Oh, the Humanity! (Pride, Shame and the Bookends)

       I go to bed with a heavy heart tonight, after the events of this day. This was one of those days that, when you sit down to review at the end of the night, there are very powerful images and ideas sprinkled throughout the day. A time when the human condition can be defined and reviewed clearly.

     My eight year old son spent today, his birthday, in the hospital watching the specter that has become his grandmother wither away. In a classic drama trope, life and death met at the crossroads, leaving a drug addled woman to give the gift of one more smile for my son to remember her by. When all else fails us mentally in our final days, love has shown it can pull us back to the surface for one last visit, no matter how fleeting. It's a wonderfully romantic notion of love conquering all, but in the end it remains that my son will always have the memories and a personal fairy godmother to learn from, even in passing.

     In juxtaposition, I got into a tiff with the love of my life that boiled down to a battle of pride, will and a determination to be heard. On it's own, I am embarrassed - not for the emotions, but for betraying myself by wasting a single second in negativity in the limited time I have to share with my doll face. It never ceases to amaze me how human.... how PETTY..... I can become when my learned emotions of pride, selfishness, discontent rears it ugly head - a contentious Cerebus of who handed down to me by society. When framed with the reality of my sons day, I feel so tiny, a small animal fighting for a snack. Yet even this knowledge won't always be enough to curb my actions when my little pride is wounded again. Why do we do this to ourselves.... Teaching our children the ethos of self protection in place of self celebration? Must I have an ego merely to rejoice in my being on this planet? Sharing the best of all possible outcomes with my chosen one?

     I cannot do anything to go back and unlearn the habits that continue to hinder me. What I can do is try to learn new habits that will elevate me past them. It won't be easy, but not much in my life that I have gained is. I can be sure things will never be easy, I just have to feel sure they are worth it.

A cold chill in the air

A mind lost in a sea

Of darkness and absence

In a moment of clarity

A light lifts above 

The faded horizon,

A last glimpse of what was

But never will be again.

A reminder of self

Kept inward to avoid breaking

Rejoiced upon and shared

As the Archangel hovers.

We should not need to 

Be reminded

That we must not forget.

Take away the scenery 

And the self pronounced

Obligations,

In order to be alive

One must take the time

To live. 

The true sign of 

A life lived

Comes at the end,

With a death

That releases

Instead of ends.

The First Pages, Hummingbird....

     Strip clubs are a microcosm of pure capitalism and lucid psychology in action. I didn't always understand the allure and idea of these environments, having been taught that they were a form of sex industry. The visual of drunken, writhing bodies and the scent of sweat overtaking me kept me hesitant, and the idea of a beautiful woman I could never have causing me to lust seemed to be a form of self torture. This seems to be the male dilemma I have encountered - either men see it as a visual buffet of beauty or a withheld, painful longing. After finally going to my first strip club, I found there was a third option. Hanging out and talking to the women at the club showed me a kinship with people who want to be heard; women who spend time satusfying the needs of others who don't take a moment to actually recognize the human being in front of him.

      Worse yet are the opinions of many women who cataloguer he club as a seedy pool where men go to leer and share sexuality with other women. The reality is that the club is a much less threatening option to relationships, a service that provides a fantasy with no ability to be attained by customers. In talking to the dancers, one comes to learn that these people, like the rest of us, have dreams and goals and struggles, just like the rest of us. They aren't any more sexual or deviant than the rest of us - they merely have a comfort with their bodies that allows them to provide a service that is seen less threatening when a Hollywood actress does it. A double standard given by societal norms and reinforced by women's insecurities (placed on then by society as well).

      This book is an attempt to reflect on these faceless women and reveal the reality of their profession. There is a wonder to what dancers are able to do on a daily basis, and there is a psychological toll that comes with being ignored in plain sight - giving others satisfaction while being offered nothing but money in return. There is no shame in what they do, and it is time that we, as a people, recognize this is a form of entertainment, not the prelude to an orgy.