Missing My Love

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My name is Maureen Jaret, and I am Keith “The Existential Baker’s” wife.  With a heavy heart and in case you did not realize it, my beautiful husband, poet, chef, father, and grandfather passed away on February 8, 2018.  Please see his last post of February 1, “Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep.”

I have been trying to decide what I would do with his blog, which he loved and nurtured for the last six years.  I did not want his blog with all his amazing writings, to die with him. So after much thought and reflection, I decided that I will continue what he started, discussing my life with him, my life without him, and everything that is in between.

I grew up in the dawning of Equal Rights for Women; however, I grew up in a very conservative household where being a feminist was vulgar.  When I met Keith, he not only embraced the fact that I had strong opinions and sense of self, he encouraged it. We always had a funny thing between us, that I am not “The Wife,” I was not Mrs. Keith Jaret or even Mrs. Jaret, I am Maureen Jaret.  It never meant that I was not proud to be Mrs. Jaret, but I was my own person, and he respected that.

So in honor of him, and the fact that I am and always will be extremely PROUD to be his wife, I will be renaming his blog, “The Existential’s Wife”!  I am not the writer he was, but I think this new journey, will be fascinating…to say the least! I do have a passion for Organ Donation, and I want to spread the word about how this has affected my life.  Since we no longer have the New Jersey Stores, I am going to change all my social media to The Existential’s Wife. I spoke to my children about this, and they were happy that their father’s words will go on.  I hope you will continue to follow me as I go on with the rest of my life, without the love of my life, trying to figure it all out! I know he gives me a peace sign over this.

 

A Slice Of Life (from Zen And The Art f Culinary Maintenance)

 

J.T. Hilltop
I was seriously depressed, spent 33 days as an unwilling guest at a South Carolina correction facility on my way to Arizona, and I never made it any further west then freaking Georgia. I played around in Atlanta, Columbia, and Myrtle Beach, and finally realized it was time to get back home to Long Island where I could at least waste my life away with some friends.

After two wasted years and a week of senseless sporadic hitchhiking in the south I finally made it back home to Centerlawn. It had only been two years yet as I quickly learned it’s a strange new world around here. Nearly everyone I hung out with has either gotten married, moved, or joined the “Establishment” and are doing their nine to fives. As for me I‘m officially unemployed and living at home with my Dad of all people. My next tattoo way just as well be a large “L” on my forehead so everyone can see what a loser I’ve become. What a cruel world. I had to do something, I was relented to the ultimate embarrassment of getting cash from my old man for doing menial tasks around the house, which had been seriously neglected as of late. A twenty three year old earning a teenage allowance. I needed to move out on my own again really bad but jobs were scarce, and I have zero money let alone security and rent for a month. Then my old friend Universe created its mysterious cosmic connection and the answer appeared in front of me. My cosmic companion placed fates ironic ad in the classified section of the local paper, “Looking for line cook for six day week. Room and board included. Inquire at Glen City Country Club.” “Fore!”

Thank you destiny! It opened up a whole new world to me. Long Island has tons of country clubs and most of them offer room and board as part of a compensation package. I could bounce from club to club until I get back up on my feet. Hey its not like Maggs Garden Apartment but it’s a room with a bed. I went to GCCC the very next day in my best clothes wearing my best attitude and charm. I got the job on the spot thanks to all my previous restaurant experience. Zen and the Art Of Culinary maintenance is back in the house.

The country club circuit is different from restaurants. For one thing it means split shifts. The members get breakfast and lunch Tuesday through Sunday, and dinner Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday which meant a break from 3-6 on those days. Mondays the kitchen was closed so we all had a day off. The hours were very mixed up but the work was steady and the pay was decent. A great staff, quality food, lots of waitresses, and we all got along and had fun. The room and board left a bit to be desired, the staff referred to it as “The Monkey House.” A small room with a cheap bed and dresser with showers down the end of the hall but what the Hell man, it was still better than having to see Dads face everyday.

Alas, I’ve learned that anytime anything good happens to me something has to come along and fuck it up. After losing at love three times in a row I opted to not get caught up in any serious relationship but that didn’t mean I would stop flirting. As I have also learned I have a pension for flirting with disaster, this time disaster being the General Managers daughter. Eight years younger than me but she was just too hot to let pass without making a pass. I put my flirtatious charm into overdrive and soon their was a very thick air of sexually charged tension. As the Rabbi said before the Bris, “It won’t be long now”

I was employed at Glen City Country Club for just under a year when the ill advised flirting with the bosses daughter teamed up with that old practical joker JT‘s fate and raised the level from disaster to catastrophic cacophony. An accident that would send me to the hospital would set off the next series of unfortunate events in my life.

The members of the clubs get a lot of perks and have a lot of all day golfing tournaments. On most big outings we had to set up two refreshment stations serving soda, beer, water, a hamburger grill and cold sandwiches. We loaded up a golf cart with folded tables, food and drink, and ice buckets to keep stuff cold. The tournament was over and one of the other cooks, Jose, was driving the cart we had just loaded with all the tables and leftovers from the refreshment stand at the 9th hole. He was driving the loaded cart along an elevated tee, a two foot incline, when he noticed something fell out of the cart and jumped out to get it. The cart kept moving towards the edge of the incline so I reached my foot over to hit the brake. Unfortunately the gas pedal bore a striking resemblance to the brake pedal so instead of coming to a stop the cart, full loaded with me in the passenger seat picked up speed. Or it’s quite possibly the beer I snuck or the two Valiums I washed down with the beer an hour ago, but either way I put the pedal to the medal and the golf Cart took off. Literally. Not enough speed to break any golf cart speed records but enough to send the cart full speed ahead to the edge of the elevated women’s tee into a triple one and a half twist gainer with a perfect swan dive straight into the ground. … I remember seeing a bunch of things rolling around with me but don’t remember any pain. In fact I was shocked when I saw the amount of blood coming from my arm.

Jose freaked of course and in his broken English I believe he said “Jesus and crackers JT, you losing focking blood”. Indeed I was, I grabbed one of the table cloths and wrapped my arm as Jose took off towards the main house screaming “help, help, help” That’s when I passed out. I awoke in and ambulance but I was seriously disoriented. The medic told me to relax and I told him I was in considerable pain.Next thing I knew a familiar feeling of warmth spread across my body. My old friend morphine was entering my bloodstream for a reunion. I closed my eyes, smiled, asked the medic to throw away the pill box in my pocket and drifted off into a different state.

I woke up about one or two days later, my arm was tied up top a pole with this huge sock that would be too big for Shaquile O’Neil, and sitting across from me smiling was the managers daughter. I knew instinctively that nothing good could come from this, so naturally, I asked her out which was extremely awkward considering when I got out of bed I realized the tied on hospital robe I was wearing exposed my big white hairy ass….. Was tha a good thing? Or a bad thing? Time and fate would tell….
TBC

 

I

A Story About Nothing.. (excerpt from Transcendental Medication)

J.T. Hilltop

The smoke from the Sandal Incense went to my head making me slightly dizzy. As I sat on the doctors bed I was in one realm looking of seeming reality looking into another of…..well I‘m not quite sure yet. It was the freakiest hallucination I ever had. In my normal realm things made logical sense, but that other realm waqs so sensually enticing, it was full of smoke, mystery, and surrealality. Not a noxious smoke, more like an almost friendly and inviting smoke. The thought of sticking my entire head through the hole in the fabric of duality to see that realm up close excited me. This may prove to be the mother of all trips. Forget LSD man, this was the real deal trip like a peyote induced vision from a fucking Mayan priest. Then as if reality was worried it would slip away it answered me in Dr. Kha’s voice, “Come on in JT, you will find nothing here.”

I was feeling lost, my meditation combined with the doctors medicated acupuncture sticks was blurring the lines of sanity and manic realities. I was apprehensive yet I really wanted to see that other dimension, that strange new realm. I could be a witness to the practice of quantum mechanics.  I thought but I took it as more of his acting the teacher. Of nothing!  His voice was steady and even,  “That funny JT, about what Dr, Kha had said, that I will find  nothing and was further confused. Perhaps I was having  a lucid dream. If this is lucid dreaming I’m not sure I like it. I was in control of nothing. Jeez shit man, there it was again. Nothing!  Was I subjected to sensory depravation without my consent?  Maybe it was nothing. Oh fuck, not that again! Something’s going on here, unless it’s…..nothing.
I crawled through the tear in the fabric of reality cautiously wondering if my mind was playing some elaborate prank on me as payback for all the years of brain bending drug and alcohol abuses I leveled at it. Like here you go asshole, hows it feel to lose control. But that’s just pure bullshit man, my mind couldn’t be vindictive. Could it?  I decided to test the waters of my own sane logic to challenge his concept.  “So you say this is nothing Dr Kha? But once I acknowledge nothing doesn’t it become something. How can this be nothing if it is something you‘re teaching me? I know what nothing is, nothing is what poor people have and rich people need.” I looked up slyly and Kha smiled at me in a near condescending way. “Yes JT, I hear that before. Also if you eat nothing for too long you dead. Nothing funny about that, haha….Seriously JT you search too hard for nothing as thing but nothing is concept not thing. Suppose I tell you nobody get here before you JT? By your logic if nobody get here first then nobody must be somebody, because nobody was here. So I speak of nothing in philosophic term. Nothing is a void or vacuum where everything come from. All things begin as nothing. But in science nothing cannot exist because we are always surrounded by matter. Perhaps in black hole nothing exists, perhaps everything exist, impossible to know. So how get something from nothing? Listen  JT, the first organism of life was one singular cell which split into two, and that continue until mutations occur. Over millions of years those mutations become an abundance of life forms each with its own story. But it all come from nothing, just as the universe has. But let me speak in language that universal. Math.”
Many years ago human trade with round trinkets of metals. They count out how many trinkets in sand and trade for food, or livestock, or whatever. When all money trinkets gone nothing left in sand but big O. Therefore big imprint of O in sand come to represent new concept, nothing, zilch, zero.”  He took out a piece of paper and drew a big ole goose egg on it. “So this O here represent zero. Zero equal nothing. Now if I tear apart 0 it would be split much like the organism I mentioned and nothing become two somethings.” He ripped the paper in half to make his point. He scribbled a simple equation on one half of the paper, (1) + (-1) = 0. He smiled at me  “absolute.”
“Split evenly JT nothing equal two something, a positive one and a negative one. Same thing happen when  universe created out of nothing. First there  nothing, zero, then zero split into two portions, positive one, what you know as  Universe, and negative one, the one we are in now, alternate Universe. Newton figure concept out but never apply  to creation. Einstein as well. For every action there is equal but opposite re-action. This alternate universe you are in now is the opposite and equal re-action to your big bang universe you just leave. This Universe equal to your universe only opposite. The laws of physic opposite too. Here there no gravity. Planets push off each other like opposing magnets. The suns don’t give energy they extract it. Time very different here go backward not future. Here future is pat and past is future, but much beauty and wonder as universe you know. Alternate universe as real as your universe but it take some getting used to if you want to be here. And nothing is what make this second world possible. That  enough for one day JT, you come back in two days if you want learn more.” With that Kha disappeared as I slipped back from behind the bi-universal fabric of time returning to my cot in my real world and just closed my eyes.
I could still smell smoldering Santal incense and the music was still on only now it was soft drum beatings mixed with some sort of whirling organ sound softly playing repetitive chords. A young woman entered the room wearing a nurse uniform. I began to wonder if this has all been one crazy hallucination, maybe a flashback or something so I gave her a closer look. She was very attractive with piercing hazel green eyes and long straight burnt orange hair tied up neatly in a swinging ponytail but allowing perfectly cut bangs to cover her forehead. Her eyes were as stunning as a Montana sky and just as vast. I sensed both intense pain and intense pleasure in the depth of her retinas and I melted into her glance. Mesmerized I heard a soothing throaty voice saying, “You’re finished for today Mr. Hilltop, will you be coming back for another visit?”  Her bright red lips barely moved as she spoke making it hard for me to concentrate. She caught me staring at her eyes and I have little doubt my leer was bordering on creepy but I  couldn’t look away.  I was held hostage by her deep beauty, hypnotized with delight. I tried to look away but was drawn back to her face. The rosy red high cheekbones, \ flawless skin dotted sparsely with perfect freckles, and those deep red full and pouty lips were so warm an inviting.  I imagined the sirens sweet song dominating the entire essence of Ulysses. I began clumsily shaking my head and muttered a weak “yes, I would like that.” Sensing my awkwardness she smiled warmly,  took my hand and sat me up. It was then I noticed the acupuncture needless were all gone. “When would you like to come back for a session?”  I was feeling disoriented and only barely able to reply “In two days” The nurse put her soft full lips close to my ear whispering, “Come back Friday at seven JT. We have much to teach you. Remember JT, nothing ventured, nothing gained.” The warmth of her breath and moist spray of her tongue inside my ear sent shivers up and down my spine and gathered in an area which I feared had become obvious. Butterflies had left my stomach and created a chrysalis caravan traveling through my digestive tract straight towards my  reproductive organs. It was complicated  even more profoundly her sensual and suggestive tone echoing through my soul in a tease frenzy. I looked up to sneak  look at her in the hope of affirming my imagined connection but she was gone. Maybe she wasn’t even there to begin with, the line that separated reality from non-reality had become wafer thin.
TBC

Who Is God And Is he an Existentialist?

 

 

(An excerpt from “Cosmo And The Garden Earth”)

Now I’ve done more than my fair share of hallucinogens in my day but believe me this was no chemically induced manifestation. The most remarkable thing happened. Cosmo’s arms came right through my computer screen and grabbed by the shoulders. As if I had been transformed into a wavelenghth of pixilation energy I entered into the story coming face to face with the god I had been writing about. I was confused beyond galactic proportions, “Oh My Cosmo, did I die?” My mind was racing. No harp music, that has to be a good sign, but there he was as big as life. His voice was less godly than I anticipated, no thundering roars, just a friendly statement as if he were a college professor, “I understand you have some profound questions JT. Come with me and I will try to give you the answers. We’ll be traveling in a way you are unfamiliar with so just remain quiet and observe” I was stunned but in some sort of trance. Cosmo took my hand and even though I had a keyboard full of questions I walked alongside this sprirty thing in silence. We walked through some type of city street then through a building. I then realized it was the New York Stock Exchange but it was cold and unlit and we could hear people trying hard to yell over each other. It was as though I were seeing it in different dimensions piled on top of each other. Epiphany! We were. Through another dimension and we found ourselves walking through a bank, also cool and unlit this time filled with voices in a language I could not understand. Through another dimension we found ourselves in some sort of foreign government building, a palace or some ultra rich home, and finally through a concrete graveyard. Just as quickly as it had gotten cold and dark a light appeared and a wave of warmth spread over my body. We were walking along a beach I had gone to many times in my younger days, and then through the familiar streets of my youth. The city that watched me grow from a boy into a man. The schoolyard field I learned to place baseball in, the playground complete with see saw where I learned the mechanics and necessity of teamwork, school, cars, bars, all of my youth. He led to some sort of park that was filled with elements of my past life. Everywhere I could see and hear children playing and laughing. I couldn’t help but smile as Cosmo walked me through the most carefree times of my life. At long last we came to a path in a wooded area that led to a clearing. “There JT, over there. We can sit there and talk.” I almost ran up to the clearing and found a spot to sit. I had so many questions and I wasn’t sure where to start but as it happened I didn’t need to. Cosmo looked me in the eyes and this is going to sound strange but I got the feeling I was looking at everyone I had ever known. Cosmo spoke clear and soft. “JT, you have many questions and I will try to answer them as simply as possible. First you want to know the purpose of life?” He flashed me the largest and warmest smile I had ever seen.

Its not God that works in mysterious ways JT, its love. Love has the power to create mystery. You remember one of your favorite all time movies? How about this line, “You’ve always had the power to get home. You just needed to learn how to use it?” Its not a co-incidence that it’s a wonderful life came out the same time. “To my brother George, the richest man in town” Through entertainment Love tried in1933 to show you all what’s important and what is real, but it never caught on as anything more than simply entertainment. People still went about learning to hate, to be greedy and jealous. The opposite emotions of love overpowered the minds of humanity.” He sat and stared reflectively out at the children playing so I took the opportunity to ask a question, “Am I dead?”. Again the warm smile, “JT my son, death is not something to fear, its merely a stage. What’s important here is that you understand life, not death. Things are what they are because love lost out to power. The planet earth really is a garden, and it needs cosmic tending. All I’ve done is shown you your history. Just watch a while.”

It was beautiful. Children on see-saws and swings, running and playing tag, climbing on the monkey bars. In the field kids playing kick ball, and softball. I saw young couples walking hand in hand smiling and looking into each others souls, and butterflies and blue jays, intricately woven spider webs, running streams with waterfalls, and wonderful colored animals of all types seemingly dancing. I wondered at first what these sights were all about then as if in a dream I saw the sun rise slowly over the ocean, float across the sky and gently kiss the tops of the trees as it set. Darkness with the largest fullest and most beautiful moon I had ever seen. And it was all alive and covered in sounds of life and love. Then I realized its what Cosmo wanted me to see. The parts of life that make us smile and laugh and give us a feeling that can’t even be found in any words no matter how descriptive. That indescribable feeling of bliss, of such wonderful happiness. The beautiful things around us that need only be seen and appreciated without questioning.
I let this all sink in for a while. It was beginning to Make more sense to me. Our culture created gods and religions for someone to blame for our bad habits and mistakes. I came back from the walk refreshed and I think I was beginning to understand things better. It really is a breathtaking garden filled with so many wonders and so much brilliance. I began to understand what privilege it was to walk in it, and be a part of it. Part of millions of years of life. But the inquisitive nature in me, the hunter instinct if you will, still hade profound questions left. When I got back Cosmo was waiting and ready. I guess he was predicting the future as well. “All this is beautiful Cosmo, and I realize how fortunate I am to be part of it no matter for how long, but I still can’t stop wondering how it all began. Who created the universe?” Cosmo was rubbing his chin and in that instant I thought about how that was exactly what I did when asked a difficult question. “No entity created the universe JT. It has always been and always be, but it will take on different forms. You humans have done incredibly well in your studies. You have discovered the basis of everything. The atom. A center or nuclei with various electrons an neutrons spinning around it. What does that Resemble to you JT? What else has a center with many things spinning around it?” Sometimes an epiphany is so simple you feel like slapping yourself yet the feeling is such an awesome rush. “Your talking about the solar system aren’t you?” I didn’t ask the simple question because I wasn’t sure, I just wanted to hear more. “Yes JT, that’s correct. Everything in the universe has the same basic make up, a center with various types of energy spinning furiously around it. There really is no universe JT, there is a multiverse. A number of universes all spinning around a central nucleus. The universes collide on occasion and are reformed. Tell me JT, have you ever looked into a three sided mirror, you know the type when you try on clothes and want to view your clothing from different angles? You can see yourself in the mirror looking at yourself look in another mirror. And if you look in that mirror what you see is you looking in another mirror. Can you imagine that going on forever? Do you think that at some point you will see yourself not looking in another mirror?” I remembered how fascinated I was as a kid when I looked in the never-ending mirror, but how the hell did he know? As I tried to process the information the best I could muster was a weak “I can dig it.”
“Well now JT we are at the one real question that keeps gnawing at you. Now is the time to answer if there is a god. Is that what you want to know JT?” The nail could not possibly have been hit more squarely on the head. “Well yea, I guess that’s the real question. I mean the universe thing kinda fucked with my head a bit but on some abstract level it makes sense. But what of this God thing, I mean you are obviously here so are you God or…..” Cosmo put up his hand to stop me from talking and allowed a small chuckle to escape. “I guess that’s what we’re here to find out, yes JT?” I shook my head wondering if I were to wake up in an asylum but Cosmo continued. “Yes JT, god does exist but it’s not the God you or anyone else has been taught. Its funny to me how you humans look up to the sky in search of God. You look up as though heaven is up in the sky somewhere. Look out JT, look in front of you, to the left and right side of you. Look behind you..” When I looked out into the woods it was absolutely filled with life. All types of animals and beautiful plants and flowers, and tree’s, all just living happily and freely. “You see that JT? That’s God. All of it. Collectively. God isn’t a creator, not some entity you need to kneel before and worship. What kind of a god would that be? Sounds more like an owner. God is not an owner, god is a state of mind that humans have forgotten and one which has been horrendously forsaken. God is love. That’s why people say God is everywhere JT. You are surrounded by love so always in the presence of God. But you need to love to be love and that means everything. God doesn’t create misery, or suffering, humans did when they began to misuse love. You need to love the slimiest rat or the most beautiful Cat equally, because they are God as well. The cockroaches and spiders you get all jittery over, they are God. You need to lose all the misconceptions you have been taught. You all do if you really want to go on as a species. There is no one or no entity that can save the human race, the human race has to do that.”
I sat there for what seemed like hours and the truth is I have absolutely no idea how long it was. It had been a mindblowing meeting and it took me a long time to sort through everything. So I can dig it, the purpose of life is life, to embrace it and enjoy it and just be a part of it. I know now that a search for the one true god is pointless because it will change nothing, nothing at all. I still don’t understand why there is so much suffering and pain in the world and while I understand the how of war I am at a loss still as to the why. Yet something inside had touched me in a very deep way and I was beginning to think I understood. It was up to me to get the word out, to get other people to understand how great life I and most important that we are on the brink of losing in a war we don’t even know we are in. I had to come up with a way to educate, to warn others but what can I do? I am not a guru, no one really listens to me. Then a thought struck me. All through my life I had learned many good lessons from reading. From the very beginning my Mom and Dad told me stories to help me understand the right thing to do. It’s through stories that we learn the most in life, so I sat down at my keyboard and wondered how I could make this an interesting story that people would enjoy and thereby get Cosmos message out. I was blank for over an hour, then suddenly a thought jumped up and down and grabbed my head in both hands. It was a familiar phrase. “Begin at the beginning.” Simple and not surprisingly when I began at the beginning I was at the middle and at the end, It was beginning to sink in. The cycle of life had always been and always will be, but the characters and locations may change. I wrote this story in the hopes that it may get some people to change the way they think. Then I did what any self respecting human would do. I smiled from ear to ear and continued to enjoy my life.
PEACE

Understanding Nothing (Transcendental Meditation)

nothing

 

J. T. Hilltop

Chapter III

I laid there in the sand totally exhausted, happy, and satisfied beyond belief. The smile on my face was so enormous my jawbone ached and my eyes were nearly closed. I had just had the most incredible sex in my life and I couldn’t move. Desiree began to gently shake my shoulder apparently ready to go one more time but I was spent. I looked up saying ”Sorry babe I just couldn‘t….oh, Dr. Kha, its you!” The fog began to clear from my mind, “I see you make visit to paradise JT. Must be careful not to get too wrapped up in desires, make you feel good but also cloud judgment. But she teach you that not me, I teach you everything about nothing. If you want see opposite universe it take much more than acupuncture, incense, and meditation, you need Transcendental Medication. Tomorrow we put you in sensory depravation tank with special punctures dipped in mixture of essences from Belladonna, Angel Trumpet, and Nutmeg Paste. Essence will free mind and allow to see without eyes. Transcendental Medication. Ownry then JT will you see truth, opposite universe, and maybe even understand nothing. Tomorrow is day you begin journey to meet God face to face.”

 

 

Meet God face to face?! Well this is gonna be pretty interesting considering I can barely remember having ever believed in God. Oh I know there was a time but only because it was what my Mom told me to believe and I trusted her implicitly. Why would she lie about God? But around age six or seven my best friend and his family died in a house fire two days after his birthday party. Mom told me my friend was up in heaven now where he’ll be safe. I asked why God wanted the family and why he made their house go on fire and all she could tell me was that God had a plan and we shouldn’t question him, but I wasn’t buying that bullshit. I started having my doubts about this God character and his so called plan so I made up ways for him to prove himself to me. Instead of “now I lay me down to sleep” I engaged in conversations at bedtime with God. Only they weren’t dialogues they were monologues. Night after night. I only asked for small signs, no giant challenges, no plagues or forty day storms or anything like that. Something simple like make my covers fall off or scratch the wall. I never asked him to beat up my older brother or return my best friend and his family back to life or anything profound, just you know like leave a light on, move a book or something. Anything. But night after night, no signs, no answers. Mom took me to church on Sundays and even at that young age I could see it was filled with hypocrites singing and praying. Old man Martin who was perpetually drunk in his backyard all dressed up in suit and tie singing, hands folded. Old lady Brown kneeling on the pew. In whispers the adults called her a Jezebel. I didn’t know what that meant at the time but by the way the adults showed distain I knew it wasn’t a good thing. Years later I learned kneeling was a common occurrence for her but apparently kneeling was okay only if it was on the pews on Sundays. By the time I turned eleven I was already a full fledged atheist but I continued my religious schooling to appease Mom. I was even so fascinated or maybe hopeful I studied other religions as I got older. I learned more about God by more names than I thought possible and became more sure than ever that God doesn’t exist. At least not the God I’d been taught. And now after all that I’m meeting God face to face tomorrow! At least according to Dr. Kha. Well maybe God’ll explain why he never even tapped on my wall.

I was nervously excited as I entered the THC clinic the next morning. A nurse led me down into the basement and laid me down on a cot that was chained to a sort of crane with chains and pulleys. Like a harsh torture hammock. I looked up with a quick glimpse believing the nurse to be Ambrosina. She smiled at me, winked and whispered, “Later JT. I’ll see you later.” Before I could even answer Dr. Kha came in with a small silver table filled with needles and a bowl of syrupy liquid. “Must be excited JT, yes? First I dip pricks in essence, place them at precise point and then close you in tank. No incense, no music today, ownry serenity. When ready we let you free from tank and journey begin. Relax and enjoy enlightenment my son.” I laid there motionless, a combination of anxiety and excitement as Dr. Kha placed the dripping needles about my body like acupunctures. The needles were warm and wet. Six on my forehead, two in each ear, two in my neck, and at least a dozen in each leg. I could feel the essences making they’re way into my blood and it warmed my veins. I instantly relaxed the anxiety faded away leaving only a smile. I felt at comfort with the feeling because it wasn’t foreign, it was like the old days just before the LSD kicked in. I was about to start tripping like I had in my drug experimentation days and it warmed my soul with fond memories.

I was strapped in the hammock and lowered down into a tank of warm water as the lid of the tank closed leaving me in complete darkness. Total darkness with no sound at all. No music, no one near me, it kinda made me feel vulnerable, like a lamb waiting for slaughter. I was feeling a bit claustrophobic. Anxious, confined, alone yet strangely serene. Alone with my own thoughts. As time passed I began to wonder if perhaps this is a big waste of time. I became angry I was allowing this to happen to me. I wanted out. I called to Dr. Kha a number of times but he didn’t respond. I was alone and my anger faded into depression. I remembered the five stages of grief and realized I had just denied TM, then bargained to get out, got angry and finally depressed. I was now finally at acceptance. Total darkness. Alone with nothing but an irritating voice in my head insisting I was missing some major point about nothingness. My head was swirling with thoughts or maybe dreams of all sorts of shit, memories from way long ago, places I have been to, totally random things. I think I had some very bizarre dreams. I’m not even sure what’s a dream or what is a thought? From surreal to harsh reality it was one episode after another. The dream or thoughts seemed to float, moving as though filled with helium, the further they went away the calmer I got. After about…wait, that’s odd. I have no idea how long it’s been. I have no idea what time it was or how long I’d even been alone here in the dark. Had I fallen asleep? Has time stopped for me? As I pondered again the readmitted claustrophobia and panic subsided, sliding me into complete acceptance. Everything is serene, calm, and quiet. Existence is not as special or amazing as I thought. Oh I’ll give you the complexity of being a living breathing thing is quite extraordinary, what with networks of communication inside me traveling at mind bending speed, blood, oxygen, even the way I need to eat and void unnecessary remnants from food is amazing. And evolution, well what is evolution other than strategy of survival? But the FACT that I or anything exists here, right here right now on this seemingly huge planet is so remarkably insignificant when I think about it in Universal terms.

Super Nova’s, Black Holes, Quasars, and galaxies, those are amazing. Time and space being curved or the possibility of alternate universes, that’s amazing. I’m nothing, just a teeny weenie blip of nothingness in time and space. I giggled as I watched that thought float away when I thought I heard a voice. “Now you are understanding nothing JT. You are ready to see alternate reality.” It was Dr. Kha’s voice but how? Must be a camera or some sort of electronic monitoring he used. “No use camera, no use device JT, ownry listen to you.” Wait! What did he say? Listening to me? But I’m not talking I’m only thinking. “Not thinking JT, talking. Not words out loud but still talking. And we hear you. You are ready to come out now.”

The pulley’s lifted the makeshift cot upwards as the top opened brining me not into an office but in a clearing in a mountain wilderness blistering with life and color. Oh my God the colors were so deep and rich, so real. I was inside a melting crayola colored landscape beside a stream. Dr, Kha was there along with two strangers. “Come sit down with us JT, we share herb of life… You come to me asking why there is something instead of nothing, yes? I ask you now, why it cannot be something and nothing?” I asked him who the two men were and he told me they would lead me to God after I finished my lessons. He handed me a long pipe which I took readily inhaling almost instantly. The smoke had a minty smoke flavor and was not in the smallest way irritating. I held it in like it was pot until it exploded inside my head. Actually exploded. My head must have grown ten inches. Images where fractured as if they were photos layered on top of each other and superimposed. I tried to stand up but instead floated, or better hovered effortlessly as the three men laughed. “I don’t see what’s so funny, everything is out of focus. Motion, Time, sound, even life is out of focus.” The men continued laughing until Dr. Kha pointed to me, “Seem you forget pants JT. You come ownry in underwear. You are right everything out of focus. That how world really is. You see on quantum level now, you move with quantum motion and see with quantum eyes. You think unreal but exact opposite. Everything around you in constant motion JT, but your non quantum eyes cannot perceive. That why most people can never see God. I believe if most people really were able to see God they be scared, not elated. You see realities now JT, in your normal world nothing really what it seem to be. You are going on journey most people cannot handle, that what Transcendental Medication do my son, it open your mind and eyes to realities clouded by limitation of human perceptions. Dreams are real perceptions JT, ownry seem too abstract to you to be real. You not have pants on because it dream that haunt you as child. That’s from the drugs. The medication will help you confront many uncomfortable dreams you have had but also some very good dreams. And dreams you have not had yet. A new era of perceptions waits for you JT, you were chosen for this journey. Your two guides are messengers of God and I am your handler. The three of us will lead you on journey of everything , something, nothing, and true God after you visit Ambrosina for lesson on desire and power. Go to her, she waits for you and you must first understand yourself before you can know nothing.” Dr. Kha smiled at me like a teacher, or a father maybe, “Take your boat.” I looked at the stream which had my little row boat from my previous visit tied to a tree. “Just get in boat JT, and follow river. You will know when to…. get off…Ha ha ha. Then when you come back we discuss your perceptions” What an odd sense of humor, an old man like Kha using a sexual double entendre about “getting off” I thought to myself as I got in the boat. Dr. Kha untied the rowboat setting me free, “Not as old as you think, but much older as well JT.” I heard all three men laughing as the boat headed to wherever the current took it. How the fuck could he hear my thoughts? I’d better be careful what I think.

The ride didn’t take very long because I could see a woman in the distance waiting on shore. I wished the boat over to her and it went of its own accord. When I got out I was back in the island paradise where Ambrosina had so totally controlled and dominated me bringing me to the most incredible orgasm of my life. I got off the boat with profound anticipation and walked up to the woman waiting. I knew I was looking at Ambrosina but she appeared so different. Her hair tied in a ponytail wearing very little make up. She was dressed casual yet somehow stern. A beige corduroy button down dress with matching skirt. In place of the sexy shoes were low heeled casual loafers. Sensible shoes! She appeared demure and intimidated as she walked up to me, placed her mouth right at my ear an whispered, “If you want me you have to take me tonight. You have to want me bad enough to force me.” As she walked away I watched her ass bounce lightly back and forth giving me a semi erection. Despite the changes I wanted her in the worst way. The lust built up inside my loins and I knew I would do whatever I had to in order to make love to Ambrosina again. But how to start, I’ve never forced anyone before, that’s rape! Ambrosina turned around looked at me with her incredible sensuous eyes. I glanced down at her lips as she mouthed, “I’m ready JT, come take me. I’m here to service you. I give consent but I want it hard!” I knew I had the power to ravage her and it felt invigorating. I had this tingling feeling I was really gonna dig being Transcendentally Medicated and my now full on erection nodded in agreement.

TBC

 

 

 

 

 

The Continuing Adventures of JT Hilltop/The Long And Winding Road Home

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Whenever you’re hitchhiking you take a chance on the driver’s intentions. Kidnapper, serial killer, sexual predator, cannibal. And those aren’t even the scary ones. But if you’re broke and you need to get somewhere far away taking a chance may be the only feasible option. I caught a glimpse of my reflection, wild stringy hair, rough beard, dirty clothes, and generally pretty unkempt looking and pondered further. On the other hand the person offering me the ride is also taking a chance. Perhaps I’m wielding a machete waiting to take over his truck, maybe I’m an axe murdered, or a road warrior searching for a target to engage in a fun packed evening of torture. So when it comes down to it we were both taking a chance. Thankfully for us both we each proved to be pretty much normal. Or at least not nefariously crazy. Jeb was driving a medium sized furniture store truck called Franklin’s Furniture. Creative name aside he was a relatively nice guy who it turned out has a home complete with wife, kids, two cats, a dog and I would assume a picket fence outside of Fredericksburg Virginia. The furniture store he drives the truck for is a family business with Jeb Franklin the oldest son of the founder and owner Frank Franklin. (I know, right?) The only excitement Jeb ever seemed to have was when he took trips down to North or South Carolina to pick up furniture for the family’s store. He was enthralled listening to my tales and I was more than happy to pass the time relating my travels in a slightly embellished format. In fact he was so enthralled by my enhanced tales and so tired of his “boring” life he decided we should pick up a few beers before he has to go home to his mundane life with “the wife and kids” and go hang out for a bit. So we pulled off I95 at Fredericksburg and drove about fifteen minutes before he pulled into a deli.
A plethora of thoughts began infiltrating my otherwise stable mind. Mostly those chances I mentioned earlier. Is this dude gonna bitch rape me, make me squeal like a pig in heat? Damn man maybe he really is a serial killer planning on chopping me in pieces to hide me inside his furniture. Perhaps scheming to skin me alive to make a humanhide leather recliner chair for Franklin Furniture. Or he could just really just a lonely guy whose biggest thrill is when the new prime time TV season begins? Of course I was hoping for the latter but preparing for the former. Fate would really have a fucking laugh and a half if after all the crap I’ve been through I finally choose to get my shit together only to have me murdered in the State For Lovers. Irony at it’s most seductive. Probably have me die unceremoniously too, just a boring straight up kill. No cool ritual killing or sadistic torture to at least make my last breaths interesting. But fate would have to find someone else to play it’s practical joke on because it turned out Jeb was just a nice guy looking for some company to break up his mundane existence.
When Jeb got back in the truck we drove to a cemetery, which I admit at first gave me frightened goosebumps. They were groundless of course because it turned out to be Jeb’s favorite spot to sneak in a few beers before going home when he returns from trips. It was a desolate quiet area, no traffic, no people walking around, nothing but a bunch of dead bodies. Spooky, but sacrosanct. And anyway Hells Bells man free beer! I mean it’s not like I’m gonna give up every vice on earth. So it was we drank beer while chatting and laughing at just about anything and everything as if we were best friends. I suppose for that hour and a half we were best friends. Then again, best friends don’t normally do things like what Jeb did to me. After the two of us were bordering on total drunkenness nature called out to me. I got out to pee by a big old tree in wooded area not far from the truck. While I was answering natures call returning about half of the free beer I had just consumed Jeb started up his truck and took off. There I was holding my own. Literally! I cursed fate for having found a way to get a quick chuckle in.
First things first. A wiggle followed by a zip so I could assess my new situation. Drunk, alone in a cemetery in who knows where, no money, no ride, and as is normally the case in my shithole life, no hope. No fucking way! Not this time, not this bullshit again. Every time I make an effort to stand up reality knocks my ass down again leaving my head spinning in some unfamiliar place. Dammit I was so damn close this time. Out on I95 with the potential to be back home in a day or so ready to leave all the bad luck behind. I was gonna turn my life around again only this time it was for real. But Destiny is not just a stripper in the club, destiny is a mother fucker who holds a carrot of beer in front of a gullible weak willed freak with a sarcastic smile. No way, no sir, not this time Destiny, no bills in your G-string od life. I’m gonna sober up, figure out where the hell I am and get back on the road. In the dark! With a belly full of beer! From a Goddam cemetery!
I was walking down the dirt road peering at the oddly symbolic tombstones reaching up from the earth as I headed toward the main road in search of Same Old Shit Highway. You know what? Fuck this. I’m not having it. I am not gonna let this derail me. This fuck up is just another stanza in JT’s song. Well I ain’t singing the fucking woe is me blues anymore! I’m singing inspirational tonight. I said I would turn this bullshit around and turning it around is exactly what I’m gonna do. Right here right now. My slumped over defeated slow walk morphed into a quick paced confident strut as I headed out of the graveyard towards the highway. Two snaps a twirl and a pirouette just to prove my point. Very powerful! There was only one thing I had overlooked. I was drunk. My peacock proud strut hit a large stone and I stumbled forward falling face first into the sidewalk. The scrapes on my knee’s and elbows combined with the pain from a slight ankle twist were nothing compared to the bruise my ego took. I apparently had an audience.
A young couple had witnessed my fall from grace unaware of the significance of it having been a fall out of a cemetery onto the sidewalk. But they were a caring couple who came over helped me up then listened to my tale of woe, no embellishment needed, with tremendous empathy. Jim and Deb were a few years younger than me both working their way through college before getting married. If the future of America lies in the hands of people like them then I’m confident we will all be okay. Deb offered to clean my scrapes and Jim informed me he was leaving for Boston in the morning. They offered me up a nights sleep on their couch followed by a ride as far as New York City. It was all I could do to keep the estrogen that had been building up from pouring through in a flood of grateful tears. I accepted. By this time tomorrow I’ll be back in Long Island, or at the very least back in New York. I was on my path to getting my life in order. The three of us walked down the silent street until we reached their apartment. The thought never once occurred to me that they might be one of those dangerous options of chance I had so over-thought about when riding with Jeb.
TBC

Don’t Write What You Know, Write What You Feel

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In an interview with Esther Davidowitz, the food editor of the Bergen Record recently I mentioned that I approached my culinary creations as way to express my writing passion. She asked me to explain but I had never really thought about it I just always did so I gave it some consideration. I had a passion for writing since I can remember and I developed a passion for food because of that passion. Creative energy flowed through me into the dishes I created much like it did from my pen when I was young. When I was a young lad I carried a spiral notepad around with me and wrote whenever I felt I needed to express something. Truth is I have had no formal writing education. Yea I know, hard to believe until you actually read what I write and then it becomes painfully obvious. But then again it worked to my advantage because I had no structured rules to follow I just write how I feel. I don’t write to be right I write to be me. I write to release burning creative energy that constantly bounces around inside my brain looking for an escape hatch. So how does that relate to the career path of chefdom I roamed through? Well let me write you about it.

From the very second I came out of the womb I wanted to be different. When the doctor smacked my ass I didn’t cry, I laughed. Okay maybe a bit of a stretch, I don’t actually remember my coming out party but I was there. The real point is from a very young age I enjoyed disregarding the rules and practicing the art of uniqueness. I didn’t just color outside the lines, I made up my own lines. I added things that didn’t belong and used unrealistic colors, like green suns or purple trees. I wanted to color my own way. For me, that was art. When I went to school and entered my first art class it was painfully clear my talents where limited to making Ducco cement balls and really interesting stick figures. A future back windshield artist for young families aside, I had no apparent talent in art class at all. I couldn’t draw the most basic of structures. In fact I failed penmanship up until the third grade. Still I had an urge to create so I stuck to writing, illegible though it was. I started out writing silly poems. My idol at the time was Hallmark, because the poems in his cards were spectacular.

When I got to junior high school I took typing for three reasons. First the penmanship issue, second I knew it would help me in my writing, and third and most important it was full of girls. I failed typing because I focused too much on the third advantage but I had a fantastic year and the long term what little I did retain from typing class would help in the years to come. I was still writing, the poems took on a bit more maturity, politics began to form, and I started testing the waters of short story writing. In high school I had an assignment of writing a short story so I had an advantage. I actually wanted to do the assignment. I went with the tale of a couple of youths with liquid LSD robbing a cop car and losing the LSD when they crashed the car into a reservoir. The reservoir it turned out fed the towns water supply and all the families began tripping. It really wasn’t very good or well written and I feared the content would land me a visit with the principal and perhaps even a shrink, but I wrote what I felt. Instead of lecturing me about drugs and off color topics my teacher found it extremely creative and convinced me to take her creative writing elective course. I did, and I failed. Unfortunately the class was right after lunch during the ritualistic handball court marijuana smoke break and I missed too much of the class, either coming in late or missing it all together. Not really my fault, the weed in my town was always very high quality and hard to resist.

I talked a lot in school about going to college for journalism to learn how to write but as is often the case in dreams life got in the way and I changed course. I had been working in kitchens to make money to buy the great weed I mentioned when a thought occurred to me. I finally realized it would behoove me in my life to have a career so I went to culinary school and embarked on a gastronomic journey to find my culinary Zen. It was really the only thing I was good at but as it turned out I was really really good at it. I was working my way up to become a chef when I met an established chef who would become my mentor. Chef Patrick was a cutting edge French chef who was poised at the helm of the kitchen during the New York City culinary renaissance period. Food was beginning to change and long standing cornerstones of culinary traditions were being stretched and tested. No longer were parsley and watercress the only garnishes, imagination ruled the day. Red wine with fish and foods such as grilled grapes and goat cheese salad replaced the tried and true recipes that had worked well for over a century. Sorry Mr. Escoffier, but its time to move over and let the youth of culinary communities take over and deconstruct the classics. Cultures of foods were clashing and mashing and a slew of new creations appeared in top restaurants around the world. It was the ideal time for me, chefs were now coloring outside the lines, adding things, and painting purple trees and green suns in their dishes. Patrick taught me how to take my passion to write and inject that creative flow into my cooking.

I approached cooking the same way I approach writing. I see ingredients, colors textures smells and tastes and rearrange them to create biodegradable art that tantalizes all five of the senses. I know different ways to alter them and I pair them with other ingredients by my feeling not by a cookbook. I just imagine how different things would work together and instinctively know the right ratio or combo. Much like the writing. I see words, I know how to use them and what they mean, but its up to me to choose the ones I want and arrange them how I like to get across the feeling I want to share. Maybe it’s a concept to convey, maybe it’s a moral I want to impart, or maybe I just hope to elicit an emotion from anyone who reads it or tastes it. I don’t write what I know, I write what I feel. The truth is as much as I would enjoy reaching a wide audience I’m happy and grateful for the few people who take the time out to share the energy along with me. As a chef cooking was my Zen, but now as I no longer compete with young chefs but have my own little food niche, I have more time to focus on my first passion, my true Zen, writing.PEACE

Whats A Nice Guy Like You Doing In A Jail Like This? pt1

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Welcome to South Carolina, take your handcuffs off and stay awhile, hear?

A rewrite to JT Hilltops great American novel “Zen and The Art of Culinary Maintenance”

Here I was on the first day as I moved into my new digs, a guest suite in the local detention center of Aiken County South Carolina. I remembered having detention in high school. Often! It’s a form of scholastic punishment for any of a variety of mischievous and normally mundane infractions. Detention in my high school was even nicknamed “Brig” to accentuate the feeling of being locked away. This however, was quite a different form of detention. Instead of sitting in a room with the other shenanigan producing student inmates forced to pretend we were working on homework after school I was given my very own guest suite. It wasn’t an especially large room in fact I’ve seen studio apartments ten time the size and this particular living arrangement came fully furnished yet totally unadorned. I suppose you could say it was decorated in minimalist style, complete with four bare walls, a stainless steel toilet and sink, a pamphlet thin mattress on a wooden platform with a polyester sheet and Government issue wool blanket, and…..well actually, that was it. That was the extent of the furnishings, all the comforts of home for a down and out hermit. Whatever the case it was to be my new living arrangements for the next thirty days. So here I am, this young suave New Yorker, locked up somewhere in the deep south where I feared I may never be heard from again. The pace in this city, I think I heard it called Grandmaville, or Grannyville or some shit was anything but urgent. Great, I thought to myself, here I am in Petticoat fucking Junction. There’s Uncle Joe he’s a movin’ kinda slow!” Somewhere between Mayberry and Hootersville. “Jesus shit,” I thought, “Not a familiar face anywhere and not a single person left to turn to.” Thirty days in this hell hole with no beer, no weed, not even a fucking TV to help pass the time. Just me, myself and….and a band of hillbilly cops. Actually, I wasn’t completely alone, it was kind of a low life criminal condo.
Along with yours truly, and against their wills as well, were five “block” mates each with their very own sardine can housing unit and each sizing up this long haired city boy. I could tell they were wondering what skyscraper it was that I crawled out from under. I was relatively certain I detected a mix of urban admiration and good ole boy Yankee hatred, but I may have been setting their intelligence bar higher than I should have. Having been in the wrong bar at the wrong time on occasion I instinctively I understood the importance of establishing the “upper hand”. I had heard some of the other detainees, let’s call them “Inn” mates, refer to the guards as“turn-key”. So it was time to establish my dominance with my jailors while developing my “street credentials” with my new roomies. I determined that a perfect place to start was right this very moment by showing these local yokel criminals how we do it up north in the big city. So in my toughest NYC voice I let out an authoritative directive. “Ay Oh, Turn-key. Yea you in the uniform over thar, I need to make my phone call.” I had attempted to inject just the perfect modicum of disdain and rebellion as was necessary to achieve my goal of upmanship. An awkward silence befell the cellblock and I‘m not 100% sure but I believe I felt a slight wind from the eyes of my roomies opening wide in astonished disbelief. I was half expecting Barney Fife to come take me to a phone but instead a burly mean looking police officer began to stare at me with such a deadpan sarcastic glare I almost felt jealous. I’m from New York, where sarcasm is taught in kindergarten and is a second language. This dude had such killer swagger in his walk he read me a cynical short story without even uttering a single word. I began to wonder if I was taking the proper approach or if I should rethink my technique. It was then that this komodo dragon in uniform began to saunter quickly in my direction with a slow and deliberate pace that screamed “What we have here is a failure to communicate.” The oily haired officer got his face as close to mine as humanly possible and just stared at me a moment. I could feel his smoky foul breath dancing across my cheeks and I felt the lashes of his eyes as they blinked. Little hard eye hairs that could successfully cleaned under his fingernails if he had the gumption to appear clean. I had a sudden and humbling movie memory penetrate my tough NYC exterior and turn me into shimmering mass of spineless amoeba. “Suey, let me hear you scream suey!” Before my ‘Deliverance’ became a reality I attempted to coax myself back from my baseless paranoia and re-establish control. Oh Hell, stop thinking like that and get your shit together tough guy. You faced bigger opponents in Spanish Harlem just three days ago. You’ve spent countless hours in a Pagan Motorcycles Club bar. You have faced off with New York City detectives. Not very successful with the detectives, but stood up none the less. Well maybe stood up was not the right term, more like whimpered through a face full of mace as I dropped to my knee’s, but I did get a kiss my ass pig in which my friends found impressive a few days later from the safety of our hometown bar. I gave my head a hair clearing shake, swallowed hard and began to feel like I was back in charge again. Apparently, none of this impressed Sergeant Komodo Dragon. He began to speak, and I swore the voice was the same voice I recalled from that scene in Deliverance. “Say what boy?…. Did I hear you say turn-key you long haired New Yoke piece o’ shit? Are y‘all gonna tell me y‘all came alla way from da big apple jess at git an ass kicking here in Aikon County?” I couldn’t help but detect a certain note of arrogance and alarming disdain in his voice. But alas it was too late the drama had begun. I sensed that any second now the proverbial pig shit was headed directly in the vortex of the rotary oscillator. And the fan was humming a darkly ominous Dixie tune! The two of us stared each other down for a minute and the silence raised to a tense ear shattering level that damn near burnt my ears. Then as if right on cue a big shit eating “who the fuck does you think your dealing with” sardonic grin broke out on his upper lip, quickly spread across his jaw until cynicism took over his entire face. He gave my solar plexus a formal introduction to his police baton with a shit kicker smile of an exclamation point. Now I am staring directly into this shit eating evil Cheshire Cat’s angry eyes and what’s most obvious is that it’s giving off some very serious vibe implications. I had to think quick to get out of this predicament, to ease the tensions and repair the relationship with my captor while not losing face with my new room mates. Something big and potentially life altering was about to go down. But let me back up a bit and explain how I even came to be here in the first place.

I’m You Venus, I’m Your Fire, What’s Your DESIRE?

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50 shades of Gray Matter. Sticky Gray Matter

Desire. A common bond everyone shares with each other. Not a person exits that doesn’t desire something. What exactly is desire? A philosophic and religious quandary before the word quandary even existed. Desire can raise you to the top of the power pyramid or topple you like a stupid Jenga move. It can get you kicked out of the garden of Eden, get you beaten by your wife with a golf club, or cause you to lose you your pulpit and have you defrocked. That right, the preacher that was frock-blocked and publicly humiliated admitting “I have sinned!” gave in to desire because he sinned. Of course he sinned, if you call sex a sin, he had strong desires. And sexual desire is the glue that binds all seven of the seven deadly sins.
Yes desire, that sweet sweeping feeling of anticipation of pleasure on the way. That marvelous feeling of bodily fluids creeping to the top of the roller coaster in anticipation of an explosive thrill ride. But what price are you willing to pay to fulfill your sexual desire? What will scratching that sensual itch that brings you to the edge of your sanity end up costing you? Everything has a price and desire can incur an array of costs. Reaching your desire makes you happy and although money can’t buy happiness you can pay to have your desires tended to. But they will only come back because you can‘t purchase a way to end your desire. Whether you desire a high octane thrills like the rush from bungee jumping, the status raising happiness of owning expensive clothes, or cars or whatever, it can all be bought. If you want sexual release you hire someone who works for the oldest profession. Want a feeling of euphoria? That too can be bought and paid for but once satisfied the rush is gone. Soon after we reach a climatic conclusion to desire we’re on the trail in search of another chance.
Desire can be achieved during a solo performance but its at its best when it involves more than one singular participant. Desire loves company but misery loves company too so its often accompanied by consequence. Eve desired the forbidden apple and Adam desired the forbidden fruit underneath the fig leaf and reaching for their desires got them a one way ticket out of the garden. Was it worth the consequence? Well if the pictures I’ve seen of Eve are accurate I have no doubt Adam would have proclaimed it was well worth it, and Eve had a major smile when she peered at the size of the talking serpent. For Adam and Eve the joys of sex were so intense it was absolutely worth the price of their exile an according to legend are till going at it today. Seems Adam had been overwhelmed by his horniness which intensified even deeper as it was discovered that Eve was skilled in the art of the tease. She coaxed not only the desires out of her mate but every ounce of human seminal fluid in the world.
Perhaps she learned of this technique as she engaged in a deep conversation with the serpent. Talking snake, lol! Of course we know there are no talking serpents so the snake is a metaphor for Adams writhing tubular appendage. Personally speaking if my own endowment were compared to that of a large cobra I would be quite flattered and other dude would have crazy penis envy. But Adam had no other male to compare his pole to so there was no envy. There was however a plethora of desire and Adam and Eve went at it like pros until Adams wallnuts were out of apple seeds. For the rest of us however the taming of his slippery pusillanimous one eyed slithering serpent is considered the fall of man. In truth I believe Eve was so hot and horny it was Adam who fell, head over heels, and to this day love and desire are a match made in heaven. They satisfied their desires on the grandest of scales. Tiger on the other hand didn’t fare so well.
Tiger had multiple desires which lead to multiple orgasms which once revealed to his wife lead to multiple shots to the head with a number 2 wood. Ironically, Woods was beaten with a wood for indiscretions involving placing his wood in someone elses golfbag during his midnight putting sessions. Elin effectively cleaned his balls by taking Tigers own tool and swinging Wood’s wood with a perfect swing and excellent follow through. She was so teed off she teed off on his noggin, metaphorically smashing both heads with the blows she leveled at him. Tiger paid tremendous consequences losing his wife and many of his endorsements. Mr. Woods has been off his game ever since. But the common bond that drove both men was sexual desire.
Sex. Sometimes a favorite subject and sometimes the pachyderm in the pantry. Taboo, illicit, underage, multiple partner, auto erotic, swapping, or orgies, the act of making love has been around since the dawn of time. Oral, anal, vaginal, or foreign object men have been sticking the snake in whatever orifices they can find since Adam did Eve. And a good thing too or none of us would be here to enjoy it. What is it about sex that makes us desire it so emphatically that many are willing to take chances just to get a little action? What causes us to toss aside inhibitions and engage in acts of pleasure that many others would wince at?
Its hard to pinpoint exactly because there are so many variations on traditional sex these days. There are more fetishes than you can shake a gag ball at ranging from quirky to downright disturbing. Furries, bestiality, acts involving human excrement, pony play, diaper diddling, and the list of the absurd goes on. Some fantasies are socially acceptable and harmless when practiced consensually involving dominants and submissive, voyeurism (not to be confused with stalking), various body parts like leg fetish or foot fetish, sexual role play, sexual fashion like bondage hoods and latex suits , and of course the most common, sex toys. There are legitimate stores that sell nothing other than adult sexual aids such a vibrators, handcuffs, rings, balls, and blow up dolls. There is a myriad of toys and ways to use them that will fulfill near every sexual desire imaginable, and some not yet considered. Whatever your sexual desire you can find someone or something to satisfy it. As long as both (or all if group therapy is your thing) of the participants consent to it then knock yourself out. (which ironically is also a fetish).
Sexual desire has gotten so ingrained into our society we even accept a condition which I refer to as being horny to (ahem) rise to the level of a disease. Not merely a strong desire to have sex but a medical condition that has them predisposed to need sex. A new market will soon open for medicinal debauchery because addicts can’t keep it IN their jeans so they blame it ON their genes. No coincidence it seems to effect celebrities and politicians more than other people. Maybe they really are driven uncontrollably, or maybe, just maybe, they are egotistical arrogant assholes who lack the awareness of anyone outside of themselves and their own all important desires. But in the end we need to do something with them.
So should we just send them to Sexaholics anonymous? “Hi, my mane is JT and I’m a sex addict. I‘ve been ejaculation free for one week now and I feel weak. I need a sponsor, preferably a younger redhead. I‘m just crazy about gingers” Sorry, I for one am not buying it. We all get horny but we also know right from wrong. I mean hell, why not say I have a bank robbing addiction, or an addiction to stealing expensive cars that goes back to my childhood? “It’s not my fault, if he didn’t want me stealing his Mercedes then why did they have to keep it in such sexy good condition. It’s my Dads fault for always making me wash his shitty Oldsmobile.”
This is what people like Jimmy Swaggart used as the excuse for committing the sin of sex or in his case hypocra-sex. Having sex after telling others they’ll go to hell for having it. Maybe he was trying to horde all the sex for himself. Guys who get caught with their pants down with their hose watering the wrong garden these days claim its an uncontrollable burning desire to relieve their sexual tensions. Its recognized as a medical condition. They suffer from chronic medical condition called Acute NonMeaCulpa, or “Not my fault.” That used to be something we said back in grade school before we actually knew right from wrong but now its an excuse to get someone off the hook for acting on something they knew was wrong. Don’t blame the one committing the illegal act, blame it on one of the seven deadly sins. Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, and Pride. Or in a word, DESIRE.

Their, There, They’re, Just Right About You’re Write to Right

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Tears Of An Abstract Artist

“You have to suffer for your art” I’ve heard that so many times before so maybe its worth considering. But what kind of suffering? Public ridicule, self mutilation, a good old fashioned ass kicking, exactly how should I suffer for my art? Some artists cut off their ears although I‘ve grown attached to my attachments, others go mad listening to the passengers in their heads (was that me that aid that?), some turn to drugs, and many go the route of heavy alcohol abuse. Maybe I’ll start at the drugs and alcohol and work my way up. Okay, that bullshit, that brushstroke dried on the canvass a long time ago, so if abusing drugs and alcohol are all that’s needed to suffer I’ve already suffered for years. But those aren’t acts of suffering they’re consequences of attempting to avoid the suffering. The suffering we bring on ourselves by being our own worst critics. Why? I believe its rooted in the fact that we tend to live our lives in the abstract and not in the conventional world that most “normal” people live in.
Artists think see and feel in the abstract. Even “normal” people experience abstract thought everything they sleep because our dreams are the inherently abstract. The brain functions for us when we’re awake but once REM sets in it’s the brain has free reign and great god almighty can it do abstract. That’s why our dreams can be unreal, surreal, or too real. Its like the brain likes to fuck with us while we’re lying defenseless in bed. It needs to keep itself occupied while we’re snoozing and its like “what the hell, might as well throw some weird ass shit out there that makes no sense” just to amuse its superior self and to keep us wondering. Sometimes I wake up and my first thought is WTF was that all about? Sometimes I wake up and think holy crap that was awesome, Ima try to get back to sleep and see some more. Other times I don’t even remember my dreams at all. More than likely a defense mechanism using selective recollection so I don‘t actually blow my own mind. But while our bodies are at rest our brains goes into an abstract state. That’s why dreams can seem so strange yet so real. Abstract is the normal state for an artist. Not much of a reach to label us “dreamers!”
At any rate I’m awake now and debatably lucid so allow me to define my concept of what an artist is. An artist is one who uses any or all of their senses to express their abstract manifestations in some form of expressive medium. We are familiar with the painters and sculptors because we can see their works Rodin, Michelangelo, Picasso, Van Gough, all the great works of the world expressed through colors and shapes and textures and committing their visions or images to canvas or marble. The same is done with a musician who hears sounds and then recreates those sounds using instruments, or anything that makes the sound they hear. Jimi Hendrix is the best example, using his guitar to express sounds we would never have been able to experience had he not been able to summon the abstract. The writer who puts random thoughts into words forming a recognizable pattern that expresses emotions. All of those abstract thinkers are artists but an artist is not limited to those more familiar mediums. I first began to understand this when I became a chef and learned to cook in the abstract.
I have always had the soul of an artist and it made me feel like I was just a tad different from others when I was young. I wanted to be some sort of an artist but it was frustrating. My best drawing are my stick figures o that was out. I loved and still do love music but I could never read it. I could read the note on paper but my mind and my hands failed to form the synergy necessary. I erroneously assumed without being able to read music I would never learn to play. I would have loved to get into acting but I suffered from chronic stage fright and rejection anxiety. I always wrote but never learned how to structure properly so only wrote for my self and my friends and even that was done sparingly due to that rejection anxiety. To make matters even worse I wrote a love poem for my first girlfriend and she laughed, effectively destroying both my elf sesteem and my self confidence while smiling. I suffered!
But working in restaurants is where I learned about artistry. I began washing pot and pans and quickly learned how to make salads, then simple deserts. I learned about food prep and eventually worked my way up to lead cook. But it was just a J-O-B, a way to make money for weed. A I got older I discovered I could make a living cooking so I worked hard and got pretty good at it, ultimately went to school for it. Once while I was working in a restaurant in midtown Manhattan as a line cook the chef took an interest in me. He is a talented chef from France and he saw something in me so he began to instruct me on his style of cooking. As time went by I spent many of my days off and after work hours working with him and he taught me so much. I quickly became not just a line cook but the best line cook, then the sous chef. My benefactor began teaching me how to not only cook, but how to give my dishes personality. I began to form my own style and every dish I created had a bit of my culinary DNA in it. That’s when I put it together. I wasn’t merely a cook, I was a culinary poet.
Cooking creatively is art. Performance art using a biodegradable edible format that is in the moment. It’s a fierce and fast paced performance balancing the demands of a hungry public and their discriminating taste buds. But the chef is responsible to reach every one of the senses with his creation. First it has too be appealing to the eye, it has to have a fresh and enticing aroma, it needs to feel good in the mouth and be at the proper temperature, It needs to incite a number of sounds from the diner (MMM, ahhhh), and most importantly, all the flavors have to come together in a harmonious taste sensation. During many of the performances I either cut or burned myself. I suffered!
But I had to man up because the show must go on and I was a culinary performer. An artist armed with an array of foods bearing different colors, shapes, textures, and tastes at my fingertips and they all required individual attention. Vegetables that need peeling or cutting, with different cooking times, meats and seafood’s that needed fabrication and storage, some in marinades, and also with varied cooking times. I also had to make decisions as to which methods of cooking would achieve the beat results. After that I take into consideration the variety of flavors of those components and arrange them using the various shapes, sizes, textures, and present them in a way that is appealing to the eye. And that’s done over and over with different dishes in rapid succession, each dish going out perfect. That’s Art!
I still think and breath in abstract and my life is one big improvisation which may be my strongest trait. I don’t have a structured life plan I approach just about everything in an abstract manner. If an inspiration hits me its only a seed, and what develops s from that seed is often totally different from what I originally had in mind. That’s how I roll. I’ve reached my pinnacle in restaurants and have refocused my creative efforts to baking and now that I’ve reached as far as I desire in the culinary world I continue to create desserts but I put more focus than ever on my first abstract love, writing. I’m not reaching for the stars with my words but there is much that I want to share to any open minds that enter the arena. I found my writing voice which not surprisingly sounds sarcastic, slightly cynical and its woven in a loom of dry humor that quite often no one gets but me. That’s okay, at least I’ll get the last laugh and besides I believe I have been steadily improving and I constantly pushing my boundaries to expand my parameters and write things I’m not comfortable with. Well not comfortable at first, but I adapt quickly. I’m happier with my words than ever before and it is incredibly self rewarding. I’ve even attempted to delve back into poetry a bit, still adding my trademark dry and sarcastic humor, and I’m digging the hell out of it. It has allowed to me further explore my philosophy of existentialism. Not suffering!
So my advice to any who have the fortune, or misfortune if you’re a sufferer, to read my ramblings, especially if you’re young, is never believe your thinking in the abstract makes you different in a bad way, but unique in a glorious way. If you need to make a living while honing your art do it, your family and personal life come before everything. Life spins by at lightning quick speed and while were are on this tiny twirling orb we need to take care of each other and save our abstract guilty pleasures for those moments when we need therapeutic assistance but can’t afford a shrink. Just never quit, and never give it up. You’ve got something to say and it should be heard….PEACE