making.

I met with an old friend this evening. He, like many people who care about me asked me if I had ever thought about seeing a therapist. I told him I had, but I also told him there were two reasons I had not.

First, and it bears mention, I am not in the Canadian health care system. This is an obstacle that I have not surmounted, but it is surmountable.

Why haven’t I surmounted it?

I’m not convinced that I am wrong. I’m not convinced that I should pack up and go home on my aspirations, my higher ones. True, massage has a place in my life and I want to develop that over the longer term. So I will do this course. I need to do it, to pave a more streamlined future track for myself down the road.

In the interim, I can still live in Hamilton I think. It’s not Berlin, or Paris, or Amsterdam, but it has something. And there is family here; my military regiment.

I love to spend hours at the cenotaph, playing by the new monument for the war in Afghanistan. As I play, improvising over the same few chords over again, and really going for it musically, the guitar migrates to my right side, I pull my right shoulder back to accommodate the new position and I feel waves of release pulsing through my arm, shoulder and back. A healing is taking place at a deeper level and I work through things mentally and emotionally. Clarity comes.

My guitar is going to be all I have for a while. I think I am ready. It’s not the biggest piece of debris scattered around the shipwreck but it will float my weight.

It may not be the biggest cross on the hill but I think I can die on it.

-Dre

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Pyramid of Truth

Friends,

When it comes to human perception and comprehension, I think absolute truth is mostly unknowable. We tend to float around the truth with approximations of it shaded by our own biases, perspective and rigor in pursuing knowledge on that tack. If there is a fixed, universal truth, we may as well consider it an unreachable, imperceptible ideal which we strive toward in what is essentially an act of faith. We simply don’t have the faculties to perceive/comprehend it, though we can get closer and infinitely closer approximations of it.

Honestly though, we could almost consider this inability to reach/perceive/comprehend truth a mercy, for imagine how much difficulty we would have if, grasping the complete truth we tried to communicate it to our fellows. Rare is the individual who can communicate the truth of something without bias and rarer still the one who can listen and hear without objection.

Instead, I think that human perceptions of truth in any realm are like looking up at the top of a pyramid -where you stand around the base might give you a view of the north, south, east and west-facing aspects of the top (and that might be considered your politics/religion/school of thought/prejudices on that issue). But the higher you advance upward from that position at the base, in that linear mindset? Your view of the truth/tip stays the same (though maybe the fine details get clearer)

Think about it; the only way to gain a more complete view of the tip is to walk around the base. To carry the analogy further, this is akin to holding, and perhaps even arguing, different positions to experientially understand their truth. A simple example, might be a lifelong Marxist vs. an someone who became Marxist after spending most of their life as a Rational Choice Individualist: in this scenario, who might be said to have a more complete view of the truth? I would say the latter. It matters little how you move from position and stance throughout your life, what matters instead is how much work and effort you put into understanding each position as you adhere to it.

If you think about each position, you walk around the base.

If you talk about each position, you walk around the mid-portion of the pyramid.

If you do/live/act each position, you traipse about the upper portion with a closer view of each side of the tip.

And whether circling the pyramid at the bottom, middle or top, what happens when you see the pinnacle, the ideal, the tip from all directions? Well, if you can remember accurately how it looked from each perspective you can put together in your mind’s eye a composite image of the entire tip -something that can only be seen in real-time from above as if you were aloft above the pyramid looking down at it. And knowing what the entire tip/truth looks like is at least as good as, if not better than, seeing it.

Isn’t this a transcendence of that particular issue/question/pyramid/hierarchy?

I would say yes.

What I said earlier about the absolute truth being unknowable notwithstanding, there are many microcosmic domains whose pyramids of truth we have ascended and transcended in our individual lives. These are the domains where we might be said to have achieved mastery, or at least something functionally close to it. And even if the idea of inequality implied by ascending the pyramid troubles you due to a commitment to social justice, you can’t deny that as we build up our skills and aptitudes and knowledge, it certainly feels like we are ascending above others.

***********************************************

The pyramid never ceases to amaze me and enlighten me as a a conceptual tool for understanding the world and complex ideas. If only ancient people had erected pyramids everywhere on the planet to signify how key they were to understanding universal truth.

Best,
-Dre

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The Look of Love

Friends,

Staying with my uncle these past couple weeks out on Lake Huron and spending my days helping out at his restaurant. Yesterday evening I came down from the staff room, having shed my sweater and rocking a sleeveless tank, ready to don an apron and begin helping out with dishes.

There were two attractive girls at the bar in the mid 30s age range and the blond one, let’s call her ‘Holly’, was like, “Wow, you have big muscles!” I looked at Holly, and from my peripherals I could tell the guy sitting behind her was narrowing his eyes at me.

“Thank-you,” I responded.

“You wanna arm wrestle?” the guy blurted out?

“No thanks, they’re just for show.” I responded with a smile.

“I bet!” he shot back.

I looked at him, widening my smile, “ and responded quickly, “None taken!” -a clever little retort for forms of aggression passive and veiled that I picked up from the Brits. Even he had to break eye contact and chuckle.

In a mild state of disbelief and amusement about how low this guy went right from the hop, I turned my attention back to Holly.

“Who are you?” she asked.

Smiling good-naturedly, I gave her my best George Costanza: “I’m the opposite of every man you ever met.”

I guess I must have reached my left hand up to my face as I sad this, because as he quickly interjected, “I doubt it!”, she exclaimed, “I would love to love you!” -the script tattooed on my left forearm.

She quickly turned to her husband to explain she was just reading my tattoo.

Sure 🙄

Him again: “You wanna come by our hot tub tonight?”

I said, “sure” not really expecting anything to materialize from it. I was right in assuming it was a desperate effort to regain face.

There was quiet for a second and I said, “Actually I’m gonna go hot tub my hands in the dish-pit. Nice meeting you guys.”

I turned to put on an apron and the girls came behind the bar and began invading the kitchen to have a look; they’re friends of my uncle and cousins who own the place so I just let it happen. After the girls passed me I was still tying up my apron still and the guy came behind the bar.

“What’s your name, brother?” I asked.

“D’Arcy” he responded.

He broke eye contact first and mumbled something about nothing, continuing on into the kitchen and through to the adjacent store where the girls were talking to the staff and having a look around.

I followed to collect dishes and overhead him saying some more comments about my unwillingness to arm wrestle.

“Fuck it!” I thought, “Why not?”

I noticed he had the name of a construction firm on his hat so I assumed that was his profession.

“Hey D’Arcy!”

He looked at me and they walked over.

“You work in construction, right?”

“Yeah…”

“I work on my computer; I have no business arm-wrestling you.” I’m not sure if his wife got the sub-text, but he did: “I’m as fit as you and probably smarter than you.”

They left soon after. I’ve gotten a lot better at holding gaze and speaking slow and truthfully. In the past I would have gotten tripped up by such overt flirtation and aggression, but I really took this instance in stride, kept my composure and even gave a little back.

Best,

-Dre

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Humility is a Game of Limbo

Friends,

If you have been keeping up with my writing as of late, you may recall that I am doing some soul-searching about what the right path forward is in life. One thing which has come up a lot over the last couple of years is going back to school, and the field of discipline that keeps coming up is massage therapy. The hands are sacred; they are our interface with the world, and the more I learn the more I come to think/agree that our ability to think clearly and logically has a lot to do with our proficiency with our hands.

There are many things we can do with our hands; many ways we can make them skilled. Just over a year ago I started playing guitar and its made my hands a lot less…’stupid’. If the above assertion about the hand/brain connection holds true, then my brain is a lot less stupid also. If I can train my hands in even more sophisticated ways, what might it be possible for me to do with them, and by association, with my brain?

I like healing people. I like massage for that purpose. It’s a pure form of healing. Massage is to medicine what stand-up comedy is to entertainment. No team, no no complicated scheduling, no chemicals, no expensive apparatus. Just a motherfucker, a microphone/jar of coconut oil, and an audience.

I’m good at it. I have an aptitude, and even rudimentary skills. But its an important enough skill to learn more and have a better foundation in.

Taking a cursory look at RMT degree programs, I noticed right away that there are pre-requisites I don’t possess. Chiefly high-school biology. So, if I decide to go this route I will have to go way back and brush up on high-school courses for admittance. That is irksome, but I can imagine it being fun and, as per the title, humbling.

I ordered my high-school transcripts today so that I can present them to the adult learning center if I need to. I’m on the fence right now about whether to go forth into the world and travel once again and I hope that the next few days make the decision clearer, but even if I do leave again, I can hopefully do these courses remotely and get them done.

I should have gotten them done in high school, but a stupid teacher made an untrue comment about the nature of studying biology and I was completely disenchanted by the whole subject. Now however, it feels like it might be time to go back and make up for what was mistakenly neglected.

On the Billy Madison tip!

Best,
-Dre

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Sometimes I Sound Like a 15 Year Old Girl

Friends,

I am restless. I am back in Canada. I want to be on the road again. I will stay until Canada Day at least. I have an obligation that I mustn’t miss. That’s just over a month. Not enough time to put down roots. Not enough to really even rekindle friendships that have been stretched by distance and time apart.

I’m scared. Everyone is getting older. I’m not all I could be. I want to be around for them but it doesn’t seem worth it. Not while there is still so much doing and improving to be undertaken. People I have fallen out of touch with, even the people whom I love most in the world, have just sort of faded into the background of my life. Into a grey. They, and their problems, and their stories.

I’ve learned I can live without some people. I’ve learned I have to live apart from others. The ‘people’ I can’t live without? I haven’t met that person yet. But I’m open to it.

I’m alone, but…

I’m hopeful. I have faith in the righteousness of my path. I have faith in the example I am/can be for others. I have faith because I have broken faith before and tried to fit in a life that wasn’t mine, and I know where tat road leads. I have faith in heaven because I have experienced hell.

It was comfortable. It was safe. It was perfect. It wasn’t for me.

I’m faced with that choice again: The choice to stay in the warm suffocating embrace and accept, what is to me, mediocrity, or to double down and keep this momentum going.

I have to keep it going. To stake my life on it and make the ultimate commitment to….

I don’t have a word for it, yet. But every day, the picture gets a little clearer.

God bless,
-Dre

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Sexting on the Spectrum

Friends,

I’m picturing something:

Imagine a blowjob, but it seems to last forever. You take my dick into your mouth, pushing it against the back of the throat until your eyes water. You pull off, spit on it and while stroking with your hand you engulf my balls with your mouth. You know just how much pressure to apply with both mouth and jaw, giving gentle, juicy caresses instead of a deep tissue massage. When they’re nice and sloppy, you warmly work your way down, and your tongue begins jabbing for my asshole like a pugilist. When it connects, it lands a hook-hook-uppercut combination which knocks me the fuck out.

You snap me back to consciousness by pulling back my foreskin and teasing the exposed and incredibly sensitive head with tongue and (a tiny bit of) teeth. The powerful sensation focuses my attention completely onto you and the movements of your mouth. My whole body is tensed up as you tap dance on the tip with your tongue (Rest in Peace Gregory Hines).

You begin swirling your tongue around the outer circumference of the head like the hands of a potter applied to a lump of clay on a wheel. You stare me in the eyes as you do this. You have the sexiest eyes, and the look is amused with a tinge of malice.
The stare down continues a moment as your tongue continues its pirouettes.

I begin to smile and relax. The tip of my dick in your mouth feels like dipping my toes into a lake during a hot summer day. Your breath makes me feel a slight chill on the length of my saliva-moistened shaft, not unlike my limbs feeling a chill from the breeze after I emerge from a swim.
The gentle movements of your tongue on my head are almost like the weeds and minnows swimming by curiously and brushing my heels.

But everything at the lake is not so peaceful as it seems. The theme from Jaws begins to play. I open my eyes realizing I’m not alone. I begin to panic, frantically flailing my arms trying to swim to shore. You gently tighten your fist enough to ensure I can’t escape, still staring, licking and smiling menacingly.

The Jaws music intensifies.
You stop.
I stop.
The music stops
Everything is quiet
…..

Then!
Oh shhhhyyiiittt!
IT’S A BIG OL’ SHARK, NIGGA!!

You fucking GULP my dick like it’s Ahab’s leg, ramming it all the way down your throat and throwing your arms around my waist so I can’t escape. I put a pillow in my face and scream all kinds of obscenities; calling you a bitch and a mean-spirited harpy shrew of a cunt.

You find this funny. Then you think it would be even funnier to stick a finger up my ass.

You’re so funny.

You do this and I bite deep into the pillow as my cock starts contracting in your throat. You, feeling it twitch, receive the first few powerful spurts into the back of your throat and then pull your head back to take the rest into your mouth. I stop moving except for involuntary twitches. You ask me what’s wrong. I can’t say anything.

You let some dribble out the corners of your mouth and fall to my stomach like an OG pouring out some of his 40 to honour the dead homie.

Then you start again…

Best,
-Dre

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Crossing ‘a’ Rubicon

Friends,

I’ve always had some hang-ups about sex. I’m now seeking to break those hang-ups and become a fully realized sexual being.

For years, whether single, in a relationship, or other, I would look through craigslist’s now defunct personals section and fantasize about all manner of sleazy, dirty, “shameful’ encounters I could have with strangers. I never had the gumption to pull the trigger on such encounters though and fantasies they remained.

I have been mistrustful of women in my time (thanks, Mom) and have gravitated to long-term relationships where there was a power/experience/maturity differential in my favour. I wasn’t a bad boyfriend per se, but I certainly wasn’t all that I could be because I wasn’t being challenged. I stayed with women who, though lovely, were too afraid to lose me to really take me to task. (Except one, and I fucked that one up big time XD).

I’ve been reading a lot more since getting an Audible subscription a few months back and the books I have been reading have been giving me greater perspective into my own challenges and the ways in which I might transcend my current plateaus. I’m not just talking about sex here either -but of course it connects to everything and I am of the view that no malady, limitation, or impingement exists in isolation:

Reading Blanton’s “Radical Honesty” I saw clearly how my own self-repression and moralizing was crippling my spirit. Reading Sarno’s “Understanding Back Pain”, I saw that the limitation in my shoulder and associated soreness might have less to do with anything mechanical, but rather be a means by which my psyche distracts me from emotional trauma and memories that are unpleasant. I recently finished Amanda Palmer’s “The Art of Asking” and it inspired me to be more bold and unafraid about asking for the things I want and committing to the life I have chosen for myself.

However, it was yesterday, having just started reading Manson’s “The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck” that I crossed the eponymous “Rubicon” of this post’s title: About two weeks ago, having returned to Canada I set up a profile on a singles website and in the last few days I have approached by someone trying to ‘orchestrate’ a threesome. Long story short, we exchanged nude photos.

Sending full-frontal naked photos of myself is an unprecedented first for me. I was really reluctant because I still am in the process of accepting who I am and what I’m about, and irrational fears about someone using such photos against me in the future abound in my brain. But reading (listening) to Manson’s book as I mulled the question over in my brain spurred me to say, “fuck it!” I know who I am and what I’m about and this could be an amazing opportunity to explore my sexuality -or at the very least grow my courage. The people I admire most have no compunctions about their naked bodies and I should endeavour to be one of the people I admire most.

24 hours later. Still no blackmail.

I have built a life as something of a professional traveler. I have gotten by on the kindness of strangers and trusted people to come through for me.

Why should things be any different in my sex life?

God bless!
-Dre

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