So my father calls me up tonight to let me know that a friend of the family passed away...
To tell me that my niece and her baby boy are doing well...
And to tell me that my sisters think I'm in need of either serious therapy or incarceration.
What makes them worry for my safety and sanity?
This web-site.
Aaawwww shit...
Just where the hell do I begin with this? I guess I have to do some explaining for my dear siblings, so the rest of this post will be directed specifically at them.
If you aren't family... Feel free to fuck off now; This is for the people I love and it just may be the most raw and honest stuff I've published here.
Let me start by saying that I'm truly sorry if you're losing sleep or worried about me. At this point, I don't know what I could do to convince you all... But I'm actually very happy with my life. I do get in a mood now and then, but that's what art is for... I'll explain more about this later on, but it's like a quote from one of my favorite bloggers: "I make art instead of kill people." Her art is some of the best I've ever seen.
But you're probably wondering about the whole venue and medium.
Lets' break it down as far back as we can go...
First of all... you guys all know who my Father is. You know he isn't wrapped all that tight himself. We're talking about a man that likes to tell stories about shitting his pants in public and who also puts damn near everyone's business out in the street during gatherings.
So be glad that most of my brutish examination is pointed either inward or at shitty modern icons.
Second... If you haven't met my Mom, you've heard stories... Mostly from Dad.
What you probably haven't heard is that she has a knack for inciting an argument... I mean REALLY pushing a person's buttons and getting them to dance.
I've written letters that are so damned scathing that the subjects (who usually distance themselves from public forums) can't stop themselves from responding. In a day and age where politicians and wheel-turners feel themselves above reproach, that is one hell of a talent.
Now... That little bag of tools and traits is just one of the reasons why I do this... And it's a good start.
That may just explain the core beginnings, but there is a lot more to it.
Growing up:
All I wanted to do was draw unicorns and goof off.
But it's not a world of faeries and elves alone... There are phantoms and vampires and warlords in this world, and they just can't leave a kid alone.
Maybe Dad can help me out with this... I'm not sure how old I was when my best friend died. It was kind of odd to have Dad tell me that I was never going to see him again. "The Incredible Hulk" was our favorite hero.
A little prophetic when you consider how angry I would later become and how that anger kept me from total despair... Which would have choked the life from me.
Some of you now know what I lived with growing up.
I'm sorry for seeming like a spoiled little brat and I've been told that most of you are sorry you didn't know what I was going through. It's really no big deal anymore... It's just shaped my view of things.
You can't be twelve years old, get beaten bloody all the way through a house and not have an opinion about it.
It's hard to carry an AK-47 at fourteen into a drug-deal and not question the events that put you there.
When you're alone with one of your older brother's friends somewhere and he's doing lines in the car while he makes you wander around in an empty lot...
You get the idea.
Brian and I were never close. I've forgiven him for most of the shit he pulled, but it's not like I'm aching to get to know him better.
I could take it or leave it, really.
Don't worry... I like the rest of you just fine. Ernie was always like an older-brother should be.
Now for the other reason I do this (besides dancing with demons and attempting to reclaim and redefine myself):
I get a kick out of it.
Pure and simple... Writing has always been one of my most favorite forms of expression. It's all the same words... But depending on how they are arranged, you can cause a whole volume of reactions.
one of the first reactions I want is the "weeding"... I want people who aren't going to get it, and also those who don't need it to leave.
I'm not sure if you guys know who Henry Rollins is or not, but his writing helped me out. He's this Frontman for Rollins Band and he used to sing in Black Flag. What you guys will know him from is "Bad Boys 2" (The DEA Agent directing the raid) and "HEAT" (He's the guy Al Pacino grabs by the face and puts through a window near the end of the movie so he can get information on Waingrow.)... Possibly even "The Chase" with Charley Sheen (He's the pissed-off cop with the buzz-cut who's' chasing them.).
Anyhow... Hank's writing was a pivotal point. I knew that I wasn't along in my views and anger... But I also knew that someone else might benefit from my writing.
I know you guys have seen the movie "Pulp Fiction".
I know you remember the part where Bruce Willis walks in with the swords and Ving Rhames is being gang-raped.
I'm pretty sure you saw people walk out of the movie theater.
That's the reaction I'm looking for.
This stuff isn't for everyone.
I told Dad that I always have worried about getting any family in the cross-fire.
Sometimes I get a little tired of it as well. Just sometimes.
Hunter s. Thompson put a bullet in his head because he created a monster that got more attention than he did. All anyone wanted to read was the Gonzo, Raul Duke stuff... But his heart was in Sports-Writing.
Me... I'm lucky.
Most people associate me with the monster and my heart lies in ripping myself open for others to poke around in.
Besides... Suicide is way too easy...
The only way to truly test your endurance is to keep going.
When my mind, body, amd emotions are screaming at me, "I can't fucking take it anymore! Why won't the pain end? Just stop it! STOP IT!"...
There is another voice that is just as calm as the others are chaotic, and that voice says, "Wait... Lets just see what happens next. The pain will go away... The pain will return... It doesn't matter. Let's just see what happens next."
And when I'm sobbing on the floor in horror and revulsion... Awash in the moment I'm stuck in... That other facet of my personality; The impersonal, calculating thing stands me up and walks me out of it with an otherworldly dignity.
Shit... I mighta lost some of you there.
The point is that I am aware of my actions.
That is what you need to understand: I am aware of what I do, no matter how immoral or reprehensible it may seem.
That and I like freaking people out.
So really... No worries.
You can tell Dr. Phil that I'm not a danger to myself or others... As long as those others are family, anyway.
I also just discovered that my fucking cell-phone is broken so I'm not getting any calls. This really sucks because I was going to call Sara. I'll try and get a hold of someone tomorrow morning then. Love you guys,
-Michael