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dadwizardinadress-blog · 6 years

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Dead Kitten

Last night, I saw some newborn kittens in the parking lot of my apartment building. I wanted to make sure they had shelter, so I went inside and fashioned a little bed out of a box and a dish towel. When I came back, there was only one kitten left. I didn’t want to move it far in case its mom came back. I put the little guy in the bed and tucked him under the staircase.

I started to hear him whimpering and then there were echoing whimpers coming from near by. I knew it must have been his family. After looking around for a bit, I found, under the bottom stair, inside the staircase, was the family of kittens, mother and all. The couple kittens had fallen out of the side of the stair where I found them originally. I returned the kitten to the mother, who was understandingly skeptical of me at first. Then, I got them a bowl of water and went to bed.

I wondered if I had helped at all. I wondered if the mom knew where here babies were the whole time, and I had only caused the smallest one fear when moving it around. But I figured, it was probably good that I reunited them - just in case on of the kittens crawled off and got run over by a car or eaten by a hawk or something.

The next day, I saw the kitten I had cared for the night before dead in the middle of the parking lot. It had been run over by a car two spots over from mine. The corpse was tattered and there were flies buzzing around the body. I was heartbroken.

I know all things die. I know roadkill happens all the time. And I know it was all out of my hands. But seeing the dead kitten was really sad.

Death is super weird.

Doled out at random.

With no consideration for fairness or value.

When I die, it’ll be for no reason.

I’ll just be looking for mother one day.

And then the next day I’ll be in pieces on the parking lot, rotting in the sun.

And yet I found it easier to care for that kitten in that moment than it was to take care of myself.

Funny how we have sympathy for life outside the self in ways that we sometimes don’t for life inside.

I’m sad the cat died.

I’m gonna try to take better care of myself.

Strange day.

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dadwizardinadress-blog · 6 years

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Shame

Sometimes I wish I had a judge.

Someone to weigh all my actions.

Deliver an indictment.

I feel as though I walk around recruiting all day.

Flogging myself in preparation.

Hiring everyone to help prosecute.

Turning down the defendant appointed to me by the state.

Opting instead to represent myself.

Am I a toxic person? Or am I only capable of being loved by toxic people? Probably neither. Probably just got some stuff to work on and so does everyone else. Why then am I so transfixed on the self-crucifixion? The radiation to kill everything good and bad the same. Just to be sure. God forbid I let it go unchecked. Cancerous growth that will swallow me whole and then the world. No no. Best to decimate the thing from the start.

But but but maybe the only real crime is making my own insecurity every one else’s to reconcile instead of dealing with it myself.

Is shame some unskilled hand trying to thread the needle and stitch me back together? Need I recognize its intention and let it dissipate? I’ll let grace take it from here. Probably.

Because who am I serving in buckling under shame? Certainly not justice. Certainly not those I’ve hurt.

And I have hurt others. Not intentionally. Not with any malice. But pain nonetheless. Usually a sense of recklessness involved. And all you can do is apologize, ask what you can do, do that, and move on. And if a bridge got burned, that’s okay. It’s not yours to demand be rebuilt.

But making mistakes doesn’t make one unworthy. It’s the reactions right?

I know this intellectually but can’t help but feel consumed by remorse and terror and fear et cetera et cetera et cetera.

But all I have is myself.

Regardless of all solicited and unsolicited opinions.

I’m the judge. And that sucks.

I’m the least reliable narrator and yet I’m the only with the access to the keyboard here.

And the ego - split into - somehow waiting for everyone to agree that I’m either a saint or a menace.

But no one is coming. It’s just me.

And all I can do is move on and move forward. Learn. Serve. Attempt to, at least.

But I’m crippled by the fact that I’ve hurt people.

And by the fact that I might not know how I’m hurting people right now or might hurt them in the future.

How does anyone take a step knowing they’ll kill the microorganisms on the floor?

I see so much death in my wake.

And then I think drama queen big deal get over it. What makes ye so less worthy? How are you that special that you deserve less?

No one can pardon you.

You can flog yourself forever and condemn yourself with every breath.

But your arm and tongue can be used for so much more, y’know?

And no one tells you how.

That’s the curse of the freedom of mind.

Jesus.

And now it’s late and you’ve only spent your time picking up and putting down the scissors. Wondering what needs changing. You or the world. Probably you. Probably tomorrow.

And peace will probably not come all at once as some divine revelation but I’m fractured bits over time. And you’ll lose some and gain some. And maybe you’ll get free when you can tape enough scraps together to make a frame through which you can see the world and the world can see you.

Please try to.

You serve no one trying to bury your head in the sand.

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dadwizardinadress-blog · 6 years

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The Monk Without A Robe (Haiku)

Time to meditate.

When I sit, I tear my pants.

Ain’t that just the way.

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dadwizardinadress-blog · 7 years

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Can Life Really Just Be Sweet?

I’m overwhelmed, you guys. In the best way.

So many voices in my head telling me it’s all a joke. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, all that.

...but what if life is just really nice sometimes?

So often I scratch until there’s a cut. Prophecies self-fulfilled.

What if the battle of now is that now there’s no battle?

And the best way to be prepared for disaster is to just be present and love the day?

Really not used to stability. The rug always comes out from underneath somehow. And every time it does, I feel so suckerpunched that I always think, “Next time I’ll be ready.”

But will that readiness even help? Or will it just create more anxiety?

Can I trust that I’ll have grace under pressure and I don’t need to know where all the fire exits are all the time?

Crazy people think they’re perfectly sane. But that doesn’t mean that if you think you’re sane, you’re crazy. Rectangles & squares, etc.

Maybe the punk rock healthy spiritual badass thing to do is to have a nice day.

I’m so afraid of denial, of disillusionment. I see so many people in my life repress their issues.

And I take great pride in being able to wade through the dark, muddy waters of truth and reality.

But at what cost? Is there a point of diminishing returns?

Definitely.

Can the water just be like a nice pool with your friends sometime?

Yes.

Can we be incomplete and in progress and also as we are enough?

Yes.

Can we be moving forward but also be fulfilled in every moment?

Yes.

I feel like I live my whole life with autocorrect on. And that just drains the battery (not sure if it actually does this on iOS or anything but you get the metaphor).

Like clutching the red pen and getting hand cramps.

It’s like, yo, put down the pen man.

Trust in yourself.

Trust that you’ve grown.

Trust that when you need to pop the hood, you will.

But you can’t stay in the body shop.

Road trip, ya dang fool.

Vegas, baby!!!

I think a lot about developmental years. And how we grow accustomed to whatever level of stability or intimacy we grow up in.

There’s that whole monkey experiment with the two mom’s, one that feeds but doesn’t hold the monkey, and one that holds but doesn’t feed and is also made of thorns or something, and the baby monkey always took the abuse. Because that’s how important it is to be held. Even when it’s killing us. (Not sure if these are the exact details of the study, but that was def my takeaway).

So we cling to these definitions and these standards. We cling to the armor that shielded us from monsters under the bed. But now we have blisters and welts from two sizes too small.

It’s time to upgrade our gear, damnit. Like a videogame. Your lowlevel fireball spell could handle blasting sewer rats in level one, but this is level ten, bro. That shit will not cut it. It’s time to get a fire rain spell or some shit. Once again, you get the metaphor!!

And I think it’s easy to hate that lowlevel spell. Hate it for not killing the ogres or trolls on level ten. But that shit got us through level one when we had nothing else. It’s hard to be grateful and also move on. Be like, “Yo, this served me at a time when I was most vulnerable, but it’s time for a mf fire rain spell.”

And the devil you know thing. Seeking relationships that confirm our deep rooted opinions of ourselves established at an early age. Are we allowed to set higher standards for ourselves? YES.

It’s so damn hard to let go of that thorny crowned mother. What if we’re alone? What if that’s as good as it gets? Lies. All lies meant to keep you in the cycle of abuse. That’s what the devil wants, man. To convince you you’re not worthy of more or that this is all it ever is.

You can take the leap of faith. Trust that there are an abundance of rad peeps out there. Rad peeps that are waiting to refuge in you like you’re waiting to take refuge in them. And we can forge new families. Let people into the inner sanctums of our hearts who see us for all we are and all we can be. People who forgive us, hold us up, and give us space to be our whole selves. People who are kind, good, curious, inspired, and generous.

When we die, there will be a stack of books we didn’t get to. A ton of shit it our Netflix Queue’s. Unheard albums saved on Spotify. Emails we never responded to. People we never got coffee with. We’ll be desperate for just another moment with any member of our tribe.

So if there’s not enough time for the rad peeps, how the hell can we justify time with vampires? And maybe it’s not that cut and dry. Maybe it’s more insidious. Maybe it’s someone who you identify with, who’s wounds you feel as your own, who gives you that connection you’re looking for, but maybe only when it’s convenient for them. Maybe that’s the crushing heartbreak - a decay that’s ever so slight.

Or maybe it’s someone who won’t pop the hood with you. Get the jeep up and running again.

Maybe it’s time you downgrade the car? Like - yo me and this person ride the metro together. When it breaks down, we go our separate ways. When it’s up and running, we talk about tv and food. But we don’t go underneath. And maybe if you try to, they get defensive, and throw it all in your face. And you’re standing there, soaking wet, wondering why you had to take it there and why you ruined it.

It’s okay to know what to expect from people. It doesn’t have to be depressing. This is what boundaries are for. It also lets you know who isn’t in the inner sanctum. And that’s for the best. You guys maybe just have nothing to offer each other. Even if you once did. Maybe you’ve changed. Maybe they have. It’s okay to let go and let something else grow. Or just walk away entirely. Because there are people out there who will pick you up from the airport. There are people out there who will listen to you cry. There are people out there who will give you there french fries. There are people out there who will lend you their cool shoes. There are people out there who care about you. I promise.

And it’s scary to cut ties or set boundaries, but can’t afford not to.

Even now!!! I set out to write a post about how I’m stoked on the world right now and I’ve vomited some wanna-be self help wake up call.

Friends are good.

Last night I had Mexican food with my three best friends and we talked about cheese and butts. The dream.

What if...what if that’s all there was to it?

Just nice people taking care of one another, trying to enjoy their days and live in fullness. Nothing more.

What if you were enough as you are?

What if you didn’t have to change all those things about yourself that you’ve been meaning to?

What if you’re good?

What if you can open you’re whole heart and be having a casually great time?

What if you can be doing nothing and be having a super connected experience?

Obviously, there will be a few shark attacks. And you’ll be ready. But in between, don’t seals just like chill on rocks with their friends all day? Isn’t that like 90% of their lives?

Seals, man. What if we’re all just fucking seals.

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dadwizardinadress-blog · 7 years

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In All Sincerity, Congratulations For Not Killing Yourself

Yo yo.

So I’ve been dealing with mental health stuff most of my life, as a lot of us do. But I’ve only gotten serious about it in the last few years. My depression really reared its head and I retrospectively had a better understanding of my childhood pain and teenage emptiness.

I think a lot of people with depression are in denial. And that’s where depression wants you - isolated, alone. I feel honestly that it’s a disease. Ever since I’ve started treating it like a valid health condition, I’ve been able to have much more sympathy for myself and have not only become happier but have also learned how to manage my depression better. Obviously, I’m still learning. There are still bad days, but they are fewer and far between (and less severe) since I started doing weekly therapy and taking antidepressants.

I had all the classic excuses for not wanting to take antidepressants:

“I don’t wanna be numb.”

“I’m creative. Won’t it mess with my personality?”

“I’m a motherfucking ARTIST. My pain is my muuuuuuuuse.”

The last one^ is to be said while wearing a beret and jerking off to a pixelated picture of oneself while listening to Debussy or some shit.

Point is, these are myths. We romanticize the narrative of the tortured artist often. And we often let shame and stigma keep us from loving ourselves and starting the path to healing.

Fuck that shit!

Depression is a disease that wants to kill you. It wants you to feel like you have no one. It wants you to feel pain and spiral.

As soon as I started treating it like life or death, or as if I had Diabetes and I had to take daily steps to work with it, I’ve seen growth.

And I’d rather be a little melodramatic than dead.

I’d rather be self-righteous than dead.

I’d rather be over-cautious than dead.

And yo, pills ain’t for everyone. But it’s worth exploring! I understand the fear especially with all the shady pharma shit in America. But our brains are also big soup piles of chemicals and if we come from tramautic childhood environments, than we can be hardwired for less happiness and medicine can help!

It’s simply one tool in the box.

It’s a big fight and there are many pieces and subtleties do it.

But it’s night to have the weighted vest off.

So being someone who you used to cut, being someone who kicks around suicidal thoughts far too often (but far less and seriously than I used to), I have to stop and take a second to be grateful that the Devil didn’t get me. That I’ve chosen to stay alive and fight the good fight and try to put as much love and light in to the world as possible. And for allowing myself to receive it (which I’m really super still working on).

Guilt doesn’t help anybody. Stop beating yourself up for being depressed if you are! Our society doesn’t know how to handle it. It’s treated as a weakness, as a lack of effort - rather than a disease.

So go on walks, meditate, hang out with friends, make stuff, cook, take pills, sleep, whatever helps!

Start with love and start with yourself.

You are worthy and deserve the love and sense of inclusiveness you extend to others.

And if that makes you feel uncomfortable, know that loving yourself postures you to give the most to others and to give others the freedom and inspiration to love themselves. So it’s not selfish, it’s part of your service to others to take care of yourself first. If you’re not your best, who the fuck are you helping?

If you’re still here, you’re a god damn champion in my eyes.

Not to disparage those fell prey to suicide whatsoever. Those who have chosen that path were clearly in a lot of pain. And that’s something we can have sympathy for as having felt helpless ourselves as opposed to feeling holier than thou or looking down upon the victims of suicide and other forms of self harm.

If you’re afraid for your own life or health, reach out. Do yourself that favor. Give it time. If you really want out, why not wait a week? Why not run it by others? Why not hold out for a reason to stick around? There’s a lot of love and beauty in the universe if we’re open and looking.

A bunch of dope things worth living for (!) :

peanut butter

dogs

springtime

pinegrove

kissing

cartoons

trees

podcasts

the ocean

more peanut butter

It all passes anyways. Which is a great comfort in moments of anguish. Might as well let the waves of cosmos wash you away on the shores of time rather than nosediving into the abyss. All the sand ends upon the other side of the hourglass anyways. Dying is safe, and everyone ever has done or will do it.

Gonna end with a semi cheesy quote from a breety cheesy movie, Midnight In Paris by Woody Allen:

“We all fear death and question our place in the universe. The artist’s job is not to succumb to despair, but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence.”

All my love sweet friends!

-Mackin

(PS: We’re in this fight together, so don’t abandon your comrades. We need to be able to lean on each other if we wanna win this war. There are too many shitbirds in the world, man. And you’re not one of them. We can’t let them win. But mainly, cheers to us for choosing to live!)

*cue ABBA’s “Dancing Queen”*

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dadwizardinadress-blog · 7 years

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so i changed the name of my tumblr.

two posts in and i’m already second guessing myself.

no, but for real:

the original name was: “lesbian dad wizard”

i had a friend call my ass out recently.

for several things, but my language being one of them.

and she was right on.

while i consider myself somewhat queer (and if you’re somewhat queer, doesn’t that just make you queer? idk, man...), at the end of the day, i’m not a lesbian.

to me, the original intention was more about satirizing modern male masculinity.

and to be honest, i’ve always identified with women.

in seventh grade, most, if not all, of my friends were girls.

i grew up with sisters.

i wore dresses as a kid.

i was called “faggot” by uncreative schoolkids trying to find their way.

and that word hurt. regardless of sexuality.

the core of that word is: “the way that you are is wrong”

and while i’m mostly cis and straight,

when i hear “faggot”, it still brings me back to a dark place.

a place of internal shame.

where i thought the way that i was,

my idiosyncratic personality, containing multitudes,

was wrong.

and that word still has a sharpness to it that draws me back.

and over the past few years, i’ve made some close friends in the gay community.

overwhelmingly, the thing that inspired me about LGBTQ+ community was the spirit of inclusiveness and individuality.

and most of the communities i’m drawn to (folk music, punk rock, podcasting, etc.) are about inclusiveness and championing the individual.

so i guess when i was with queer friends, i felt a freedom to be myself.

a freedom i hadn’t felt in my childhood, as a result of the environment, society, and my own internalized homophobia.

and there was a period of time where i had a few crushes in a row on girls who i later found out were queer.

and i’ve always been very proud of my femininity.

and i’ve always been comfortable around women.

so the “lesbian” moniker was really a light hearted way to show my appreciation for the core values of a community while simultaneously mocking the machismo that pervades modern dude-culture.

but the last thing i wanna do, and my friend helped me realize that i might be doing this, is make anyone in the queer community feel mocked, diminished, or even fetishized.

as a white guy who tries to be an ally, i have to recognize that no matter how much i listen and try to amplify the voices of the disenfranchised, at the end of the day, i don’t know what it’s like. i don’t know what it’s like to be a lesbian. and i don’t have to deal with the backlash or oppression.

so i hope my donning of the name didn’t make anyone feel like i was appropriating the identity of queer women for entertainment.

i will never understand the struggle of women, gay people, or gay women.

but i’m gonna keep trying.

and while i love provocation, this is not the hill i wanna die on.

the cages i like to rattle are not the cages of the oppressed.

i like to poke at close minded people who take the absence of God or manliness way too seriously.

i do like messing with the binary, too (ie. the dresses, all that).

and it is expression, not just presentation.

i wanna use my privilege to get messages across and to promote voices of those who aren’t being heard.

the point is, i’m sorry if i hurt anyone’s feelings.

that’s the last thing i wanna do.

also, despite this mistep, i’m not gonna stop pushing the envelope.

i appreciate my friend for helping me realize my mistake.

i’m glad i’m surrounded by smart people who can teach me things.

but i think the wrong move here would be to respond by simply playing everything safe and staying quiet.

because i think i have a role in these fights, and in my own fights.

and talking is cool.

and i wanna keep having nuanced conversations about gender and sexual identities.

and i think the male culture needs a lot of help, too.

redefining masculinity in a compassionate way that supports and elevates all communities seems like work worth doing to me.

so i know that as a person who puts things in the universe, i’m gonna step on some toes.

but i only wanna step on the right toes.

not even that, really.

i just wanna be supportive and make people think about things that could lead to more support of others.

so these are my thoughts, friends.

much much love.

and i’m eternally grateful to my friend for calling me out.

i know that i still have a lot of listening and learning to do.

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