my careless contagion

Disconnected, from Face to Face's 1992 album Don't Turn Away (which is, in my opinion, a perfect punk rock album) is a simply-worded song. The lyrics aren't complicated. The singing is straightforward and predictably angsty and overwrought in typical punk-rock fashion. I saw Face to Face perform a few times. Keep in mind this is a three-piece band. These sounds are coming from three people each playing an instrument. The bass alone is perfect. As a whole, it's profound and simple at the same time and paints a perfect picture of what many people feel at some point in their lives, which is a disconnect from those around them (and maybe even themselves).  Before I go off on a tangent, here are the lyrics.  You don't know a thing about me Is there something that you should know? I can tell you what you want to hear Let your inhibitions just go No you don't know what you will give up You don't know what you want It may take you years to find out You don't kno...

50 Ways to Say Goodbye is a good, albeit silly, song. I chuckled when reading the lyrics , but the song deals something most men have unfortunately done, which is explaining what happened to someone who was formerly a big part of their lives. People want to know why it happened. Or they're dying to know but are too polite to ask. Or they already made up their minds (in my case, I was usually the villain). You have no idea how many people wanted me to be the bad guy. It was comical until it wasn't. I must have a sinister look about me.  I just thought it is a fun song. It was released in 2012, so not throwing something shiny new out there. Anyway, I am on TikTok a lot (it's kind of a problem). There are some compelling accounts. One I follow is called hoe_math, which explains how modern, feminist women think and conduct themselves. This song, combined with one of those posts, got me thinking. When a woman dumps a man, is she required to tell him why? I think that's fair,...

Where are the ups? They are, seemingly, nonexistent. At least for me. It seems other people have their ups. Maybe I chisel away at the ups because I know the downs will be worse if I experience the ups to their fullness. By protecting myself from the fullness of the ups, the great disparity between the ups and the downs is not felt. Something like that. Anyway, here are a couple memes that pretty much sum up this blog.  Any retrospective is bound to be cringe-worthy. This one is especially so. Just think, when I get to heaven, I can replay my life. Won't that be fun! I think I'll hide when they're doing that. Is there a fast-forward button? I'm praying for that. Anyway, one thing is sure; it will all be over soon. Sooner if I get my prayers answered.  Life doesn't make any sense unless you understand the spiritual battle, the cosmic chess match, so to speak. Read Job if you want to see how God antagonizes and plays with the devil, motivating him at will to do God...

Ah, summer. I used to know a girl named Summer, but this isn't about her. This is about the season (though if summer had a gender, it would be female). Where I live, summer does not last long. My joke is that it ended July 4, and then begins the slide toward fall, my favorite season. Basically, it lasts about six weeks, but no calendar will tell you that. Still, summer has such lovely qualities, and this summer has been especially long and summery. Here in the Black Hills, summer is tourist season, but even those who live here can celebrate its specialness. People come here to recreate in a place that isn't so scorchingly hot. It's true. Many homes here don't even have air conditioning because it cools off enough at night they can simply open their windows for cool sleeping and then close them again in the morning to keep their homes cool during the day. (Naturally, I am the exception to the rule because I have a small air conditioner for my tiny apartment, mainly be...

Little kids seem to go through phases. I don’t know much about phases little girls go through, since I don’t have a girl, but I’m pretty sure one of the girl phases involves unicorns. Little boys, on the other hand, I know. Although I don’t remember much about my childhood, I’m pretty sure I was a little boy once upon a time.  What were my obsessions in the 1970s, ’80s, and perhaps the beginning of the ’90s? Taking things apart, for starters. One of my earliest memories is of taking apart dandelion flower heads in my backyard. I tried to take apart my dad’s easy chair, too, slicing into the pleather handrest to see what was inside. He did not appreciate that much, as I recall. I had a severe obsession with LEGO blocks which persisted beyond puberty. My brothers’ habit of destroying my cities when I wasn’t looking didn’t deter me either. It just gave me more to work on, ensuring many more hours would be spent fiddling with my make-believe world. ...

Here's a game I've yet to win: the blame game. By now, you're all probably convinced I'm just a whiney old, white guy. That may be true, but some of my complaints come from a very real place and exist without the aid of hyperbole.  A while ago, I mentioned the incident when I was in the third or fourth grade when the kid tackled me and beat me up on the playground. I wasn't fighting, but I got detention anyway (which was later reversed). How was I supposed to get away? I don't know. The whole thing was insane. But it wasn't the first time something like that happened, and it wasn't the last.  This isn't an in-depth post about blame and self-blame. It's just a few examples from my life so you get the idea of what I've dealt with. I was sitting around one day, thinking about stuff, and started to connect some dots. It was a moment of clarity in my otherwise clouded thought life.  One January day my junior year in high school, my mom an...

Being a Christian can be very hard. Being a warrior Christian is unbelievably hard because the enemy is strong. Making mistakes and then paying for them in this life (thumbs to chest) is also very hard. Unfortunately, I fit the latter description most often, as this blog bears witness. But, when we get out of our own way, God blesses us. That's what this post is about.  My life is not perfect. I've been walking around with a broken heart as long as I can remember. Losing the girl I love was hopefully the last heartbreak for a while. I feel God stitching me back together, and quickly. The conversation of Oct. 26 gave me the closure I needed. I was operating under some very bad, specious information and false impressions, and I was set straight that day. Later conversations cemented everything, enabling me to go forward with the right information. That door has closed, and whether it opens again or not is not up to me. If I'm good at anything, it's admitting I'm ...

Maybe it's just an American thing. I don't know. But, the wishbone of a bird (say, a Thanksgiving turkey) is a symbol of luck. Two people pull on the wishbone after making a wish, and when it breaks, the person holding the larger part of the bone gets their wish (and that's also where we get the term "lucky break"). It seems like a silly superstition. I remember doing it as a kid. There are actually a lot of superstitions surrounding the wishbone if you care to do a little research. But for many years, it only meant one thing to me.  My ex. She wore a wishbone necklace. It's supposed to be good luck. She did get a lot of compliments on it. And her curly hair. She also wore cranberry essential oil each day for many years. Besides those things, she was pretty much a disaster. She wasn't a good luck charm for me. But I did consider her my best friend for many years. I think losing a friend was about the hardest part of my divorce. Let's face it; I...