my careless contagion

I don't even know why I'm writing this. I guess because I'm obsessed.  Today in my feed, this ridiculous story about Meghan Markle popped up. Go ahead and read it. I'll wait.  First of all, how does Thanksgiving offend the British? The whole article is pointless right from the start. They just want to put her out there yet again. Because, well, she's adorable . Actually, they're both adorable.  Confession time. I've been obsessed with the newest royal couple since, well, since they've been a couple. Luckily for me, my Yahoo! feed sends me these stupid stories every day. Yes, every damn day.  One thing about me is I'm a bit of a dreamer. Maybe you've noticed. I like thinking that princes and princesses actually exist and they're blissfully happy in their snappy clothes as they attend every dinner, event, appearance, and wedding in the UK. I mean, do they ever sit down? All they do is go to a never-ending stream of events. It's ...

There's only one girl in the world I want to hear from. My heart pants for her and waits patiently (and sometimes impatiently) to hear from her. She's my heart's one desire. I've made peace with not having her, but oh, I'd love to hear her voice again. The only problem is I'm sure it would send me into space. It would be too much — like a buffet to a starving man — I'd feast until I'd become sick.  There's something in me that turned off, though, and forever. It was a rabidity I can't explain, like a ceaseless roving. Once my heart settled on her, a calmness replaced it. I answered all the questions that could be answered. I checked every box. I communed with my God until I knew all there was to know, and then I made my decision with a sureness that only comes from examining every aspect of something. Have I thought of everything? I can answer with all honesty and say, "Yes. At least, all that matters."  My fight is over. My mi...

My dear, I've seen so many of my wishes come true, but of all of them, I wish there had been more of you.  I wish it had been me holding you as you held our babies. I wish I could have been there for you when you brought them home, gave you a shoulder to rest on, let you fall asleep while I watched them. I wished it had been me. When you were so tired and so hurt, maybe for a moment you wished I had been there too. When your baby girl and your husband were the most important people in your life, and they were being pulled away from you, I wish I could have held you together.  Your love, your patience, your tenacity pulled you through. I wish it had been me instead. I wish you didn't have to love that way, that you could have loved naturally and without fear, without wondering, without missing any of the pieces. I would have held all the pieces together for you. I wouldn't have asked you to do the same for me.  I see you there, with your baby in your arms, and I...

The Ataris (a band formed in 1996) covered Don Henley's  The Boys of Summer,  releasing it in 2003. This song could have been released yesterday, as it feels fresh every time I hear it. Don Henley of the Eagles (a band I hate) is a genius, and this song is proof. I don't feel I need to post the lyrics here, as I'm sure everyone has heard this song a thousand times. The Ataris do change at least one word in the lyrics, making it a Black Flag sticker on a Cadillac instead of a Dead Head sticker, which I appreciate because, well, Henry Rollins.  This song has seemingly existed my whole life, as the original was released in 1984. The original video is sparse, just as all music videos shot in the 80s seem to be. The music wasn't overproduced, either. Before I start down the road of nostalgia, let me talk about what this song means to me. I always felt it was a sad song, but until I had a few relationships, I didn't fully grasp the meaning.  Since I'm a little ...

Broken.  By lovelytheband. This song was released last year. I know nothing about this band, and I think the video is stupid. And that hair. It's kind of like A Flock of Seagulls hair (only not as stiff), and that's not a compliment. What follows is another post of using a song to illustrate something in my life.  Lyrics:  I like that you're broken Broken like me Maybe that makes me a fool I like that you're lonely Lonely like me I could be lonely with you I met you late night, at a party Some trust fund baby's Brooklyn loft By the bathroom, you said let's talk But my confidence is wearing off These aren't my people These aren't my friends She grabbed my face and that's when she said I like that you're broken Broken like me Maybe that makes me a fool I like that you're lonely Lonely like me I could be lonely with you There's something tragic, but almost pure Think I could love you, but I'm not sure There's some...

She's Kerosene by the Interrupters (a band I know next to nothing about). I do know they're on Hellcat Records, under the Epitaph label, which was started by Brett Gurewitz of Bad Religion fame. Tim Armstrong of Operation Ivy and Rancid (and probably a 100 other projects) directed the video. I don't normally listen to ska, but I did once upon a time. It's more fun than straight-up punk rock or hardcore.  The reason I posted this video is mostly in the lyrics. The girl in question — my type — is embedded there. Years, ago I read something in one of those stupid Life's Little Instruction books that said something to the effect of "Don't date a girl who has more trouble than you." Turns out, it wasn't such a stupid instruction. Lesson learned. Lyrics:  I’m a match, she’s kerosene you know she’s gonna burn down everything she’s an arsonist, in a  past time, and I’ve been burned for the last time It started out like any other morning, th...

Lyrics: Somewhere high in the desert near a curtain of blue Saint Ann's skirts are billowing But down here in the city of limelights The fans of Santa Ana are withering And you can't deny the living is easy If you never look behind the scenery It's showtime for dry climes And Bedlam is dreaming of rain When the hills of Los Angeles are burning Palm trees are candles in the murder wind So many lives are on the breeze Even the stars are ill at ease And Los Angeles is burning This is not a test Of the emergency broadcast system When Malibu fires and radio towers Conspire to dance again And I cannot believe the media Mecca They're only trying to peddle reality, catch it on Primetime, story at nine The whole world is going insane When the hills of Los Angeles are burning Palm trees are candles in the murder wind So many lives are on the breeze Even the stars are ill at ease And Los Angeles is burning A placard reads the end of days Jacaranda bough...

Mud Hill is a breakup song by the band Samiam. I think we've all been there before. If we haven't, then we haven't lived. Right now I'm assessing my life and taking stock of my 41 years' worth of experiences. What strikes me is how many times I've broken up with girls when we weren't even dating. What's more surprising is how many times it messed me up. Maybe it was the fact that we weren't even dating that made it worse.  Samiam is a band better listened to than watched. Maybe this is why they never made it big, or perhaps because they didn't take themselves seriously enough. The band is (mostly) defunct, or at least off and on defunct. And who cares about Samiam when Ariana Grande just released another shitty track? She wouldn't know poetry if it bit her in the ass, but then again, neither would her fans. I digress.  There really isn't a point to this post besides the fact that I'm going over my list of failed relationships...

The voice of reason always has the last word. My heart says what it wants to say, and then the voice of reason quashes all dissent.  The voice of reason says her heart belongs to another, and it always has. It's a deep, abiding love I've only seen the surface of. Yes, she loves him with all she has, even though he hurt and humiliated her for years. It's a love as strong as any bond or trauma-bond I've seen. She cannot walk away. She cannot crawl away. She's fused to him forever because this was her promise to him. She's the most loyal person I know. She has proven over and over she belongs to him. It's beautiful and tragic at the same time. There is no competing with a love like that. I can't think of her without being awestruck. The voice of reason tells me she'll never be mine. It tells my heart to pack it in, go on, at least try to move on. I have tried, of course, but every time I try my heart cries out like it will die. I love her with ...

I love her with a love neither of us understands. It's an unrelenting, driving thing. How it exists without the object of its affection, I'll never know. She's gone, but my heart keeps loving her.  I can't explain. All I can say is it seems my heart searched for a woman like her, and when it found her, it didn't want to give her up. To me, she was the model of the perfect woman. I knew I'd never find another like her. Imagine my surprise when the very model of perfection walked back into my life!  Even though she's gone, my heart agreed to love her. It settled on her with a finality unlike anything I've seen.  She has moved on. She has left me here to weather the world without her. I don't know where her heart has wandered, but it is not with me. Perhaps it's gone back to a former love, perhaps on to another. Perhaps it's just hurting and waiting and hurting again — by itself, unable to love anyone.  This love I have for her will ...

There's something wrong with me. Besides the obvious, I mean.  I've hesitated to write this post for a long time, the reason being I don't have the wherewithal to understand what is wrong. So, this is an exploratory post. I hope that by releasing my thoughts about this I will understand what's happening. By the time I put the final period on this page, I will know more than I do now.  I was going to write this post Sunday (who knows when I'll post it) but decided to go for a hike instead. I put my hunting gear on just in case. Turns out I made the right decision, as I bagged one of the largest whitetail bucks I've ever had the opportunity to hunt. The fact that I walked away from writing this tells me two things: 1) I'm putting less of my life on this blog, which is good because I'm actually living my life, and 2) I'm scared of writing this post, which is odd for me because I favor finding the truth in everything.  This is an uncomfor...

Humble pie. I don't think I would have ever called myself humble in my previous life. This new life, however, has shown me my true value.  My ex-wife once said when we first met I was "so cocky," and you know what? She's right. I was a cocky son of a bitch. I had faced so many ridiculous challenges in my life and overcame them, beat them small; what on earth could get in my way? I had to be cocky. I grew up in a household where I didn't get any respect for any of my God-given talents or any of my hard work. I spit in the face of adversity, rampaged over obstacles, laughed at the devil, and rode hard into the night. I was unstoppable. There is pride in being young and capable and full of energy. Because of my inscrutable misadventures, I've had to jettison many things of little or no worth just to survive. My pride was one of those things. With 41 years under my belt, I've seen many changes. I've seen the world change, and I've seen myself ...

Me, when I was a boy in the 80s. That hair. It's either a helmet or a Q-tip. Hi, my name is Joshua. I don't think we've officially met. I write this blog.  I want to back up a little bit. All the way back. I was born in Hot Springs, S.D., in September of 1977, the third and final boy to Baby Boomer parents. My dad was an entrepreneurially-minded Vietnam veteran and my mother was a homemaker who also had a more-than-full-time job. As if minding three boys wasn't enough. My dad is a classic first-born, my mom a second-(and last-) born.  I'm the dinky one. Growing up in the 80s in a small town in South Dakota was pretty carefree. I've talked about my childhood years quite a bit here, so we know those years weren't perfect. There were a lot of good things to be thankful for, though.  I don't know much about the rest of the state, but I do know quite a bit about the Black Hills. It's been called "the land of infinite variety." It...