In 1972, President Nixon signed into law the proclamation that the third Sunday of June would be designated “Father’s Day”, in honor of fathers across the country. The holiday, 50 years in the making, finally achieved acknowledgement and recognition.
By way of coincidence, that was the same year I was born the bastard son of a man who never acknowledged me. I have never been recognized as his only son. His firstborn, 38 years in the making.
So here’s to you, Clyde Denver Thomas. Fuck you.
Continue reading “On Father’s Day”
A season of reflection is underway. After languishing for several years in a lonely place of decay, little bits of wisdom concerning aspects of myself and my life have been cropping up. After slinging around at the bottom in the mud and muck of the tiny little problems that keep me bogged down, I’ve decided it’s time to pull myself up, take a macroscopic look at things. Instead of trying to deal with the small things, instead of wasting my time and energy on trying to explain every internal struggle and find an answer for that one struggle before grasping at the next, I’m seeing now that it might be a better tack to take a systemic approach to my problems. To pull back and look at the grand scheme.
This is the corollary to trying to help a yuppie play the blues; you can give him a guitar, teach him technique, critique his methods, tell him how to dress, give him a list of topics to sing about, maybe teach him some of the blues canon — or you can fire him from his job, introduce him to women who will break his heart, shove him into the blues club, and tell him that’s how it’s done. It is at that point, hopefully, that he will get it.
I am one man examining his life as objectively as subjectivity will allow. I’m trying to get it. This so far has led me to a set of understandings: Continue reading “Nutshell”
I’ve been doing it all wrong for the past 10 years.
The coffeeshop is not the destination. It is the journey, the waystation, the pit stop. It is the refreshment break on the way to somewhere else where I’m actually doing something with my life. I should’ve picked up on this years ago, but I didn’t, and I’m a stupid dumbass for not seeing it. Most of the people I know through hanging out at coffeeshops have actually gone on to do great and interesting things. Yet I am still here, bored, alone, and unfulfilled. Continue reading “Good To the First Drop”