F Zoned

I’ve met, and in some cases have fallen in love with, lots of women in the time that I’ve been crawling across the surface of this spinning rock. In fact, I am still friends with many of them whether here on social media, in real life or in other ways like the occasional hand written letter, etc. In some cases, the women I am friends with…

…I am still “in love” with.

Now, I know that that love—regardless what went wrong—will always remain unrequited, that it will never bloom into the bountiful garden that I had once imagined…and I’m OK with that. I’m sad about it as well and have longing memories…fanciful daydreams even…but I’ve settled into a familiar routine of knowing what was once possible; can never be.

These friends I keep at arm’s length but not rigidly so, not so that it’s noticeable to anyone but me. I may occasionally drop a hint, test the waters, etc. but what I don’t do, or believe, is that I’ve been “friendzoned”.

Because there is no such thing.

I’m not saying that there aren’t girls out there who are assholes and take advantage of boys both for the no cost accumulation of material possessions or for the purposes of emotional blackmail and manipulation. That there are no girls out there who will knowingly take advantage of a situation where she knows she should reciprocate the feelings but quite deliberately does not, purely to her advantage.
There certainly are girls like that.

What I am saying is that it is up to me and only me to decide if I want to stay in a relationship where I love someone and they do not love me back…or do not love me back in the same way (or the way that I want them to). It’s my choice. If I do choose to stay, knowing full well that the love between us will forever remain a one way street (meaning that it’s not “between” us at all) then I have no right to complain or create a fictional situation called the “friend zone”.

Everything that happens thereafter is on me.

So if you’re a boy who is going to piss and moan that you’re such a great guy and you’re so nice and you can’t understand why girls don’t like you in the way that they like or love other boys…all the while refusing to identify and take ownership of the situation you have created—by simply not leaving—then you’re no different than someone who purposely hits himself in the head every 5 minutes with a hammer and complains to the world;

“Owww, ow, my head hurts all the time!”

And you’ll likely get just about the same amount of sympathy from the world.

Believe. Go. Do.




You are god.

Not a god of testaments or long dead civilizations but the god who IS you. You are the god of your dreams, your hopes and aspirations. You are the god that rains holy fire down upon your own actions…and grants miracles seemingly out of nowhere. You are the god, the only god, that will save you…

…from yourself.

Because the only enemy you have on this planet of seven and a half billion others wakes up with you every morning, looks back at you from every mirror…lives inside that moving cage called your body…with you.

Regardless what you’ve been taught to think or feel, the fact is that you are an independent, wholly self-contained entity experiencing this vast universe through the physical senses installed around the edges of your cage. Your physical body;

You see.

You feel.

You smell.

You hear.

You love.

No other god gives you these things, except the god who is you. No other god knows what you know, hears what you hear, sees what you see, feels what you feel, smells what you smell…loves who you love.

No other god holds dominion over your actions, your thoughts and dreams, your hopes and fears…no other god can know you as you know you.

No other god can hurt you like you hurt yourself. And you always hurt yourself.

You are god.

Stop that.

Believe. Go. Do,


What Matters

Things that matter—the essence of reality for all living creatures—are the things that, if we did not do them, we would cease to be alive.

We would die.

We live our lives consciously dreaming that the job, the car, the wife/husband, vacation, Rolex, 5 star restaurant blah blah blah all actually mean something “real”. They don’t. They are simply placeholders—symbols—for taking up the space that we used to use for things like gathering food, fighting off predators, building shelters against the storm…things that actually mattered because if we did not do those things we died.

How much of our daily life is filled with things that matter these days?

It’s hard to imagine what IS NOT meaningless about our lives. Religion, politics and philosophy are merely gimmicks we use to fool ourselves into thinking that we “matter” in the grand scheme of things. We don’t. Reality is the only thing that does matter and it doesn’t give a flying fuck about us and, besides, we rarely if ever see it completely. And WE CHOOSE not to see it by covering it up with outrage and despair and ecstatic joy and horrible disaster and on and on and on…because seeing it would mean we would have to see all of the other shit we’ve been using to hide it. We’d have to acknowledge that most of, if not all of, our lives are dramatic yet meaningless endeavors toward the exact same end regardless; death.

No one wants to face reality.

Facing reality would mean agreeing that what we intrinsically believe, who we vote for, who we love, hate, kill, nurture, persuade, cajole, argue with and otherwise have faith in is meaningless and useless. But that’s a good thing.

Facing reality sets us free from the artificial life we’re caged by, regardless that we built (and continually build and reinforce everyday) that very cage. Facing reality allows us to see ourselves without filter or artifice and allows us to realize that the commercials are wrong, that the social order is wrong. That Pepsi and Coke and Budweiser and Heineken and BMW and Chevy and Levis and Wrangler and MAC and Sephora and and and…

…that they are ALL wrong.

Seeing reality allows us to clearly understand that we can assemble with society (and carry out all those society things like a job and rent and snarky comments on social media) without actually “being” society. Without actually covering up and hiding behind the Brioni suit, the Chanel dress…the tough guy tattoos, the demure girl’s shy smile…

…reality allows us, no, demands that we see ourselves naked and alone on the face of a rock hurtling at a million miles an hour through empty space toward a destination completely unknown…and…not really give a shit. And that’s a good thing.

It’s a good thing because once we shed the artificial and are only left with the real, we are then able to truly love and be ourselves…with all the amazing and shitty that that means…and then truly love and “be” with others.

The only other thing that matters.

Believe. Go. Do.


what we can’t say

And, not so suddenly, we were terribly sad
feeling the darkness drift down
settling among our words
leeching into the shadows that
used to be pages we read
encompassing us
closing our doors
shutting off the light
in our eyes


a duplicitous regime, a separated
evil of muted dimensions
among us like air
like thoughts slipping away
we all suddenly
felt so terribly, terribly sad


something we knew of but
only saw from a distance, now
living 3 doors away
living an inch from our thoughts
the darkness electronic, enigmatic
capturing us with savvy and
popular vote
we retreat where we can
creating false gods
of safety
the weight of hiding


and now our friends are fading
ephemeral memories
separated by words
and bleeding into the darkness
like the plan said
create distrust through decisive
this side, that side
the same
the same
the same

the end



I can’t say #metoo because it’s not true, not for me as a man at least. I *can* say that I completely understand the point though. The idea that an insidious sense of entitlement and aggressive and sexually manipulative behavior of men towards women has existed for centuries…perhaps from the very beginning.

And that women have…for centuries…been ignored when they spoke up; when they tried to cast light into that darkness. If not ignored then they were ostracized or recast as an enemy of calm goodness and civil society. And I’m not saying that men can’t be sexually manipulated and abused—they can, obviously—but bringing the male perspective in only serves to diminish the point of #metoo.
#metoo is about women.


I’ve either been extremely lucky or extremely naïve over the many years I’ve been on this planet and the years I’ve spent in business as I very rarely, if ever as I recall, been involved in, or even had a peripheral part to play, in the overt, covert, physical or verbal sexual debasement or intimidation by men towards women. But I am absolutely sure it happens.

I’m sure it happens because of #metoo

I’m sure it happens because I believe my female friends when they tell me something they know is true regardless that I don’t or can’t know the same thing. And that’s the point I think; I simply believe them…

…because they said it.

I hope all of my male friends will look at those last 4 words and say


Believe. Go. Do


Make it stay in Vegas

Eyes up, rise up
someday you’ll be famous
but not like this, not like this
make it stay in Vegas

when did it start, this downward slide
this freefall into dark oblivion
where people are nothing but nameless faces
spots on the ground
where what you want is paramount
and you
you matter, only
you matter

Eyes up, rise up
someday you’ll be famous
but not like this, not like this
make it stay in Vegas
I don’t know the answer, who does
really…a tangled mess of hopes
and all on tracks leading
away from
love and reality
an ever speeding demon of disvalue
and it’s our fault

Eyes up, rise up
someday you’ll be famous
but not like this, not like this
make it stay in Vegas

And I don’t agree with you, you with her
them, us, all just speaking
past each other
all just hoping it’s a fad
a short time
a minute of horror we
wake up from
but how many
until the next shell is
the next life
rejected. The next

Eyes up, rise up
someday you’ll be famous
but not like this, not like this
make it stay in Vegas

Eyes up, rise up
someday you’ll be famous
but not like this, not like this
make it stay in Vegas

So tired, deluged, can I just make it all
go away…
and that

Your choice

Trying to figure this shit out…

You meet someone for the first time and you really know nothing about them other than their appearance. You might have some additional information from mutual friends but for all intents and purposes, you don’t know them at all. But…

…based purely on their appearance you start to make assumptions about them and, in fact, some of those assumptions appear as facts inside your thinking. These “facts” come from rumblings you’ve heard from your social circle, from articles and posts you’ve read online, from reports by the media…and, most importantly, from people you trust and respect. In some cases it’s the person’s skin color which has an outsized effect on your immediate opinion and…

…their skin color is not the same as yours.*

In your circle, among your friends…certain characteristics are talked about, a certain level of consistent behavior is mentioned about people of that skin color. More often than not these characteristics and behaviors are opposed to your beliefs and ideas of the way society is supposed to work. But regardless the behaviors or characteristics (that you were told of and now think of as fact) all of those characteristics…you innately know…are not choices that the person in front of you has made…or could make.

They just are the way they are.

So you feel kind of feel weird because, while you believe there are those differences, you also know that it’s not something that the person has control over or can just simply change. You know deep down that you only have the say-so of your friends, family and people you trust as to the accuracy of your own beliefs. You feel strange because you blame that person in front of you for being different than you, knowing full well that there is no possibility…

…at all…

…that they can be like you.

Believe. Go. Do.


*insert skin color of choice…it works for them all.