Exile!

Wrote this a few years ago: At some point I was kicked off or out of a blog.  Disheveled Domina or something like that.  Not her tumblr, 'she' has a wordy blog attached to that one.  I believe I was booted for having the audacity to speak outside of the accepted narrative.

Rather than engage me in conversation, to respect my viewpoint and acknowledge it as valid, I was shut out. A leftist person and her cohort, I am guessing. Ignorance AND evil. Does it get any worse? I fear that it does.

The Question

A favorite band of mine from the late 60's through today.  The Moody Blues, 'The Question'.


Why do we never get an answer
When were knocking at the door?
With a thousand million questions
About hate and death and war.

Its where we stop and look around us
There is nothing that we need.
In a world of persecution
That is burning in its greed.

Why do we never get an answer
When were knocking at the door?
Because the truth is hard to swallow
Thats what the wall of love is for.

Its not the way that you say it
When you do those things to me.
Its more the way that you mean it
When you tell me what will be.

And when you stop and think about it
You wont believe its true.
That all the love youve been giving
Has all been meant for you.

Im looking for someone to change my life.
Im looking for a miracle in my life.
And if you could see what its done to me
To lose the the love I knew
Could safely lead me through.

Between the silence of the mountains
And the crashing of the sea
There lies a land I once lived in
And shes waiting there for me.

But in the grey of the morning
My mind becomes confused
Between the dead and the sleeping
And the road that I must choose.

Im looking for someone to change my life.
Im looking for a miracle in my life.
And if you could see what its done to me
To lose the the love I knew
Could safely lead me to
The land that I once knew.
To learn as we grow old
The secrets of our souls.

Its not the way that you say it
When you do those things to me.
Its more the way you really mean it
When you tell me what will be.

Why do we never get an answer
When were knocking at the door?
With a thousand million questions
About hate and death and war.

Its where we stop and look around us
There is nothing that we need.
In a world of persecution
That is burning in its greed.

Why do we never get an answer
When were knocking at the door?

Ruckschau

It's not you, it's me.

Thinking back to opportunities missed, or just not taken.  The times when I was young and pining for female companionship.  I can see now how many there were, right under my nose.

Kathleen, 1982: We had at least one english lit class together.  Sometimes ended up having one on one conversations, lengthy and thoughtful. One winter semester. I was having my annual near death head cold experience.  Feeling particularly shitty, to shorten my cross campus trek to home I opted for a cut through the graphic arts building.  I could avoid the steep hill and warm up a bit at the same time.  I encountered Kathleen in the elevator. I wasn't in a particularly talkative mood as I was struggling to breathe.  She did most of the talking on our way down to the bottom of the building.  We exited the elevator and I tried to separate politely. Probably I was a bit brusque, nodding in agreement to whatever she was saying, one word answers, just leave me be. As we parted, she stopped me, looked me in the eyes earnestly and said; "John, if ever you need someone to talk to I live in Jeff Hall room xxx. If you ever want to talk about anything, anything at all."

I wonder what she'd have thought. If I had taken her up on that, if I told her what I was.  Mostly, in those days, I thought I was a freak, a monster, an undesirable. No woman would want me. How could they?  Experience had taught me that to deviate from expectations was to risk being shunned. I made a self imposed exile from the tenderness and acceptance that I so much wanted to experience.

There were others, some I likely didn't notice or don't recall.  One, Nancy I think her name was. Sharp as a whip, athletic, pretty. I enjoyed her company, never ran out of things to talk about.  Another, name escapes me, practically begged me to go on a canoe/camping trip with a group of friends.  Let's see: Tents, girls, wilderness.  WTF was I thinking?  "Well, I'm spending the weekend with my hand and my imagination." Shit!