I work with the public. It’s a blessing and a curse. Sometimes, I meet amazing people, like the couple who were Milwaukee Police for twenty years. And Black. You know those two have seen some shit, and dealt with racism far beyond they ever deserved. But then there’s days like today.

Nothing too bad about today, other than going to therapy(more on this later), and even that wasn’t too bad. But this person was going on about the death of gender roles, and traditional marriage values. As a white, mostly heterosexual male, you think I’d be on their side, right? I mean, who has benefited more from those values? WRONG.

I’m fifty-six. Most of the benefits of being a white hetero male got killed by the boomers, who voted Reagan into office. Reagan killed the middle class, crashed the tax code benefits of marriage, and suckered everyone into 401Ks. I’d explain why they were bad, but that’s a whole other blog post. Nope, by the time I got to the party, the boomers had sucked up all the money,done all the good drugs, and made sex evil again. Thanks, assholes.

No, what they left us white het males was toxic masculinity. That’s a catch all term for sexism, consumerism and capitalism masquearding as a code for pretty much mate, spawn and die. Where the money you make are the only things that are important, and your value is in money, kids and spouse. You’d think we’d have settled that after the 60’s and 70’s, but the boomers gave all that shit up for security. And look where it got them.

I want to tell those folks to fuck off. First of all, do you know how much I hate it that I hate when I cry? That I feel ashamed? That I’ve been so programmed by a garbage monoculture that invalidates my feelings because I have a cock?

You think that I don’t feel trapped by traditional gender roles? That I’m programmed to be fiscally responsible for other people, while the society around me makes that harder by the day, all so some old fat white folks can have more imaginary points? Meanwhile, I’m told to do it all alone, too.

What really pisses me off is how corporations, government and society have all shaped or been shaped by this garbage. And now expect women to slip back into traditional roles, and work too. What do they think is going to happen?

Precisely what is happening. Marriage and childbirth rates are down, as is home ownership by families. Hard to have a consumer society when no one can afford to consume, you morons.

But back to the toxic masculinity. I spoke about the toxic masculinity, and how it’s made me feel like a failure most of my adult life. I was supposed to feel like a man when I got married, had a kid, and bought a house? Big shocker, I didn’t.

To be honest, I don’t knwo what feeling like a man looks like, or feels like any more. And I’m starting to think that’s a good thing. Maybe we should stop thinking about gender roles, and about making people feel empowered and loved.

How about we talk to each other, make sure we’re feeling ok? How about we say hi to our neighbors? How about we feel good about the small things, like making the ones we love feel loved and happy? How about we build community with people , regardless of creed or color? How about we judge people by character and deed, and not what they can do for us?

I’m not saying it won’t be hard, and some of might fuck up in the process. but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. At it starts with the person you see in the mirror.

I told my therapist today(told you we’d get back here) that I didn’t like myself, let alone love myself. She told me she had to learn to love herself. Not like, but love. She said, some days she didn’t like herself, especially when she screwed stuff up. But she had to love herself, so that she could love other people. Because it all starts in our own skull.

If you’re reading this, do me a favor. Go into the bathroom, or where ever you have a mirror. Say this to the person: I love you. You’re not perfect, but you try to be. Aim for the stars, because there is nothing higher to reach for. Who you love, how much money you make, is not who you are, What you are is how you treat people. I will strive to be kind. I will strive to know better, and do better. When I fall, I will get back up. When I see others fall, I will try to help them back up. You are not alone. I love you.

Not easy, is it? But when we start loving ourselves more, we can love each other more. And that has nothing to do with what’s between our legs and what we do with them. And nothing to do with what we wear or who we love, but everything to do with who we are, and how we treat each other. Good night,

Let’s face it, getting old sucks. It sucks harder than a room full of Hoovers or MAGAs. One of the things that growing older does is it slows you down, makes it harder to move. We become sendentary.

I imagined myself for a time, looking like Christopher Walken at the end of the “Weapon of Choice” video by Fatboy Slim. Just sitting there and sighing. And my life reflected that attitude.

I was in a rut, a continual cycle of work and come home, spending my nights on the couch after dinner zombified by the television for hours before going to bed. It drove me to despair, and life losing a lot fo meaning.

Thankfully, I did something about it. I went to therapy, got some drugs, including hormone therapy. And then, I blew up my home life, which spiraled me down even further. I was lost, torn and unsure what to do next.

I found out about a Retro Goth night at Mad Planet in Milwaukee. I hadn’t been out dancing in years, in at least a decade. SO I went, unsure of how it was going to go. And guess what happened.

I danced my ass off that night. Johnny and the Goth Barge crew played stuff I hadn’t heard in decades. It was a night of sweat and catharsis. And it made me realize what I’d been missing.

Movement, dear readers. Movement and rhythm. Dancing brought me out of the depths of despair. Dancing in a community of strangers and people who would become friends soon, I found myself again.

There’s the lesson for today. In the words of Ludacris, Move, bitch! Don’t stop moving. There was a woman in a wheelchair grooving when I went back. I think communal dancing, even in small groups, is a ritual that’s good for the soul. Doesn’t matter what kind of music you like. Square dance if that’s your jam. But being all cooped up all the time sitting with just the screen isn’t good for you.

If you start dancing, you find your rhythm. Your heart rate lowers and you feel better. And you learn what you don’t like, and remember what you do. For the love of the gods, don’t age gracefully. I started dying my hair different colors and painting my nails again. If I hadn’t gone out that night, I don’t know how the last 8 9 months would have turned out. I would have surrendered to the ennui, I think. I never would have met the amazing people I’ve met along the way. And I wouldn’t have found love again.

People are going to read this and be unhappy. They’ll say how dare in the middle of all my issues I talk about happiness. I would tell them this:

Get a grip. Life is precarious in this country. We’re int he middle of a revolution/takeover/whatever you want to call it, it isn’t good. It’s so easy to give in to despair. Whatever joy we can get, take it, so long as it doesn’t hurt anybody. And if your world changing revolution means I can’t get my groove on every now and then on a weekend or any night, then I don’t want it. Emma Goldman had it down, baby. Good night.

I don’t like to talk about the divorce I’m going through. I don’t discuss details, don’t go into particulars. One, because my kids read this, and it’s between me and her, and it would hurt them to hear some of my feelings about the matter. Two, it’s my life and I don’t want to. But a couple things happened and like it or not, my divorce relates to one of them.

First of all, had a really great beginning to the week. Riot Fest was amazing, but the thing I wanted to talk about was taking Aubry to see Twenty One Pilots Tuesday night. It was my birthday gift to her. It was important to her, because the latest record is the end of a storyline that’s been woven through most of their records.

What struck me, without going into too much detail, is how the story dealt with the cyclical nature of life. How life has ups and downs, peaks and valleys, round and round it goes. The wheel turns forever. While the music was great, and mostly uplifting, it was sad to see the story end. The band is at the end of their contract with their label, and who knows when, if ever, they’ll be back around.

The next couple days were rough. Things got bad between my ex and me again. A cycle I thought we’d gotten past erupted again. And much to my chagrin, I reacted with trauma responses, behavior I thought I’d gotten past. I felt I was backsliding, like I hadn’t learned anything.

But then I realized, life goes in cycles. Things are never going to go on the way you think they will. All you cna do is go through them. And all you cna do is try to do better with them than you did the last time. Sometimes you’ll succeed. Sometimes, you don’t. I definitely didn’t.

So what to do in that situation? First, recognize that it’s happening. That was easy for me. Second, don’t beat yourself up for it. Much harder for me to do. I’m an expert at beating myself up. Third, allow yourself some grace for not doing it the way you wanted to. Feel your feelings, and let them go through you. Lastly, see what you can do to make it go better next time. In my case, I made an appointment with my therapist.

Also, realize that you can’t control a lot of life. You can wish for things to be different, but it also helps to have gratitude for the things in your life that are positive. I could wail about my troubles, or I could be happy about the positive people like Jasmine, Ryan, Leesa and AJ who lift people around them up. I aim to be more grateful every day.

To wrap things up, life’s going to hit you hard. It does everyone. Can’t help that, it’s life. And you’ll sometimes slip up and react in a not so good way.But forgive your trespasses against yourself. Know better, do better as much as possible. The universe is perfect. Good night.

I am an only child. It’s not that rare anymore, but growing up, it was considered weird. And I remember my mother getting questioned at length by strangers about it. And it colors your worldview, and how you see things. It really reinforced a belief in me, that I don’t belong anywhere.

I’ve never really felt like I belonged anywhere, I was kept away from people by my parents. Dad, because frankly, he didn’t like people and I was an embarrassment and he was ashamed of me. He told me this on several occasions, starting at ten years old.

So as I grew and walked through this world, I sought to join things, to find where i belonged. It certainly wasn’t normal society. I was bullied until I had a growth spurt at 15. It wasn’t the church, I was excommunicated for asking too many questions.

Then one day, my friend Billy gave me a tape. One side was Master of Puppets by Metallica. The other was Dealing with It by Dirty ROtten Imbeciles. This was my first exposure to metal and punk. And so I went to go experience this in person.

My first show was Ozzy/Metallica at Poplar Creek in 1986. That blew my mind, but it was one the next year that changed me forever. Anthrax, Exodus and Celtic Frost. I like to say, Fishbone was my Sex Pistols, but to be honest it was Anthrax. They came out to the Blues Brothers theme song. They wore Jamz onstage, and they rapped. They were so not the normal, but holy cats were they fun, angyr and wrote about comic books and Stephen King.

That began a long, long road of live music. More shows than I can think of , more bands than I can list. But the one that is important to todays writing happened in 1993. Dead Can Dance at the Vic in Chicago, exact date is unimportant.

What was important about that show is that I had a spiritual awakening during it. I had participated in a couple of circles. That show, that night , something else, something I can’t explain, spoke to me. I had what my friend Miles calls a UPG. It stands for Unverifiable Personal Gnosis. I encountered something divine in nature, and I know it, and I will never be able to prove it to you.

That too, started a road of spiritual seeking and searching. Books, meetings, circles, and fellowship. I miss FWOMP, the monthly meeting we had in the suburbs of Charlotte.

Along the way, I lost track of those two forces. I enjoyed shows, but didn’t experience them with the same oomph. And I hadn’t found any fellowship spiritually around here since moving back.

Then the last two days happened. First was Riot Fest. From running into people I knew online in person, to breaking down crying in the crowd for Dance Hall Crashers and Bad Religion, it was a level of catharsis I hadn’t had during a show in a few years. And it was a release, and needed, and I will be forever grateful for the people who made it possible.

Tonight, I did a ritual with other people for the first time in years. It was certainly the first time since moving back here, I felt the energy, I was welcomed. I was shown friendship and shared stories and conversation. It was the best time I’ve had spiritually in years.

As I sat here, trying to process the last couple days, it hit me: I belong here. I have friends, family of choice, and I matter to these people, and they openly care about me. It’s not transactional, I’m not wondering what it’s going to cost me. This is a new feeling, and it took me a minute to figure it out. In a pretty dark time in my life, these people have shown me a way towards the light, and are willing to hang with me while I get there. And they aren’t asking anything in return. I can’t thank them enough. Good night.

Every now and then, I have an okay day. Not going to tell you what or who made it okay. But sometimes, during those days something will come along and rock my world. And it was such a tiny thing that did that today.

It was a reel on FB,sent to me by my amazing partner, Jasmine. I won’t quote it exactly, but it was about healing. And it said, basically, that you’ve started healing when you actually don’t repat the patterns that were informed by your past traumas and history.

That floored me. Because what it made me realize was how much further I need to heal. Because I took a good hard look, and I am still stuck in some of those patterns. I still have avoidant behaviors. I still don’t do well with sticking with things. It made me think: I haven’t learned anything, I’m still so far behind on where I want to be, life wise and mental health wise.

It threw me into a depressive episode. I started catastrophizing, listing everything I haven’t done that I wanted to be doing by this time, after the separation. Brain weasels were in my head, like the orcs at Helm’s Deep. So I was stewing.

Then, like Gandalf, I started hearing Jasmine’s voice in my head. Reminding me that healing is a journey. And I started thinking of the patterns I’m stopping. Cutting down on sugar. Managing my money. Trying to actually keep in contact with people. Trying new things and going after what I want. Asking for what I want and need. Communicating openly about those things. And what’s happening?

I’m less angry. I’m less anxious. Is it perfect? Fuck no. I haven’t made it through a day yet without crying since March. I don’t expect I will any time soon.Not asking for sympathy or anything, just telling my truth.

And I have people around me who get it. Who are on their own healing journey. Or at least trying to be. And what do they tell me, besides to be patient?

To look at your actions. See if you’re doing the same shit. And ask people around you. Your real friends will tell you. Jon Berenthal said something to the effect of that your duty as a friend isn’t to abandon them when they fuck up, but to help them make sure they don’t do that shit again. I think in all of this, I’m finding out who those people are. And I love them. Good night.

Tonight’s title is a quote from Rev. Ivan Stang, the founder of the joke that became a religion, or vice versa, known as the Church of the Sub-Genius. I’m not going to try and explain them, just go to www.subgenius.com and take a gander. What’s on my mind is a core tenet of their religion, known as Slack.

Slack, to the Subgenius, is a force for good and pleasure in this world. It’s like the Force, but hornier. If you trust in it, and the Church, it will lead you to higher heights of fun and ecstasy.

One passage of the book noted that “Slack might put you in the hospital with a broken leg, but its only so you get the hand job of your life from a nurse there. “

I thought about Slack tonight, or maybe it crossed my mind, right after I got some bad news tonight. My partner’s partner and my friend , Ryan, was in a car accident. He’s fine. But he’s not rich, and he depends on his truck for his livelihood. So I was concerned, once i knew he was OK. My partner said his truck was in the shop.

This is how divinity works, in my mind. Not floods nor fires. God is in the details, not in the large print. They’re in that truck not being there for him to crash. A thousand things that can change the world by miles within a space of an inch.

Ryan says “the universe is perfect”. Its not the idea that everything is hunky dory, tis that good things come your way, little by little every day, if we care enough to see them. You can call it mindfulness, or satori, or Slack. But it can make the world a better place for you, if you only take the time to look at it from the right angle. Up to you. I’m changing my perspective, and it does make the world better. Good night.

Today’s 9/11. I’m not going to argue or debate anything about it today. I’m just going to tell my story of 9/11. This is my truth of that day. We owe the dead nothing but the truth.

I was working and living in Kenosha. I worked for a market research firm called Market Probe. We did phone and in-person marketing research surveys. It was pretty bad but not the worst job I’ve ever had.

As usual, I’d stopped in the Walgreens next door. Someone said they’d heard on the news that a plane had hit the World Trade Center in New York. I just thought some bozo in a Cessna had a bad day.

When I got to work, that’s when I learned that the plane was a jumbo jet. It confused me, because I knew a lot of stuff had to fuck up for that to happen. But I went to work.

We were actually calling businesses in New York that morning. Manhattan, to be precise. Stupid surveys about new business names. I called and called, kept getting no answers or hang ups. After about a half hour, I got an answer.

“Oh fuck,” the guy said, “I thought you were my wife calling me back. “

I tried explaining what I was doing. He wasn’t having it.

“We’re evacuating the building. I’m in the World Trade Center.”

His next words froze me in my seat. “Holy shit. A body just fell past my window.” The call ended.

A few minutes after that, and a dozen more calls, My boss came out of her office. She was an older woman, very stern. She was ghost white.

“Everyone shut off your phones. A second plane has hit the World Trade Center.”

You have very few moments where you know, right then and there, that the world has changed, and for the worse. A loved one dies. You lose your job. This was bigger. And we had no idea what to do next. We wandered around the office. It was before everyone had internet on their phone, so people were looking for a television. We never found one. My boss had the radio on in her office. She yelled “God damn it” when the announcer said another plane had hit the Pentagon. That was when they sent everyone home.

I didn’t drive at that time, so I started walking home. One of my coworkers grabbed me by the arm, and told me he’d drive me home. Nobody needed to be out walkign right now. When I got home, the guys in the apartment downstairs waved me into their place. First thing I was was the Pentagon burning. I burst into tears.

I got my neighbor to drive me to Lianna’s after a bit. My stepdaughters had all been picked up by their grandmother. We sat there all night watching the news. I feared for my children. I feared for everyone. I called my parents and checked on my neighbors.

I’m normally posting here to do positive things. But I can’t think of anything positive about that day. I visited the memorial a few years ago. They have bodies they still haven’t identified. I wondered if one of them was the guy who fell or who I talked to.

After 9/11, I didn’t work for a week, I soon got my driver’s license and quit the market research business. People got mean after 9/11. They got scared. A moment that could have united us, divided us further. If there’s anything that 9/11 did, was it made it easier to find some strains of assholes. Good night.

Yeah, I wanted to use a song quote as per usual, but nothing seemed as appropriate as the scene that this line is from. Because we’re going to talk about something I avoid: fighting.

I know, there’s many of you hiding a laugh or giggling. I’m not know for shirking away from conflict. I have been known to wade into it, mental or physical, online or in person. And with an impending invasion of Chicago by the federal government, conflict is on my mind tonight.

But this won’t be about politics. you can find how I feel by looking at my FB page, And if you don’t like where I stand, there’s the door. But here’s the thing about fighting: I don’t actually like it. At all.

I grew up in a household of immense violence. Emotional and physical violence were rampant, and there’s suspected sexual violence as well. My father never hit me, but he threw a lot of stuff at me, and at times, threw me.

By the time I reached my late teens, I had been in alot of fights. I lost most of them, until a growth spurt at 16. Then I started winning them. Or so I thought. When I was 18, I got into a fight with a guy outside a bar. I put him in the hospital. I was given a choice:jail, military or find a martial arts class.

Thanks to the gods, I found Sensei Tseng and Aikido. It introduced me to(after several kickings of my ass) to non violent conflict resolution, and that was folded into the Samurai way of conflict resolution. Bottom line: I don’t start fights. Ever. You start a fight, you’ve already lost.

This si a good philosophy, but it left me blind. I was so busy looking for people who started with me, I didn’t notice the people who’d already started a fight with me, and I didn’t see them coming. Until it was too late.

As a result, I got hit. And hit in the soft places. My mind and emotions, left wounded by decades of trauma, never expected those blows to come again. And what did I do? Did I fight back? No I retreated. I fled and fawned. Look up trauma responses, and that’s what I did. And ods, did it cost me.

But that brings us to today. I had my triggers for conflict pushed hard today. I wanted to rely on my old pals, Fawn and Flight. But I didn’t . I fought. Not with fights, or passive aggressive behavior. I fought with carefully thought out words and careful actions and responses. And I feel better for those responses.

When you’re attacked, you can have automatic responses. I’ve done it dozens of times. But as I get older, the more I realize that automatic responses and fights are not the best action. Nobody ever really wins a fight. I haven’t felt good about getting into a fight since the Eighties. But I won’t shirk back from conflict. I just have better ways to handle them. I hope you find some too. Good night.

I’m in the process of doing Alan Moore’s BBC Maestro class on writing, being a writer, and worshipping snake gods. Just kidding about the last part. I think. One of the things Moore does to me every time I interact with any of his work is reignite my love of language and history. I’m going to talk about both, but only in the metaphorical sense. I’m going to talk about how my inner language has affected my personal history.’

I was never taught how to talk to myself. I imagine most of us weren’t. What we say to ourselves is both learned and experienced into us. Some of it may even be hardwired into us by brain chemistry and genetics. And it can even be the society or culture you’re raised in.

I was raised in a quiet household. At least mostly. When you’re an only child, not a whole lot of conversation happening. My parents usually spoke to correct or complain. If I wanted affirmation or affection, I had to be hurt or do well in school. Neither of my parents knew how to express positive emotions. My father didn’t tell me he loved me until I was 30. And my mother was trapped in a cycle of addiction and abuse from my dad. So silence was preferable to the yelling.

I could detail my life, but by the time I got to adulthood, I had a very negative way of talking to myself. There was no successes, ever. Nothing was ever good enough. Those inner voices, fueled by trauma, family, society, and the people who were supposed to love me, left me with no belief in myself, no faith in my ability to do anything. All my reasons for doign things were external, not internal.

It was the language I was using. Moore reminded me of the power of the Word. The Gospel of John says, in the beginning was the Word. The Words you say to yourself create your reality. And I’m now taking action to change my Words.

I’m ignoring the voices, slowly. I call them brain weasels. They’re slick slimy and awful. They say the worst things. Think you can say things to hurt me? Get in line. You have nothing that can wound me, only if you’re important to me. And most of you aren’t, sorry.

Positive words. Affirmations. For a guy raised on Stuart on SNL and crap like Hazelden and twelve steps, it all seemed a joke. But recently, after this trainwreck of a year, I started looking into it. Looking at it as rewiring the pathways. Yeah, its a construction project like I-94, and just as messy. But its getting better. And I have people who say the positive, and dont use it just to sweeten the bitter medicine of their own narcissism and negativity. I’m not talking Barney level garbage, but belief in my own power and love for me. And just for me being me.

Try it. Get up tomorrow morning, do some stretching. (Words +movement= double strength reinforcement. Go look up Steven Barnes.) Say things like “I love myself” and “I am enough.” It’s amazing what it will do for you. And you deserve to be happy. I deserve to be happy. And that’s all I have. Good night.

(Reverend’s note: Yes, you can name the song this is from, but defy you to name the group. No checking.)

I’ve had a hard time with heroes, especially in writing. Both personally and professionally, been some major letdowns. Neil Gaiman was the professional, and I won’t discuss the personal. Those who need to know, know.

But Alan Moore has never let me down. He’s always been who he is, and still a legend. Has he done stupid, and even distasteful stuff? Yeah, but he’s never sexually assaulted anyone. So, yes I still admire him.

That admiration has grown even more today. I got his BBC maestro class for a Yule gift two years ago, and circumstances have let me neglect it. Thankfully, it hadn’t expired. I finished the first six lessons today, and it really flipped my wig.

Alan shocked the world at fifty when he told everyone he was taking up magic and starting to worship a Roman two headed snake god. But for people who knew him and paid attention, it wasn’t that big a surprise. The magician has always been there, through his writing. But I’m here to talk about his lesson, not his career.

One of the lessons , and one of his over arching ideas, is that writing is magic. Considering he’s the first person who ever talked about sigil magic, hardly surprising. Some would say it’s his ego talking, or maybe it’s because he recognized the power of the word.

The biggest lesson I took away from this portion of the class was about Will. That you must believe in yourself, and what you’re doing. That you believe in your goals, your dreams, and your ideas. It’s powerful and scary stuff, especially in today’s world.

We are taught to believe, but not in ourselves. Modern society only celebrates the will as it helps sell things. You can do it if you buy or consume this. Get the right thing, you’ll go far. Don’t buy this, you’re a loser. But no real development of the will.

People with a solid will, can do great things, and horrible things. Trump is Will without brains or reason. FDR was Will with a conscience. Ask any success story, and chances are, Will got them there. And it has to start with you, nobody else.

I have a hard time with Will. I was raised by narcissists who couldn’t countenance any Will but their own. But their Will was weak, because real Will doesn’t rely on destroying someone else’s. So now, at 56, I’m finally taking the steps to believe in myself, to think I can do things, and accomplish what I set my mind to. To become a better, perhaps even good, person.

Diamond Dallas Page has a saying: “What would you do, if you knew you couldn’t fail?” And that’s the heart of Will . That you won’t let life stop you. That you’ll get up in the morning, look in the mirror, and say: YES I CAN. Good night.