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Archive for the tag “waiting”

I’m Really Gone

exit

I’m really gone.

Okay, technically, after I leave in the dawn’s early light of this Friday morning, I will still have six-and-a-half hours left to go.  But in a very real sense, the job I’ve worked for three weeks short of nine years is over.

I’m really gone.

So on this last night of a seemingly endless run of thirteen-hour shifts, I said goodbye to some people I work with, in this, and other states.  Officially trained my replacement for a few whole hours (I hope THAT works out for all concerned next week when I’m no longer here).  And I wrote this, to remind myself that…

I’m really gone.

To remind myself, because at a time of night when most decent folks have been asleep for hours, I had a revelatory burst of zero-dark-thirty energy.  Not the “Mrs. Howell on radioactive sugar beets” energy (by all means, find it on YouTube), but the “I just realized how much actual time I’m getting back in my life to do all the things I could only do in my non-existent spare time” energy which, when harnessed, creates its own CERN-level epiphany that years of sleep deprivation and exhaustion can’t touch.

So, though you’ve all seen me around the blogospheric interwebz for a while now, you’re going to be seeing more of me.  Call this your pre-dawn heads-up for all things Bill Friday.  The kind of heads-up where I tell you that when one life ends, another life can begin.  A life where you really can do all the things.  A life where you figure out what works, and do it.  A life where you figure out what doesn’t work, and you try like hell not to do it again.  A life where even the old things feel new again, because this is the exact, right time for all of them to finally happen.  Just like you always wanted them to, but you always ran ahead of God, or the universe, or your own shoelaces, and you tripped and fell every time. 

Until now.

Because now, I’m really gone.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

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Movies, Monkeys, and the Music in my Head

 

28 days later

There’s music playing in my head right now.  Not the kind you’d expect.  Not the Sirius XM playlist kind of music that some invisible algorithm picks for you from somewhere in the black bowels of your emo soul.

It’s something more insidious.

When I was 20, I had a job in retail, selling wallpaper and other equally inane home decor products for a nationally known chain of stores owned by an international breakfast cereal conglomerate.  And no, I could not make that shit up if I sat down hard and tried.  Anyway, this nationally known chain of stores, owned by an international breakfast cereal conglomerate did not play well-known music over the ceiling speakers for the customer’s in-store pleasure.  What they played was a six-hour, continuously looped, instrumental audio tape of songs, scientifically created… or so we were told in training… to stimulate the shopper’s brain in such a way as to create in them “an innate desire to purchase” on a purely subconscious level.

Such was the weird science of the early 1980s.

Whether or not these musical cues actually stimulated our customer’s amygdaloidal behavior to the tune of windfall profits was unclear to me then, just as it is to me now.  But what I can recall clearly was how we just-above-minimum wage employees responded to being in the presence of these sounds, day in-day out, for however long each of us worked there.

Did you ever see the film 28 Days Later?  Yes?  Good.  That’ll make this explanation easier.  Remember the opening scene, where the eco-activists broke into the animal testing laboratory to free the captive primates from their cages, but found out, too late, that these primates had been infected with some chemical cocktail “rage virus” while being subjected to image after television image of non-stop human-on-human violence?  Remember what these primates then did to their liberators?  And remember what would become of the world only 28 short days later?

Yeah, I wonder what all that listening to shopper stimulation music ultimately did to those of us who worked for that nationally known chain of stores owned by an international breakfast cereal conglomerate in 1981.

Oh yeah, my actual point.

Remember when I said there’s music playing in my head right now?

I’m not so sure it’s a coincidence I thought of that music while sitting alone in a warehouse and wondering, is it really only two weeks…okay, 14 days, 22 hours, and 19 minutes… till I’m free from this 20,000 square foot chimpanzee enclosure?  And when I’m free, will I react like an adorable rage monkey?  Because, you know, writers can be pretty adorable when they’re raging.  Or will I act like Jim, the smooth-skinned, human in the story, who when awakened from a coma, must face an entire world now completely changed from the one he knew before.

Metaphorically speaking, and if you read me, you know, I’ve been in a type of coma since I started working the graveyard double-shift life last year.  This awakening of sorts that’s happening in June is me, coming to grips not only with my certain past, but my uncertain future as well.  I’m unsure how it’s going to go.

But I have it on reasonably good authority that it’s going to go better for me than it did for those adorable rage monkeys in the movie.

Tick-tock.

I’m about to wake up.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

The Unemployment Compensation

lotus position

When I was twelve years old, I found a worn, black paperback book in my dad’s sock drawer.  Yes, THAT kind of book.  And being twelve years old, a lot of it didn’t make sense at the time. 

But, eventually it did.

That’s the way of it with most things we aren’t ready for yet.  We try to understand it the best we can, but until it’s actually our time, no amount of pre-adolescent want to is going to help move that sort of understanding along any faster than the universe deems fit.

However, in all my hindsight is 20/20 understanding of that paperback book, there were a few phrases my twelve-year-old self remembered better than others.  One of those was a sub-chapter called, “The Unemployment Compensation”.  Without going into much detail from the book, The Unemployment Compensation was the name given to one particularly unhurried tantric posture, best utilized by those who had nowhere to be, and were in even less of a hurry to get there.  In other words, if all you have is time, you might as well spend that time doing something you love.

Well, I’m not twelve years old anymore.  And a lot of things, in that book… and out… are a been there, done that proposition.  But some things that once held only a single meaning can, when the time of understanding is right, take on a whole new meaning when it’s your time to understand. 

Case in point, The Unemployment Compensation.

Four weeks from today I will, voluntarily, join the ranks of the unemployed.  And while the idea of leisurely tantric activities can still make me react like a precocious twelve year old boy, the idea of suddenly having the time…the precious time… to occupy myself in the free pursuit of something I love is even more exciting.

Over the last couple of years, I’ve written two books, while working an average of 60 to 70 hours a week.  Four weeks from today, I get 70 hours a week back in my life to do something I love.

And just so you know, like with all really good things, I’m taking a risk with this one.  I have no new job lined up, no golden parachute retirement package, no Sugar Mama.  I barely have any plans at all.  I guess what I’m doing, in the truest spirit of the phrase is, trusting the knowing universe for the compensation.  This doesn’t make me brilliant, and it doesn’t make me some brave pioneer.  What it makes me is a scared shitless creative, hoping that the compensation is worth the adventure.

And a lot of it still doesn’t make sense.

But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to share that adventure with everyone.

So keep reading.  I’ll keep writing.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

Starting and Starting Over

walking backwards png

Starting, and starting over, is not the same thing.  They are as different as walking forward, and walking forward, backwards.  Not as clearly different as starting and stopping.  If it was, then you would have no trouble telling them apart.  But make no mistake; people do have trouble telling them apart.

Starting is that thing we do at the beginning of some something we have not done.  Starting over is that thing we do when some something stops us, but just long enough for us to think that maybe we have not really stopped at all.

It is understandable when those who have never really started a something, and seen it to its end, don’t know.  Most books don’t teach it, and most folks have never lived it.  It’s a mystery, on the lines of accepted but incomprehensible things like the laws of gravity, and thermodynamics.  But whether or not someone knows what those names are names for, ask them if a satellite or even a shooting star could fall to earth, and they nod and say, of course those things are true.

And this is where I say that, because those laws say that a body in motion tends to stay in motion, and a body at rest tends to stay at rest, the very same thing can be equally true about the path of a human life, lived in this human world, often at the mercy of the most human of circumstances.

Speed bumps are formed.  Detours are made.  Shit happens.  And sometimes, those obstacles stop the beautiful movement of a body in motion, until it becomes a body at unintended rest.

Have you ever tried to give a falling star a shove to get it back on its course through the heavens?  It’s not as easy as it sounds.  In fact, it’s damn fucking impossible.  Yet when a very human body, with all its complexities of motion and emotion, loses its path through the glory of this world, it is no more easily shoved back on course than the star that fell from the sky.

But we still ask of those who lost all their momentum, sometimes well-intentioned, sometimes with a critical intent, why can’t you just start over?

Maybe it’s in the way they’re walking.  And maybe you’ve been fooled, because you haven’t noticed that they’re walking forward, backwards.  And maybe in walking backwards, they are slowed by looking at the past that was; their past, lost to the speed bumps, the detours, and the shit of something that no longer is, and not the new that waits behind their back, right over their shoulder.  Not in starting over, but in turning around and starting brand new.

So in the same way you would look into the night sky and at the stars within it, look closely at the shining stars before you, and understand.  Because starting over is never easy, and they are doing the best that they can.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

Lesson from a Bogus Journey

death

Death came to me,

in the middle of the night,

playing Battleship

for my soul. 

Have no fear of death,

as long as he plays his games

on your turf. 

And when he says to you,

“Best two out of three?” 

Tell him to

talk to the chain smoker

in the next aisle over.

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

In Warmth

in-warmth

I’m sitting on a beach,

an hour before sunset,

in the summertime. 

 

The only shadow on the sand is behind me,

along with every thought and action leading up to this point

in my life. 

 

And before me, only two things show themselves. 

The sun, setting,

and an endless ocean,

with the sun setting into it. 

 

These two are, for me,

not the sun and the ocean, but life and eternity. 

 

The ending of the day, life. 

The ocean,

a soon-black eternity. 

 

Together,

they are all my finite mind can handle,

as I wait, in warmth,

for both.

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

Shitheap 

“Life is beauty, under a shitheap of hope.”

#BuddhaBukowski 

I believe in life. And I am not deaf, dumb, or blind. Though I have tried to be all three, sometimes all at once. Yet the beauty, it turns out, is most often found buried beneath the ugliest things. Cloaked. Straining to be seen. Unrecognized. As we turn away, convinced it cannot be there.  

But life, and hope, are eternal. And so is the beauty, covered by a shitheap. Waiting. 

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday 

Changing Things

nano u turn ok

 

My crushing defeats have never been
followed by victories
only off-seasons of regret
and forgetfulness

Waiting for the next spring
and with it
the insane hope of things changing
without changing things.

© Copyright 2015 Bill Friday

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