The Sacred Bunny of Love (2015)

It was a hot and lazy Thursday evening, it felt like it could be June but it was nearly Halloween, Renee and Dean Chenore were recent transplants from Chicago’s uppity North Shore to the rural townships of South Carolina and this was the hottest autumn in 65 years. It was also one of the first times The Chicago Cubs were still playing baseball so late in the season, Renee had just sat down to watch the game when she cracked open a beer and said something lame about her husband not being there, “You wanted to watch the game, you turned up the air so we could watch this stupid game…where are you?”

      “Right cheer!” Dean’s mouth was stuffed with a sensational peach, the juice and bits of pulp dripping from the corner of his lips, catching in his thick beard, he continued try talking, “I wannated to gesh food…” the peach dropped from his mouth on the floor and their big Newfoundland, Bushman, snapped the rolling peach into his mighty jaws, “Well, I didn’t want that peach anyway…there you go Bushman!”
    “Don’t feed the dog fruit!” Renee went to grab the peach from Bushman’s mouth but the dog wanted to play tug-of-war, Renee was irritated, “Bushman, no! Gimme the peach!”
    “He’s an Allman Brother…” Dean quipped as he swung his feet upon the coffee table, “Eat a Peach, brother dog!”
    “He’ll get sick…” Renee’s fingers can’t grip the slippery peach, “Dean, get the peach from the dog!”
     “C’mere boy!” Dean put his hand down near the big dog’s big black shaggy head, “Spit it out!” the dog did as he was asked and walked away without a second thought, “Eeew…this peach has been dogged!” Dean held the mush piece of fruit up like an alien object, “Gross! Want some?” he dangled in front of his wife who shrieked, “It’s only a fruit, dear…” Dean wrapped the mangled fruit in a napkin as the sportscaster yelled something exciting from the television, Dean yelled, “What the hell?”
    “Holy Cow!” Renee laughed, “The Cubs win the first game!”
     “It’s over?” Dean’s shoulder’s slumped, his voice damp, “I didn’t get to see a single play!”
    “Sorry baby…” Renee patted her loving husband’s half round belly, “You’ll have to take the day off tomorrow, otherwise you’ll miss that game too!”
    “I hate this job, I hate this place.” Dean clicked off the television, crossed his arms and pouted, “Why the hell did I take this do nothing job in a hell hole like this place?”
    “Two words…” Renee purred, “Mon-Eee!”
    “Money, fuck money…” Dean closed his eyes and tilted his head back, “I miss Chicago.”
     “Yeah? You miss Chicago?” Renee knew Dean didn’t mean it, he never liked Chicago and couldn’t wait to get out of there, anywhere was better he often said, he hated Chicago, “You miss the weather? The high was only 38 today…or walking the dog and picking up his poop in plastic bags? You miss that?”
    “No, well, no…” Dean lifted his resting head and Bushman lifted his resting head with the sounds of the words walking and poop, the master noticed the dog and said, “You want to go out Bushman?”

    “Take the dog out then come back and find me…” Renee traced a long, seductive finger up her husband’s chest to his lips, “I’ll play ball with you!”
   “Deal…” Dean stood up and Bushman did too, then to the dog he said, “Come on boy, let’s go shit with freedom in the South Carolina countryside!”
   “Lock up when you come in…” Renee said as Dean and the dog walked towards the back door, “Then come find me…okay?”
    “I think I know where to look…” Dean chuckled with a creepy but loving laugh as he stepped into the warm, steaming evening, he continued talking to Bushman the dog, “I’m gonna hit a homerun tonight boy!”

     Passion runs deep between lovers, this was so with Renee and Dean, their passion ran deep and long into the night. Hours later, when they were sitting in bed sharing a fat joint and contemplating life as lovers often do, there was a loud smashing sound from the kitchen. Renee jumped with a startled moment of fear, she grabbed Dean’s naked arm and urged him, “What the hell was that? Did you hear that?” her eyes wide, her heart beating faster, “What the hell was that sound?”
    “It was probably Bushman…” Dean tossed the covers off his wiry naked body and shuffled towards the kitchen, Renee, wrapped in a blanket, followed closely behind him, “I left him outside, he was into the midnight moonlight scene and I figured it was cool, right?”
    “I guess…” Renee wasn’t too sure, she stood behind her man as he flipped on the kitchen light and they saw their beautiful Newfoundland standing at the backdoor, something dangled from his mouth, “What the hell does he have? What is that?”
    “A dead critter, he probably caught something…” Dean unlocked the door and let the big, black, furry Bushman inside as the dog carried in the dead, dirty object in his mouth, “Yeah, it has hair…he caught a critter or something…” bending over, Dean reached for the dog, “What do you got boy?”
    “It looks like…a head!” Renee gasped with horror, “It’s a small child’s head, ohmigawd!”
    “It’s not a head, silly…” Dean reached for the dead something in the dog tight jaws, as he tried to pull it from the big beast, the dog pulled back, “It’s a critter, it’s a, it’s a…a…rabbit?”
    “A rabbit?” Renee’s lips curled with disgust as the dog finally dropped the dirty animal on the kitchen floor and looked up at the couple with a doggy smile of pride, “Like a bunny rabbit?”
    “Well, yeah…a field rabbit or something.” Dean kicked the dead bunny with his naked foot and asked the dog again, “Where did you get that Bushman? Did you catch that little sucker? Good boy!”
    “Dean?” Renee knelt down for a closer look at the dead animal on her kitchen floor, “That doesn’t look like a field rabbit…it’s so big, so fat and fluffy…and dirty, it’s really, really dirty.”
    “Well sure, the dog did a canine ritual, dragged it in the dirt…” Dean pat the dog on the head and bent closer for a look at the dead rabbit, “He played with it after he killed it…right?”
    “Did he?” Renee’s face became white as she stood up with the frightening realization, “Dean, this is not a field rabbit…this is a bunny rabbit, like a little kid’s pet bunny, that kind of bunny rabbit.”
    “A bunny rabbit?”

    “Yeah, a bunny rabbit…” Renee pointed at the bottom side of the bunny rabbit, “It’s a fluffy white rabbit…look at it it’s paws, it’s hair is so groomed…this was a bunny rabbit, like the kind of bunny rabbit the neighbors have in their back yard…that kind of bunny rabbit?”
    “A pet rabbit?”
     “From next door…” Renee’s eyes welled up with tears, “Oh gawd, Dean, Bushman ate the neighbor’s pet bunny rabbit! Oh my, he ate their bun-bun!”
   “Their bun-bun?” Dean flipped the dead critter over with his foot, “What bun-bun?”
     “In that cage, in their backyard…that bunny?” Renee was shaking with anxiety, her voice vibrating as quickly as he heart raced, she imagined the horror of their pet’s crime, “We’re the bunny killers!”
    “Bunny killers?” Dean laughed, “We’re no stinking bunny killers!”
    “Dean, this is awful, this is…” Renee choked back a sob, “this is tragic!”
    “Tragic?” Dean shook his head amused with the notion this was some kind of tragic event, he reasoned with his frantic wife, “Renee, it’s not tragic…tragic is Bushman eating the kid next door, not the stupid bunny…why did they leave the bunny in a cage? That’s stupid, it’s asking for troubles, this is what they get…it’s not our fault, it’s the circle of life, man!”
     “Oh Dean, imagine those kids in the morning…” Renee’s voice cracked, “They come to find the bunny gone, eaten by the new neighbor’s dog…we’re screwed, we’re, we’re…screwed!”
     “Screwed?” Dean laughed nervously, “No, we can fix this, I can fix this…come on, I have an idea, get me a couple of clean towels, the mayonnaise, an egg and the bong…”
     “Mayonnaise, an egg and the bong?” Renee stood up and started walking to the fridge, “What do you need the mayo, egg and bong for, Dean, what are you going to do?”
     “It’s hair conditioner.” Dean walked to the bathroom calling back, “The towels, don’t forget towels.”
     “The bong in hair conditioner?” Renee followed her husband down the hall, “Really?”
     “The bong is for you…” Dean turned the water in the tub on and sat down on the floor, “You need to fucking chill out…some music too, put on some music.”
      “Music? Bong?” Renee was confused but had stopped sobbing, “Dean, what the hell are you doing?”
      “Making all things right in the world…” Dean let the tub fill with a few inches of water, “Please, just do what I ask, I have a plan and it’s going to work, okay?”
      “Plan? What plan?” Renee asked as she started backing out of the bathroom, “What music?”
      “Grateful Dead seems appropriate, right?” Dean chuckled, “It’s a dead bunny, Grateful Dead, okay?”
      “You’re sick, you’re twisted…” Renee left to fetch the bong, start some music and when she came back to the bathroom, Dean had the bunny submerged in the water and Renee freaked out, “What the hell are you doing? Oh mu gawd, you’re a fucking sociopath!”
    “What?” Dean continued rinsing the dirt off the very white bunny, “It’s dead, it’s not like I’m drowning it or anything…relax, just keep the bong packed and I’ll take care of everything.”
    “So, you’re going to what? Wash it?” Renee packed the bong and handed it to Dean, “Wash it, dry it…then what, take it out?”
    “Oh no…” Dean let the dead bunny soak in the water and before he took a hit from the bong, he chuckled, “I never date my customers…no, this will work, trust me, it will work.”
    “I hope so, I don’t think I could handle this otherwise…” Renee sighed as she watched her husband clear the bong, hand it back to her and as he exhaled and returned to washing the dead critter, she repacked the bong for herself and told her a husband a story he never heard before, “When I was a little girl, I was eight or nine years old…we just moved to Gila Run in New Mexico…we were there only a few weeks, it was the second week of school and it was the worst thing…” Renee paused to take her hit from the bong as the music played and Dean continued washing the dead rabbit in the tub, “I was sitting on the patio in back, I was playing with my toys when this huge, big green and brown Gila Monster came crawling from the yard towards me…I was scared, I was fucking freaked out, it looked like a monster and so I started screaming…wild, blood curdling screams of terror…it was awful.”
    “I bet, sounds scary…” Dean finished with rinsing and cleaning the dead bunny, he started to towel the limp, floppy rabbit as he wife exhaled before she continued with her story, “So what happened?”

    “Well, daddy heard my screams and when he ran outside and saw this huge monster creeping towards me…he just reacted, you know? He was just protecting me, right?” Renee repacked the bong again as Dean started using the hairdryer on the dead bunny, “Daddy grabbed a shovel and started to beat the gila monster…he hit it over and over again…on the head, on the back, he chopped the tail off but the tail continued squirming on the patio…blood everywhere, splattered blood everywhere…”
    “Your dad was quite the stud, eh?” Dean finished blow drying the dead bunny and set it down on the floor in a towel as he took a second hit from the bong, “So, that terrorized you, eh?”
    “That wasn’t the worst part…” Renee shook her head, her voice still filled with shame of the event from 30 years ago, “It turned out that it wasn’t just some random, wild Gila monster, it was the mascot of the tow of Gila Run!”
    “The mascot?” Dean coughed with disbelief, “The Gila Monster was the town pet?”
    “Yes, it’s name was Gilberto…it roamed the entire town for almost 15 years before, before…daddy killed it…” Renee took the empty bong from her husband and as she packed one more hit for herself, she concluded the story, “After that, it was really awful…we were completely ostracized, shunned by the community. The kids called me “The Gila Killa” at school…I had no friends, daddy’s business was a failure…my mother couldn’t even go to the church she was so embarrassed…they just never forgave us, they, they never accepted us…and this is the same thing, it’s the same thing all over again!”
    “No, this is not the same thing…” Dean picked up the very dead, very floppy bunny and teased it’s furry white hair while he spoke like a gay hair dresser, “Oh darling, you are drop dead gorgeous!”
    “Stop it, this is not funny!”

    “Sure it is…three years from now it will be hilarious!” Dean put the dead bun-bun in a dark towel and wrapped it up tightly, he turned to his nervous wife, “Where’s my black Steve Jobs turtleneck and old blue beanie hat?”
    “Why?” Renee followed Dean into the bedroom as he quickly changed into the shadowy spy outfit, “What are planning on doing next?”
    “I am going to be a stealth motherfucker…” Dean slipped into a Humphrey Bogart accent, “See darling, me and this bunny, we got a destiny to fulfill…we got a mission, a mission from Bugs Bunny!”
    “You’re crazy…” Renee shook her head in disbelief, “This is not going to work, we’re going to hell, we’re screwed, they’ll know…they’ll know…know it was us, it was our dog…it was Bushman!”
    “No, all dogs go to heaven and so will Bushman!” Dean smeared black shoe polish on his face and returned to the bathroom to fetch the very dead bunny rabbit, “So will you and me too, this is going to be alright, it will work out just fine…have faith, baby!”
    “Faith…yeah, right.” Renee shrugged as she followed Dean to the back door. Dean held the dead pet close to his chest and then, before disappearing into the night, he dramatically turned to Renee for a kiss, she kissed him, “Good luck Agent Dean!”
    “Thanks, sweetheart…” Dean said like Bogart again, “but I make my own luck.”

Renee watched her husband as he duck walked across their lawn in the dark of the half moon’s light, she chuckled as Dean held the dead bunny in the towel between his teeth while he half leaped over the small fence between their big yard and their neighbor’s bigger lawn. He looked foolish as he crawled army commando style across their grass and crept like a suburban ninja on their patio to the bun-bun cage at the far end. Renee held her breath in silence as Dean set the dead pet next to the cage, slowly and as quietly as possible he opened the small creaking door. He unwrapped the towel, the very dead bunny was so clean, it’s white furry limp body almost glowed in the subtle moonlight as Dean carefully placed the critter inside the cage before he closed the little, creaky door and snapped it shut.

 The snap sounded echoed in the silent night and Renee again held her breath as Dean did another commando style roll off the patio before he scuttled across the lawn, over the fence and back across their South Carolina lawn. The guilt feeling in her gut got worse as she opened the patio door and followed her giggling husband inside. Dean stripped off his beanie cap and used it wipe off the shoe polish from his face as Renee quickly closed the curtains and turned out the lights. Both the husband and wife, followed by their big Bushman dog retired to their bedroom for the rest of the night. Dean fell asleep quickly, Renee laid awake staring at the ceiling fan until the first shattering of dawn created shadows which finally lulled her asleep.

Another hot and steaming day in late October, Dean was already outside mowing the backyard when Renee walked outside with her first cup of Joe in hand. Dean smiled at his wife and Renee smiled back at her husband as she raised her cup with a loving greeting. So far, so good, she was thinking as she took a seat at the table and continued to watch Dean walk back and forth across the yard, pushing the loud lawn mower with determination. The dog was on his tether and sitting peacefully next to Renee on the patio when she saw the mother neighbor next door come outside. Renee looked down at her dog, pretending not to notice the woman. Dean saw the woman too, he turned around to walk away from her when they both heard the shriek, that blood curdling scream of agony. Dean continued to mow, also pretending not to hear the next door neighbor woman as she frantically called for her husband, “Ryan! Ryan! Oh My God!!! Ryan!!!” and although both Renee and Dean wanted to continue ignoring the drama, it would be both rude and suspicious to not show concern, the poor woman sounded like she was going to have a seizure, “Ryan! It’s…Ryan! Come here!”
    “What is it Sarah?” the husband next door, Ryan, ran outside followed by two kids, a boy and a girl, about 8 and 10 years old, the family ran to they hysterical woman, “Woman, are you alright?”
    “Dean? Dean! Dean?!” Renee called out a few times before her husband turned off the mower and finally heard her, “Dean, what’s wrong?”
    “I’m not sure…” Dean said loud enough so that if anybody heard him say anything, it wasn’t an admission of guilt. He walked next to Renee and they watched like concerned neighbors should do as the family all suddenly started crying, saying amen and praising Jesus. Dean whispered, “What the hell?”
    “They obviously found it…” Renee whispered with onus, “We’re screwed, we’re so busted…oh, Dean… go there, go talk to them, tell them the truth…”
   “The truth?” Dean protested but then the husband next door, Ryan, looked up and saw the guilty couple watching from their yard. The man waved at them, Dean blushed, “What is the truth? Shit, I better go there…stay here.”
   “No, I’m going with you…” Renee held Dean’s hand as they together began to slowly walk towards the back fence between their yards, she whispered, “You do the talking.”
    “Hello!” Dean called out as the came to the fence and their neighbors, holding the dead bunny in his hand, followed by his wife and kids, walked towards the guilty couple, “Is everything alright over there? We heard the screams, and well…is everything okay?”
   “It’s our bunny rabbit…” the man held the dead critter out, it hung from the neighbor’s trembling hands with a deadness that looked both shameful and sinful, the man said, “He’s, he’s dead…”
   “Oh, gee, I’m…I’m so sorry…I know, it’s hard to lose a pet…” Dean was sincerely sorry, he truly felt the pain of loss and a big heap of guilt, he stammered, “I know, if my dog…our dog…when it dies…I mean…”
    “No, no you don’t understand…” the next door neighbor man interrupted with his calm, easy on the ears southern drawl, “The bunny died, we buried it three days ago…”
     “Today I found him in his cage!” the neighbor wife interjected with a kindly smile, “He’s cleaner than the day he died…”
   “You don’t say?” Renee played dumb.
    “I don’t know what to say…” Dean was filled to the brim with remorse, with shame, with sheer heavy guilt, he was going to spill the beans and come clean himself, “It’s…it’s hard to say…”

   “No, it’s ain’t, friend…” the next door neighbor man lifted the dead bunny towards the blue morning sky and with a joyful voice, he proclaimed, “It’s a miracle!”
    “A miracle from God!” the next door neighbor woman jubilantly rejoiced, “We are blessed!”
     “Blessed?” Renee’s jaw dropped as she glanced at her husband.
    “A Miracle?” Dean stopped his admission, the culpability faded quickly, “Miracle from God?”
    “Indeed, praise us Jesus, the Bunny has Come Back from The Dead!” the main continued to praise the Lord in the backyard as the children laughed and his wife started singing some Gospel hymn, “Like Christ on The Cross, after three days he has returned…we are blessed, this is a sign from heaven!”
   “A sign from heaven…” Renee could hardly hold her laughter, she tittered under her breath, “Dean, let’s let them have their peace…”
   “Well, yes…Amen, amen brother and sister…” Dean nodded kindly as he and Renee stepped backwards away from the blessed family rejoicing in the return of the three day dead bunny rabbit. Dean’s smile was askew as he again waved and said, “It is a miracle, somebody should call a preacher!”
   “Yes! Yes! Yes!” the man was almost delirious with elation, they danced as they held the dead bunny up in the pale morning light, “Amen brothers and sisters, praise to all!”

Cover of "The Sacred Bunny of Love" audioplay

   “Yes, indeed!” Dean waved one last time as he and Renee stepped back inside, “I guess that goes to show you…” he said and closed the door, “One man’s sin is another man’s miracle…”
   “And dog spelled backwards is god too…” Renee grabbed her husband tightly, “I Love You.”

   
   

Leggo My Ego

I have been practicing the art of meditation for the better part of 30 years, but in the last half dozen years or so, I’ve gotten pretty good at it…I actually have become so good at it that I’m convinced the first 25 years or so I was doing it all wrong! When I started to practice, I was maybe 22 years old, I got nearly all my information and how-to know how from books. I read dozens of titles, articles, went to a couple of seminars and even attended a meditation weekend retreat with a swami like guru named Gary. I thought I was getting it, especially after continuing for the first year or two, I thought I nailed that art and there was nothing to it…that much is true, there is nothing to it, but not in the way I thought I knew it, not in the way I know it to be now…I was meditating from my ego, a bad habit which I continued to do for many years that ultimately prevented me from experiencing what meditation truly is or could be…like religion preventing one from having a spiritual experience, the ego prevents one from having a meditative experience. The ego has rules and parameters, the ego has boundaries and limitations…all elements which are contrary to the meditative experiences. But I didn’t know better, nobody corrected me (nor did I seek outside help) and so until I was almost 40 years old, on the relatively few times I meditated (perhaps 2-3 times a month), I wasn’t doing as much good for myself as I imagined I was; consequently when it came time me to really depend on the practice, I was inept, I could not mediate and as a result, I got nothing from meditation. Again, that’s the idea too, but I didn’t understand the difference so that time I spent meditating was, more or less, just time resting my eyes and mind a little but not much else…not really meditation.

d'Philip meditating in 1983...

These days I’ve been practicing the art of meditation at least once and as many as three times daily. I start everyday with a session, my day doesn’t start until I have my morning meditation. It’s my favorite one of the day, I make the most from this session and it’s more important than coffee to me…that’s right, I said MORE IMPORTANT than coffee, so you know, it’s serious shit in my world! I have such trouble telling about this daily experience, it’s like having some kind of cosmic orgasm right when I wake up, it’s like harness the energies of my dreams and rest and laser focusing them in my mind…sometime I get nothing from this morning session, which is the goal, and I have a great day. Sometimes I have insights and flashes of wisdom or something, I’ll have a confused day. Sometimes it’s the other way around too, I can never tell but I just do it anyway. It’s a habit, it’s what I need to do every day to feel okay with myself, with my ability to cope every day. I think the most important element is that I do it not for my self, but in spite of my self, in spite of my ego. I like to think I have control, I like to think I can think through any or every situation; this practice daily reminds me, I do not, I cannot and I will not be able to control anything but myself, if I’m fortunate, I can control my self, I can keep my ego in check.

The most noticeable thing which happened for me when I lost my ego was the ability to happy…with about anything. Ego holds a lot of expectations, my experience has been that my ego was always telling me that once something happens, everything will be alright. When I got that new bass guitar, I will be a better player. When I get that nicer car, I’ll go further. Except that’s all lies, that’s all bullshit…nothing changes when you expect the change to come from something/anything outside the self…all happiness is rooted in Love, in the self, not the ego. Other negative feelings come from my ego too…envy, anger and shame…fear is rooted my ego, my self-image is even rooted in my ego so once I was able to detach and free myself from my ego, almost anything can happen and it won’t really impact me so negatively…it is NOT about me, not about MY ego…it’s about the external world, it’s about other people’s ego but not me, not mine. Once I lost my ego, the meaning of fearless took on a whole new dimension…I don’t depend on money, career goals, material things for my happiness, only me.

An unexpected result of this loss of ego is that I truly have no regrets…almost no regrets, no new regrets that’s for sure because I do what I think now, I say what I believe, how I feel and when you do that, you start living in the moment and there’s no time to regret anything past or future because neither the past nor the future ever exist. I’m also more honest than I ever was…I still don’t use filters (most often by choice), I’m rather blunt, candid and I still open mouth and insert foot sometimes…but at least I’m completely honest about that fact; I might misspeak something, but at least I’m misspeaking the truth. The best thing, also unexpected from losing my ego is the fact that I finally, after over a half century spinning on this rock, I am actually truly being myself. I am 100% authentic, nothing about me is not a whole part of me…no need to pretend I’m anything I’m not and no fear to be anything I can imagine. This is part of what I was writing about last week…finding my voice, my own voice…this is a direct result of my ability to finally lose my ego.

d'Philip eating the sun in 2014...

With all that being said, it almost seems contrary to also consider the kind of reactions, communications and relationships I’ve had with others who have often attacked my ego. The bottom line, the truth of the matter is that these days I don’t care about the things other people say to me, more accurately, what other people say about me. Fuck that, I simply don’t care. In the past it was something which crippled me (evidence that I was not meditating correctly originally), I cared about what others thought of me or my work or my lovers or whatever…it somehow mattered to me and if I didn’t get the approval I was seeking, it crushed me (but I rarely showed it). I was told at a young age that I needed to have “thick skin” and this was advice I heeded and respected. I got really good at it too, like water on the duck’s back, everything simply rolled off me, bounced around the room and I didn’t let it affect me; the truth is, it did affect me profoundly I just didn’t show it on the outside. In recent times, this is absolute truth, there is no approval I seek outside of myself. If I can live with myself, if I am happy with my choices then there is nothing else I need or can do to make it any better. That doesn’t stop the attacks, my ability to transcend the matter does not stem the tides of criticisms or scrutiny I get from a variety of sources but I deal with them a lot better because I don’t hold onto my ego, it’s not anything personal for me rather it’s a matter of others who cannot deal with their ego…since they can’t control their own ego, I imagine, they are trying to control the ego of others. That may or not be true, but it works for me.

d'Philip on stage in 2013...

I am a very confident person, I always have been and for a while, it made me rather arrogant and aloof. In my casual observations the most successful artists had to have the biggest ego, it has to be so big to deal with the competition and struggles of making it to the big time. In my actual experiences, however, it’s not about having a big ego but more like no ego that keeps an artist successful. The definition of success has changed also, it’s not about the fortune & fame, not about the legacy you leave or the number of units you’ve sold; that is not success. Success is staying happily alive, success is having the ability to give and feel Love, success is living to a triple digit age with no health issues and dying in your sleep after the best wet dream ever! The lack of ego, losing the ego, letting go of my ego is what has changed for me. I could say that I couldn’t be any happier but that would be like saying I couldn’t be any older; I could say I’m happy, but I can be happier but that’s like saying the moon is round, but it could always be rounder; it’s just absurd, the notion of happiness is, that’s all…it just is.

And if you’re not happy with that, it’s your ego not mine which makes it so…be well!

Finding My Voice

If you’ve not noticed, I haven’t been around on the on-line communities lately. It’s not anything personal, I dearly value the dialogue, the support and good fun we share together in this experience. I’m not on the run, I haven’t pissed off The NSA or Habdalah yet, but I have been exploring. I have been busy searching for something many authors/artists need, a rather unique, original and valuable voice of my own. I have been working on this forever, all my life I have been defining myself as an artist with a distinctive voice, but truthfully, it was not always my own voice. I like to steal lines from John Lennon or Ken Kesey or Dr. Gonzo sometimes…I often pull Zen shit from my ass…for much of my younger life I just repeated things, a pop art parrot, a suburban poser with self-esteem issues and profound shame. As an adult the voice became more of my own, it sounded like me but it was still other shit twisted inside out, from years of use and abuse, like Picasso said…I didn’t borrow, I stole and made it my own. At this point in my experience of reality, it seemed to work and I garnered several successful ventures, started to build a core following and mistakenly thought I had my shit together. Then it was 2001, an awful year in my life…The Dot-Com Bomb & 9/11…My daughter’s murder, both Ken Kesey and George Harrison died and I turned 40 years old in rural Arkansas feeling like hell but wearing a brave face.

I wore that brave face without fail for five years and nobody suspected a thing. I relocated the family from Arkansas to Arizona before returning to Chicago with my proverbial tail between my legs. I took a job driving a limo, then got a CDL to drive big rigs across the country but eventually used one of my 3 college degrees to secure a marketing position with a large corporate cinema organization. After waging peace inside the corporate environment for a couple of years, I left and started freelancing until…November 16, 2006…on The Edens Expressway, on my way to my first client of the day…something happened, I snapped; the next thing I remember are some images of being on the ground, on the freeway, in front of my car…I remember a paramedic’s boot and someone asking me something but not being able to answer…six weeks later I regained some sense of sanity and realized I was in a psych ward and it was my 45th birthday! That’s when I completely lost my voice, I was mute, I could not put together a sentence let alone speak my mind in my own voice.

It was a long road to recovery, a road I still ride today in fact…along the way I did a lot of “personal work”, a lot of “putting the pieces that used to be me back together again”…I like to call it my Humpty Dumpty period. In that process, like organizing an overstuffed storage area, one has the opportunity to evaluate and access one’s items…you keep important things, valuable items and sentimental trinkets and discard all the other bullshit. That’s what it was like in my experience of recovery from a psychotic break as severe as I had, I suspect everyone has a unique perspective.

 Around the five year recovery bench mark, I started to write about the experience. I began to again test the waters as a more productive person, I pushed the boundaries of my ailment and eventually the stuff I was writing became a book and now I’m in a totally different state…both physically and in my head. It’s been almost five more years now, I’m still pushing the envelop of inhibitions which reverberates still in my life daily…and it’s hard, I have some days I feel crushed. I keep on keeping on, I keep my dobber up and I simply don’t give in, never stop working towards my goals. This move to California, we’ve been here just over a year now, has really challenged me, my family and it’s not all dreams come true bullshit. There’s some fear, there’s some uncertainty and moments when it seems like it wasn’t the right move. I trust myself, however, I think it’s still the right move, the right direction and I’m not giving up, not yet, not ever.

One of the primary reasons why we relocated to California a little over a year ago was to position myself in a market where I can, as an author, screenwriter, artist be more exposed to a vibrant stream of opportunities found in The Golden State. To date this is working, perhaps not as fast as I imagined (but it never is either) in my lessons of patience some things are happening for me in a very positive way. My book is close to reaching the 2,000 units sold bench mark, this is good for a micro-published book in less than the first year of release, so the publisher is investing in producing an audio book version of the book! Yeah, you’ll be able download the entire 400+ pages, as read by the author, for only a few bucks! I’ve been getting more attention with every live event speaking engagement and recently, as a result of those events, I was approached by a television producer to participate in a community service type of documentary about identifying mental illness in the family. I’ve also got an interview which I just recorded with iHeart radio which will be used in syndication on their network as a medical information program (heard late at night or Sunday morning, but still…) and I’ve been trying to make contact with an agent or two to help pimp my screenplays in Hollywood next year…through all of this one of the most surprising things I’ve learned about myself is that I do, in fact, now have my very own distinctive, unique and original voice! I can hear my dialogue and conversations, they have changed and become something they didn’t used to be; they have become totally me!

I’d say something like I’m proud of myself, but truthfully, that’s just stroking my ego which doesn’t need the encouragement. It actually doesn’t surprise me in some ways, after putting myself back together again, doing that Humpty Dumpty period, I probably sorted which thoughts were mine and which are not, which words are truly me and which ones did I read someplace else? Writing my second book, in my own voice about the truth I know about my life certainly brought focus to my voice; having to first sell it to a publisher and then to the public really forged my words; continuing this dialogue on-line, in the media and with people on an individual level has solidified my voice with a confident and positive vibe. I’m certainly not proud of myself, but I’m ever so Grateful that I have a voice of my own. Some of that gratitude belongs to you, the people who read my seemingly mindless blog or watch my silly little video.Philes…and to those who have bought my book or come to see hear me speak…I am always thankful for your kind words and encouraging messages. I also feel indebted to the therapeutic team back in Illinois that helped me, to the Masters at The Zen Center I now visit and others who periodically counsel me in moments private and intimate.  My family…both my core of wife and 3 kids and the family beyond that circle also helped me find my voice. Especially when to speak and when to not speak. How to listen and not take a thing for granted…I could not have the voice I have if it were not for all of these people and many others through the annals of pop culture and history…but still, I know, it’s my voice.

Now if I could only get this stupid voice to sing like David Bowie, I’d be all set!

A Random Saturday Night Blog

This blog is unplanned, I had no real intention of writing a blog article to publish but in doing this it will help make this blog eventually complete with exactly 75 articles. This is, therefore, the 75th article but it’s being posted in the 63rd article’s place…there is, you see, a plan at hand, a method to this madness and like any book, film, television show or piece of music…it eventually will have an end. I have a limited number of article to complete, I’ve a loose timeline as well, but I do indeed know in general what every remaining article will be about; I’ve been thinking about this that much. That’s what I’m supposed to do, as an author, as someone who has a share in a publishing company, I have to pay attention and make things like blogs, social media outlets and other quasi-marketing systems work. My problem is with the notion of marketing, I have a Bachelor’s in Marketing and it’s my least favorite subject of study. I am more into the idea of writing to find myself and screw the public than writing to find the public while screwing myself in the process…I don’t do this for anyone but myself, really. I share my thoughts freely because, I’ve come to hear, other people enjoy sharing those thoughts with me. I make people laugh or feel better. I cause people to think or react, but even that, in a weird way, is for myself. I get as much from the interactions with my audience, which in turn shapes or at very least cause me to think, consider or entertain a notion I might not have otherwise not found on my own. So I share these things that I’m writing mostly for myself because in the process everyone seems to like it well enough. No harm in that, I think it’s part of the uniquely human experience of the arts.

But it’s not marketing, is it? By definition of my college educations, there are numerous statistics, psycho-metrics and proven techniques to identify, capture and dominate any segment of the marketplace. That’s not what I’m doing, not at all…I don’t even pay attention to how many readers I get or what sort of traffic I’m generating unless somebody else is asking for the information. I love to fuck with systems too, I’m always deleting the number of views, altering the number of followers or views because to me, it’s all a bunch of fucking bullshit. I truly like personal contact, the wall between “the artist” and “the public” is silly, if only because “the artist” is then removed from the very fabric which is worth celebrating, depicting or engaging with to begin to with…perhaps that’s why Hollywood sucks so much, they’re bloody clueless sometimes and when they get something truly great, it’s almost ALWAYS by accident (and often by an “unknown”). I envision a more eclectic, one by one sort of spreading the word. It’s always better in person, it’s always more memorable when it’s with others, a few others not the whole the world; that’s my plan, anyway. But fuck that, why the hell would I want to write about marketing plans at midnight on a Saturday fucking night?!?

I should be fucking, I should be having sex but that’s just happening around our house these days. I don’t complain, why bother, it might change and it might not. Like anything, you can’t always get what you want but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need. So what does d’Philip need this Saturday night? I could tell you, but it’s pornographic and would simply be frustrating. More frustrating for me than you, you’d just perhaps be uncomfortable if I told what I really need right now! Next to that, setting aside the vast universe of cyber porn as well, what does d’Philip need to feel alright on this lonely, cool October night? I went for a walk, I watched a 45 minute episode of some lame television show and now I’m writing this random, unscheduled blog…I might like to play some music, but the family is in bed and heading towards sleep besides playing guitar with headphones on is a drag. I’d go to a club if I were in Chicago, I enjoy the music, people watching and flirting but here in The San Joaquin, it’s rather sleepy.  There are a few joints…cowboy bars, farmer’s taverns…up in Modesto there’s a few trendy-like dance clubs full of pretty little kids dancing to thumping sounds and paying way too much for their drinks…I saw this cool looking biker bar I might like, but it’s a beer joint and I don’t even drink beer, so yeah…the bottom line is that my days of going to the club for fun are long over and it’s just as well too…it ain’t what it used to be, is it? So again, d’Philip…what do you need?

I need to connect. I need to feel like somebody is getting me, somehow…they understand and listen. That’s all, no advice, no judgments…just listen, hear me out, hear my voice. That’s something I need, but where’s a fucking therapist when you need one, right? I wouldn’t want a therapist either, they don’t interact well…listening is still a dialogue, it’s an art and like music, the people involved need to be in sync, on the beat, in tune…but that would be good for me, that’s something I really need. How do I get that need addressed at this random hour? I used to have a wife that connected with me, but we’re completely out of sync, out of tune and the only beat we keep together is on what our 18 year kid is doing…she thinks I’ve changed, and perhaps parts of me have evolved but I don’t think leopards change spots too much, neither do people in my experience…so yeah, something about me has certainly grown, which is change but I’m still the same weed I was when she married me 20 years ago. I don’t think she’s changed, although I think her behavior has changed recently…but she’s not any different than she’s ever been as far as I can see…she’s better than ever in many ways, in fact…stronger, smarter and more confident…but she was that when I met her, she was a 19 year old version of the 40 year old woman she is today. But we don’t connect these days, we haven’t since we relocated to California.

That doesn’t answer the puzzle, how does d’Philip get what he needs, if it’s a connection, right now? I could go on craigslist…nah, that’s creepy. I could find some chat group, I guess…some kind of hang-out, but I long for personalities I’m familiar with, not strangers. I miss my friends, both the ones I have that grace my good door and the ones I share an on-line connection with…nobody seems to be around, everybody is probably having a better time than me…waaa-wah! No, most are probably asleep, stoned with couch lock and television or having sex (those bastards)!

 It’s not looking good, d’Philip, if you do say say so myself, I think we should find you an alternate plan for the evening. I guess there’s sleep, in my dreams anything, everything can happen and that’s always fun…but I’m not sleepy. The wife is watching silly television in bed anyway and I hate that shit…especially if I’m trying to sleep. Reading, I could find something to read and that would be another great distraction. I presently only have one book that I have not read, “Damned” by Chuck Palahniuk…the cover is cool and the girl who gave to me was a “fan” of mine…perhaps that’s what I’ll do, maybe this is what I actually need to connect with…a new story.

Okay well…the time is EXACTLY “12:34” as I start this final paragraph and to me that’s an agreement from the universe which tells me, it’s an easy choice…go curl up on the sofa, with the ailing puppy and this random book…maybe have a late night hit of cannabis, a piece of chocolate and then let the night just fall away. This seems like a good place to stop. This is enough to for the “make up” blog, the 75th blog article in this odd 63rd position…I didn’t exactly get what I really want (sex, remember?) I have faith I’m getting something I need, whether I know it or not, this is what I’m going to do and it’ll simply have to do, dig? Thank you for taking the time to read this nothingness, I apologize if it’s been a waste of any kind…but in the meanwhile, we’ll publish again on or about every Thursday until there are exactly 75 articles in this “BiPolar Reality Dispatch” blog…until again, my friends…take care, be well and stay safe!

Happy Birthday John Lennon!

This should be a holiday, an international holiday to celebrate the Dream of Peace on Earth. This day should be celebrated with music and positive messages, it should be honored by dignitaries and everyone should get this day off…with pay…so that instead of working for the Almighty Dollar, we have a day to work on nothing but World Peace. This day, a holiday around the globe, is not a religious holiday, it is not a national holiday nor a “Hallmark” holiday…it is a day to simply do something positive for peace…for World Peace, for Local Peace, for Peace of Mind, for Peace of Heart…this holiday is more significant that Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter or other Christian holidays…they are, after all, of very questionable origins and most likely based on fabrication, myth and 1% truth…This day, 09 October, is about something real, somebody who really did walk the Earth, spread a message of Peace & Love and has done more to bridge the gap between all people in less than 20 years than Christians have done in over 2,000 years. It’s more relevant than other religious holidays too, Chanukah or Passover or Yom Kippur…a more peaceful holiday than Ramadan, more inclusive than Kwanza…Today, which is the day John Winston Ono Lennon was born in 1940, the 9th of October, is World Peace Day. Yeah, I know, you may say that I’m a dreamer…but I’m not the only one!

I’ve told the tale before, perhaps even in this blog but my first notion, the first inkling I ever had about The Beatles was around 1965-66, I was a child who loved the music cartoons of these funny talking characters called The Beatles. I thought they were, like all the cartoons I watched, simply make-believe, they were animated imaginations that told little stories…except this one had songs in it, The Beatles cartoons were simply just that to me…a simple, meaningless cartoon. The summer of 1966, while my parents were setting up our new life in California, my brother and I were staying at my mother’s family place in Chicago. I had been dragged to an old Catholic Church in Logan Square with my Boosha (maternal grandma) so she could pray, she made me sit in the back of the church and I looked at the big, wood carved cross with a bloody, painful looking Jesus nailed to it…there was blood dripping from his hands and feet, his eyes were half rolled into his head in agony and it scared the fuck out of the 6 year old me! Boosha would talk about how important Jesus Christ was, how he was going to save us and all but I didn’t really understand, I just listened. One day, the week before my mother would come get us and take us to San Francisco, the afternoon cartoon program on WGN Channel 9 was interrupted with a special news report, live from O’Hare Airport (Chicago’s airport) and it was The Beatles! Except, it wasn’t those four goofy looking cartoon characters, it was four real guys with long hair sitting behind a mound of microphones and one of them was talking about how “I didn’t mean The Beatles were better Than Christ or anything…” and that stopped my heart! They were not cartoons, they were really real and they were compared to Jesus Christ too? When my cool Uncle Bob got home that evening, I asked him about The Beatles and he played “Rubber Soul” for me…I was hooked, that was it, I was a fan.

Over the years, after The Beatles broke up, while John Lennon was still active on the scene, I always bought his music first (then George’s) because I identified most with him…Please don’t misunderstand me, I dearly Love ALL FOUR BEATLES and do not hold any one of them as being better or above the others…the truth is, NON of them would be anything if not for each other…even Ringo, nothing happened for The Beatles until Ringo joined the band; but John expressed his emotions in a raw way, his songs matched my own feelings…the darkness, sadness and pain…the sarcastic, intellectual and playful…John (and George) always seemed to me to be a bit more honest and genuine about themselves…Ringo played a clown, Paul is a master showman, but John was more like a real guy…he showed his warts and all, he made no qualms about being an asshole, a prick, a bad father, poor lover…he owned his shit as much as he owned his glories…that is attractive to me. When, in 1975 John announced he was “retiring” from the music business…and then co-wrote “Fame” with David Bowie (and Carlos Alomar)…even that was a real truth. Lennon lived up to it too, from 1975 until late in the summer of 1980, John stayed out of the limelight and simply enjoyed his life, made himself a better man, a better father, a better person and didn’t give a shit about the music business, the top of the pops or even all the political hogwash…he set an example for me doing that too.

I sincerely wished he stayed retired, he’d be alive today if he did…but that wasn’t Lennon’s destiny and even he knew that (“The way things are going, they’re gonna crucify me”)! John Lennon was murdered the day after my 19th birthday, like everything else that man did during my life, his death was also a huge influence on me, on who I chose to become during my lifetime. The tragic circumstances were far more terrible for John’s family, his friends and people who actually knew him…and it was shock wave around the world which still reverberates today, 36 years after his assassination. But one the saddest things, to me, is the way John Lennon has become canonized for this, he’s a fucking rock and roll saint or something and there are statues, memorials and such erected in his memory. I bet if John saw them he’d piss on them! The notion that John Lennon is any kind of saint or savior is ridiculous and it’s so very much NOT what John Lennon was about…he said it himself, “We ALL Shine On…Like Moon and Stars and The Sun…We All Shine On!” or “A Million heads are better than one, so come on!” or even his most iconic song, “Imagine”…John Lennon leaves the work of imagination to you and me, he’s right too, he may be a dreamer, but he’s not the only one…



So, although I’ve been celebrating the life of John Lennon every 9th of October since I can remember (I also celebrate other important artists/people too), I think Lennon’s birthday should be adopted as a World Holiday for Peace. We don’t need to leave it up to our “leaders”, we don’t need permission from our “employers”, all we have to do is Imagine it and it will indeed come to pass…because like John Lennon said, “The dream you dream alone is but a dream; the dream we dream together is reality.”

Then again, he also said “Reality leaves a lot to the Imagination…”

Happy Birthday John…Thank You for The Music.

Was That The Last Time?

My mom and my daughter...Two Margarets!

   “This is a very nice area, have you guys looked in this area at all?” mom was looking at the bustling enclave of Pleasanton, California as we were speeding down the freeway towards Oakland International Airport. It had been a week long visit that went by way too fast, I was at the wheel as we shared a final couple hours together alone. I was about to answer mom when she spied a road side sign, “Oh, it’s Pleasanton, how nice…Pleasanton.”
   “It’s a bit pricey, but yeah I would consider this area too…” I noticed the BART station up the road and added, “I could take public transport to San Francisco from here, but there’s not a rentals here and the ones I’ve seen are outrageous.”
   “Well, I know how much you don’t like the area you’re at, it’s not your kind of town.” Mom always knew me best, she added, “Or get yourselves out to Sonora or the mountains…Monterey was very nice, but that’s expensive, right?”
    “Anywhere along the coast is costly, I’m more into the mountains…”
    “Oh my mountain man, that’s who you’ve always been, my little mountain man!” mom chuckled and brushed my trimmed beard, “My Jerimiah Johnson…do you remember that movie?”
   “We have it on DVD…” I smiled, “I remember when you and me went to see it…for our birthday, my 11th birthday…right after we moved to Arlington Heights, remember?”
   “You were always the best person to see a movie with, do you know that?” mom sighed and looked out the window. There had been a slight amount of rain so the roads were wet and the wipers were on to provide a steady backbeat for our conversation, “You always liked a good story.”
   “I am a writer, mom…yeah, I like stories.”
   “You know, you are exactly the kind of man I hoped you’d be…” mom smiled at me as I shot her a sideways glance, she continued, “…well, not what I pictured you’d become, but you’re such a good man, son…I am so proud of who you have become, I Love You.”
   “Aww, mom, don’t…” I sniffed, “I’m driving, I can’t cry now!”
   “No! Keep your hands on the wheel, your eyes on the road!” mom mocked yelled and added, “I mean, you didn’t become…how do I say this…?”
   “I didn’t become President?” my mother had told me since I was a little boy, since the day after JFK got his head blown off, my mother always said things about how I could be president, I should be president. There was even a point when I think she wanted to “mold me” into the role or something, but that proved to be my own Manchurian Candidate skewed imagination. I laughed, “I’ve been thinking I stand as good a chance as anyone these days!”
   “That’s for sure…” mom huffed a chuckled and explained, “I thought you were going to be a lawyer, maybe a doctor…but you would be a lawyer for justice, you would be a defender of truth and use the laws to make the world a better place…if you were a doctor, I hoped you would have compassion and mercy, I would have wanted you to help everyone, regardless of who they were…but you became you…”
   “Whatever that is, I don’t know!” I interrupted the heavy dialogue with a laugh, “I just became a madman on spelling spree!”
   “But you are also all those things I hoped you’d be too…” mom put a tender hand on my wrist as I gripped the stick shift and navigated us safely through the increasing traffic flow of Castro Valley and the Greater Oakland metropolitan area, “You are a defender of truth, you do practice justice, compassion…you show mercy, you’re strong and smart…you’re always first to help others…even when you’re in no position to help, honey…you have become more of a man than I hoped you could be!”
   “Ohhh, mommy…” I had tears welling up and that’s not an advisable thing when getting into Oakland traffic, “Thank you, please stop…I’m going to cry!”
    “Well, you’re still a bit of a prick too!” mom snapped with a laugh, she’s always blunt and doesn’t hold any punches. That’s where I get it from, she continued, “Your kids are wonderful, son…they’re beautiful, smart, kind and you are a great father, both of you are really good parents and I am so lucky to have such a good family, such a loving and close family. Remember that son, nothing is closer to God than Family, nothing at all…ever.”
   “I know mom, thank you…” we split from the freeway to a three lane exit ramp towards Oakland International, “This week has gone by way too fast…thank you for coming out here, I know it’s not easy.”
   “Are you kidding?” mom gave me a mock punch in the arm, “Coming out here was easy, the leaving is hard! I’m glad you are my son, d’Philip, you know that, don’t you?”
   “I know, I couldn’t have a better mother, mom.”
    “I have to pee.” Mom burst into a Mary Tyler Moore sized laugh and grabbed the side of the door, “Now, I have to pee, now!”
    “Okay, okay…” I swerved again and slipped off the freeway a couple of exits before the airport. We pulled into the parking lot a Denny’s and mom suggested we breakfast here, we were three hours early for her afternoon flight, I smiled “You know me too well, mom…Denny’s is my favorite!”

My daughter, my mother and I...

     Hours later, after the long tough drive back to The San Joaquin Valley, after rounding up the rest of the family at various locations, when I finally got home around the 17th hour of the day, I was dead tired and wasted. I had a bagel, a tall glass of water, plugged my dead battery phone into the charger and took myself a much needed siesta…in my own bed. I have been displaced since mom came to visit, everyone was playing musical beds so that my mother could have the private bathroom attached to our daughter’s room as well as the most comfortable mattress…besides our new king size bed. I fell fast asleep, quickly immersed in a dream. It wasn’t a good dream, it was a sad dream. I had a dream about my mother’s passing, not her actual death or the horrific ceremonies that follow a death, but it was years after she had passed and I was walking in the woods. I was on a hike, I felt like I do now, not any older and it felt like I was in a humid climate, air thick with moisture. I was using the walking stick I had (I don’t have one yet) to step up some moss covered rocks and when I got to the top of the heap, I took a seat to overlook the forest and valley below. I could see a lake in the distance, the sky was a big, bold blue and the sun felt warm. I was sitting in silence, listening to nature like I enjoy doing and I heard a voice in the gentle breeze. It was my mother, she was saying something I couldn’t understand and in this dream, I stood up and looked around, as if I might see her too. I only heard her, in the gentle breeze, I heard her say “Just remember the last time…I told you the last time we were together.”

My son, my mother and I...

Then I woke up. It was somewhere just past the 04:00 hour, the day after I took my mother to the airport and I was sweating. My breath, heaving and huffing like I ran another marathon, caught me by surprise and I leaped out of bed with a frightening feeling. I checked my phone, my mother called around 22:30, she left a message saying she made it home safely and thanking me for a wonderful trip; she was thanking me, how incredible, it was all her doing! I put a leash on the dog and went for a pre-dawn walk around the neighborhood, the California stars shine overhead and an old saying my mother used to say came to mind…”When it rains, look for the rainbow and when it’s dark, find the stars.” That somehow made me feel better, I found the stars in that black, deep, dark sky. I got back home, did the rest of my morning routines…meditation, exercise, a hot massage shower, got dressed and then motivated the rest of my family to start their day…finally a Friday. Once my duties were done, after I got back to the safe confines of my farmhouse office, I called mom back. We spoke for almost an hour, even though we just saw one another the day before, we talked like it had been ages. It was a great conversation and towards the end of it I thought about asking mom if we’d ever see one another again, but I didn’t, I kept that thought to myself. Some things are best left unsaid.

Mom and The Kids...

I don’t know if that was the last time I’d see my mother, I certainly hope it’s not but I know she’ll never come to our home again, she’ll never visit me again because, at nearly 80 years old, with only one lung and increasingly more painful arthritis, her traveling days are very numbered. My mom is also a notorious keeper of secrets, if there is anything wrong with her, I won’t hear about it from her. She wouldn’t want to worry me and she knows I would worry. Mothers are like that, I suppose, they wear that brave face for the sake of their children…even when the children are a half century old like me! I’ve already been thinking about a visit to Arkansas. Our daughter has expressed a desire to travel there next summer, I have been considering the notion also…I miss The Natural States but more than that, I miss my mommy.


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dphilipchalmers.net

Today is a day of catch-up for me, I have several things dangling from this past week which I need to wrap up. I am working on the final touches for this article I started last June about mental illness and the healing powers of music, the final deadline is next Wednesday. I won’t have a problem completing it today, I’ll send it first thing Monday morning. I have another seminar next week, on the 8th in Stockton and an interview to tape with iHeart Radio on the 16th in Modesto. I’m also planning on releasing an audio book version of “My BiPolar Reality; How Life Goes On…” and I’ve started the pre-production process already. There is a lot to keep me busy today, this weekend and well into next week but truthfully, selfishly…all I want to do today is be lazy. I’m willing to do some minor house chores, catch up on laundry but I really need some time to please myself…so, I guess, we’ll see where this day might lead.

I do indeed hope everyone has a great Friday, doing whatever you’re doing today and I’ll be around I’m sure…so if you need me, I suggest you dial my digits because I’m not sure I’ll be spending too much time here on-line. This weekend is low key and the weather is finally cooling off for a spell. I’m thinking that over the next so many weeks, as my obligations to promote “My BiPolar Reality…” end, I’m going to do what any good theater company does in between productions, I’m going to go dark. But that’s not until after the holidays, so why do I mention it now? Never mind, I’m here and so are you, let’s have some fun, cool? I am Grateful for your time in reading this and I hope all things in your world are going well…please take care, have good health, be cool and stay safe!

Peace,
d'Philip
02 October 2015
The San Joaquin Valley
Republic of California
Earth