Waiting for the Drop

Waiting for the Drop:  A Year of Dub-step and Electronica and in Recovery

I

There’s an edge to music that is produced by English artists that is different from American artists-- for one thing.  it moves me to an aggressive and active enthusiasm, that few others do.  English Dubstep is life affirming, to the point that it needs no real reason to be life affirming.

Its beats are visceral in their tempo, its lyrics which have harmonious hooks in them seems to catch like lures on the skin to adjust the listeners’ posture.

In truth I was raised on a diet of country music, bad rap, and the Beatles, and though something can be said for the Beatles, it might be as easy as comparing apples to oranges—current music in the UK makes me want to rip the orange open and as I devour it, let the juice dribble down my chin.

One can occasionally see the in roads that British MC’s have dropped on unsuspecting states.  Producer 

Calvin Harris’ Electronica themed music enhanced Rihanna’s “Love in a Hopeless Place.” While also dropping the slightly sultry, slightly upbeat, “So Close” on the music charts.

The truth Is at the time I discovered Dubstep, I had been waiting for the bottom to fall out on my life. After moving in with my enthusiastic roommate, I had started a daily re

At the time, I had moved in with him after a particularly swift and brutal breakup.  On my end, I had conceded many of my possessions in order to share a house with her.  So when H dumped me, shortly after attending about a month of intensive therapy, the woman who I thought was the love of my life, left me high and dry with a futon mattress, my books and my computer.  And at that time, apart from being painfully giddy, I found I was crying quite a bit.  Among all the names I called myself, “Beginagain,” “Rebounder,” “ Captain Hindsight,” the phrase I kept returning to in all my time, was that this was going to be a new beginning for me, and even though I was several months from finding myself—dub-step  gave me a “glimpse of what the future holds” but even then, I didn’t believe I would recover from the drop I had already taken,  and which Sheeran assured me was ”just another day” (Sheeran).  I was waiting for the drop, which I feared would be a permanent fall.

2.  "You know you're only in it cause its hot right now"--Rita Ora. "Hot Right Now."

My room-mate has shown me videos.  One video takes my breath away.  This girl with an angelic face dances in front of a computer screen, and she's just jamming out hard, while it appears the boy who she has been talking to via video chat is frustrated.  His frustration has a little something to do, with his attitude.  She ignores him, and for a moment, throws her hair back, just as the dub-step makes its drop.  What follows is a complete moment of innervation, lights flash, snow falls, confetti explodes.  The world becomes visceral and alive, and all he can do is watch her and frown like a whiny school boy.

Her body becomes the music, turning in it, as if the world has melted away and there is only the rhythm, sound and her dancing.  For weeks, I have been the boy, but right now, when the song moves through me, i want to be the girl.  She cannot be held or broken, her joy is energized on a subatomic level, and she has the fire inside her, and nothing will stop her.

 And then I hear the words.  "Back in control of my life."  The song is my anthem.  It is the strange, sacred truth of my situation.  I am in control, and i have the fire.   For a moment, I can hear Rita Ora say something else, but right now, I'm in the heat of the moment, and I want to let it go and go and never turn back.

"To Make this world Work for me. And I won't Waste it."--Devolution

3.  “Love is not all.  It is not meat, nor drink.”

When I start over at  38, I choose to start over.  The house I live in is on Duffy Street in Garland Texas, and I’m told by my excited neighbor is that Garland is the model they use for Arlen in “King of the Hill.”  My neighbor’s name is Doughtry, and I smile as he sits on his lawnmower, a beer in his hand, and  he wipes the sweat off his bald head. 

Sometimes, I wonder if he knows, there is a singer named Doughtry, or is he actually the character from King of the hill, Bill Doughtry or is it Dautreux, whatever the case, he is 56 and has lived in Garland all his life—his wife left him in 1997, and I left the woman who I thought would be my wife about 5 weeks ago.

          Bill is far from a stickler about where he throws his beer cans, so when he goes inside, I pick them up.  Thus far, my days are a continued run of doing exactly what I want, and eating what I want.    My roommates drink quite a bit—lapsed in their own comatose sadness, but thus far, I  have only rarely felt like crying.

Each day is the same, Bill drinks, I mope, and each day we both start over.

SNAFU in Garland Texas

1.     “I’ll keep on going.  I’ll keep on growing.”--Example

It’s 7 o'clock in my small room, about the size of an officer. One Closet.  One used mattress.  One old desk, and below me a garage full of my books, that I can’t fit into the room.  It’s been 15 days since I left Hollie.  What was first a smile that covered my face has now morphed into an explicable down turned frown, similar to the one grumpy cat wears on a constant basis.   

My rent is 300 dollars.  My room has a walking strip of about 3 feet, but 12 feet, and one of my bookshelves takes up a third of the room.  Rent is due on the first of every month, no exceptions, and I am expected to throw in Twenty dollars for groceries.  My bank account has a question mark in it, but at present my smile fluctuates between a half frown and a half smile.

Just need to Find me some good good good love

1.      “All the Things you hate I find Fun.  Things you want to do are just done.”  --“Midnight Run.”
 

          At the dinner table, I am already ready to leave.  Your friends have watched me for an hour, after an hour of taking care of Amelie, before putting her to bed, Hollie decided we were having guests.  She pushed through the door with a large grocery sack in hand and stared at me. 

          “You are always behind,” She said, dropping the sacks on the table, “We’re having guests, so change that stupid shirt and pants and put on the new shirt I bought you.”

          “It’s 9 o’clock, and I got home at six and you didn’t tell me we we would eat with your deuschey friends.”

          “I deserve some fun and you never take me anywhere,” She said, and then she looked at me, “Get dressed, or spend the evening alone.”

          The fact she claimed I never took her anywhere was complete bulls—t.  She knew it too, but she wanted some kind of dinner party, and I had had to come home at six, feed Amelie and then get her out of the tub and in bed.  It didn’t matter to her that I had been working since 8 a.m. and she had spent the morning in bed until noon, and her afternoon at Starbucks.

          So, there I was at the table, Bryson, who she called “Brysypoo” affectionately, but somehow this made me want to vomit every time she said it, and Bryce’s flavor of the week, some guy named Vincent, who would probably empty Bryce’s bank account, steal his silverware, and leave him a shell of a man was already drinking most of our good wine and opening another bottle.  It was almost 10:55 and I wanted to Watch Doctor Who, but the look on her face, curled into a snarl.  

  

“Stop being such a child.” She said.

First Day of Class.
Me:  We're going over the Syllabus.  This is the general overview of my class. Notice some very important things.  This is my office number.  This is my email.  This is a detailed Schedule of papers, and readings.  This schedule should not change for readings, but given need or request, we might have to change paper dates. Notice carefully,the number of days that you cannot miss.  4 class periods, equals a decided shift, and if you miss 4 you cannot get an A.  If you miss class, 6 times, this constitutes an automatic F for the course.
Bear in mind this is a monday/wednesday/Friday class. Most students piggyback their courses on MWF, meaning they come at 8 in the morning, and leave at 5.

Asked about two weeks in:  What's your email?  Its on the syllabus.
Student:  Syllawhat? (Proof that student hasn't read the syllabus.)

Take out your books.  80 percent of the class takes out their books.  Bear in mind, last night each had two reading assignments from the book.  Me:  Where is your book?  Student:  I left it at home.   Me:  The syllabus states you must bring your book to class everyday, or you may be turned out of class.   Student opens his booksack which has almost nothing in it.  Attempts to try to find book in empty booksack.

This is not normally an issue.  Over weeks, same student seems to never have book.  Me:  Can I talk to you after class?  Where is your book.   Student:  I forget it at home.   Me:  Do you forget every book?  Your booksack is empty.  This is the 4th time.  (Yes, i count)  Once is a mistake.  4 Times is a fact.  You don't have a book.  You've been lying to me for about four weeks now, and not doing the reading.  Student:  No, i just forget it.  Me:  Bring your book next time so i can see it.

Student shows up with a book.  Brand New.  Spine isn't creased. Student still has reciept sticking out of pocket.

Handwritten homework:  Read this essay and list the adjectives in the essay on a sheet of paper.  I have counted them, they range about 54 adjectives.  Student turns in assignment, with a list of 12 adjectives,  which happen to stop about the third paragraph.  Student turns in paper, without name on it. (Fact:  student attempted to do last night's homework in the hall. Student forgot to put name on it, in the time of 20 minuites before class.)


Each essay has three to four words that are difficult.  Students are told they can send me words they don't know if they look them up, online for extra credit.  Students, ask me in the middle of class what certain words mean.  Students blatantly displays he/she did not read essay.

Students are assigned essay titled "Yearning" to read.  Three days after, i discuss "Yearning" concept with them.  One student asks "What is Yearning?"   I look student directly in the face and say. "That tells me, you didn't read the essay marked Yearning."

Students are told first day,and in the syllabus that if you miss class, you need not tell me, nor may you ask me, "What did I miss?"  You hve forfeited the lecture from that class.  ALL OF THIS IS IN THE SYLLABUS.  Students are informed, however, that homework will be posted on "BlackBoard" and should check that first, and not ask me.  Students are also told, i don't need excuses for missed class, check the blackboard for what you missed.  Don't email me to apologize.

Student Email:  "I am so sorry i missed class.  I had a doctor's appointment. (My first inclination is to ask, what time the appointment was? and did you miss other classes for a one hour doctor's appointment?)  Second half of email?
"Can you tell me what homework i missed?"

How One Moves On?

It's been a while since I wrote here. Secretly, i wanted to try and reclaim the pieces of my life, shortly after returning from Edmond's washington, where I underwent a distinctive, therapeutic month, of working and missing all my friends. All that time, i faced some nagging questions about myself, and my Father, my relationship to my Grandparents, but i was never sure if any of it, was utterly me. When I came back, I continued to feel as if it was utterly me. I felt lost and abandoned, to a place, that I felt had promised me more than I had achieved. I felt broken, and my return was less than spectacular, it was a return to little or no money, which felt like God had abandoned me, for I wanted to put so many things into a new order, but I couldn't pay rent.

The second thing I felt was that I had let my mother down again, moneywise, and I was unhappy. My relationship to Hollie began to disintigrate and I continued to feel as if there was no answer to a returning, nagging depression that could easily take over me. All of this was in relation to an unhappiness i felt--my world was different, and so I moved out,and then, I lost Hollie. Hollie and I were no more, not inthe way that I once rememered, so, the truth of the matter is, the banner you see aove will have to change. All of this was hard and the future looked dim. There will be more soon, because at I have just started to pull things together and write again.

More indeed soon.

Tonight Hollie was Baptized.

To see the way that Jesus is working in Hollie’s life is indeed a miracle. The way he has lifted her heart and those around her, still amazes me, though recently, I broke down completely at Recovery and said, I want you in my heart Jesus and I don’t want to wait.

Tonight at Presonwood—Hollie was onscreen for 10 Minutes. She cried and every eye cried with her. She was brought before everyone in a very real, very intimate way, and she was a living stone, a testament unto Jesus. And when she appeared in the Baptism tank, the entire congregation stood and began to clap. They clapped for the woman I love, and she has made her conversion a living example and a flame of righteousness. I repent often of my jealousy, but tonight, I was proud. I love you Hollie Taylor.

More soon,

James

A long time gone and going somewhere fast

It has been a while since I came to this blog. All of my students are working hard on writing and I am struggling into a new position with the love of my life, and my life as I know it. My life is about to change. This month alone I will be learning to squeeze a penny so hard, that it will probably scream. My season in the sun is now over.

It has been two months from returning from the Center, and you can learn about my other blog, which has also been on hiatus. The almighty creative "word" has left me. The Word of God is still inside me, but I wonder for a month did my savior and God have me think strongly on how it is I write and what I write about. This month alone has been hard. I have struggled with no money in the bank, or hardly any. I am still struggling with being a Father, which comes and goes in spurts of happiness, and I am overcoming my addictions. Inside the bubble of therapy, I felt secure in my ways, but it is in the real world that I am coming to terms with my future. The distant horizon looms like dreamy and scary future. I will probably be moving out, so that my relationship with Hollie can be made legitimate and that is something I deperately want in the sight of my God.

All this week, God has been taking from me in order to know that I have real needs, not material ones and that my soul is at stake for the things I worship in Idolotry. This is a hard message to take for a man who loves the image on the screen, who sees the larger than life director/author/auteur figure as his model. This is going to take some work.

Today is the first day with money in my account--money that is already fleeing my account, but I am going to pray with strength.My future is bright, and if all this seems abstract, I do indeed need to be able to make it clear. I am having the strangest season ever. My life is deeper, but I have less stuff.

That in itself is a mystery. Hope this wasn't too philosophical.

Back Again Soon,

James

My Uncle and His Legacy

My Uncle was a great man, a pillar of his community. The reason I know this is because, most of my life I have sought elusive things, that came with a price--fame, through means that when I was younger caused me much embarrassment. Wealth--through means, sometimes that drove me to ignore fellow human beings, and distempered my actions among fellow human beings and the people I love. Popularity: which follows some of the same paths as Fame, but is centered on almost nothing except the infantile understanding that people think you are something which is really nothing.

Following this line of thinking might make your head spin, but each of us can remember high-school. High-school breeds that kind of destructive thinking that pushes men and women to do things that make no sense, and it also pushes them to commit offenses against other people.

My Uncle who lies in rest at Rose Hill Cemetery in Georgia. One space away from my Father. My Uncle was a great man to my father, a great friend, and confident, and my Uncle wept openly when my Father died at the age of 56. My Uncle told his daughters, that he had hoped that he and "Jimmy" would be around to see the golden days of their retirement. My Father saw some of those days. And he went on trips with my Uncle and his family. He visited Hawaii with my Uncle--he always thought well of my Uncle.

This is why it is fitting that they lay next to each other, and that at my Uncle's funeral, the church was packed with people who loved him, and who at his own visitation, the funeral home was worried it would have to extend its hours of operation, because, my friends, the friends of Uncle David simply did not stop. They came around the corner of this small Georgia Funeral home, and parked across the street and in vacant lots.

They had their husbands and their wives park cars two blocks down, all to pay tribute to a man who lived an unassuming life, and who made an impression on everyone he met, in a community that was small, but loved him for being simply himself.

My Aunt and my Mother are currently looking through my uncle's paperwork. They discovered the will yesterday, and today, my Mother is helping her settle all his accounts--and on the top of his desk is a set of trophies. Little white and gold trophies--marble bases with small golden footballs.

These trophies are from the Kiwanis Club--an organization that he attended and was a model member of. The truth is I never knew what the Kiwanis Club was, but I was proud he was a member. He was a member in good standing, and every year the Kiwanis club has a "football Picks" championship. My uncle loved football, and so he knew his football and his stats, so here's what happened, my uncle was the pic champion for 87, 88 and 89.

Three years in a row, my uncle David picked the most winners and they gave him a little trophy for being the first place winner (with the most picks.)



The story I heard from my Mother is that a year or two after, they wouldn't let him play again at least, by what the trophies say, for 3 years, wherein, he was rewarded second place at unknown year and second place in 2004.

Now, I laugh at the story, and I know in my heart that it is true. You see, I've been to gradschool, and from what I can remember, from other gradstudents, is when you are good at something, you become a targest for other gradschool students. You become what they must eliminate, and I believe with my heart that someone told my uncle not to play anymore (at least for 3 years or more), and I know this about my Uncle, by his kindness and the life he lived.

I believe this-- he didn't care.

If I can learn anything from my Uncle, he was above that kind of petty jealousy, jealousy of the type I have let eat up my soul, have let shape my actions and my anger and have lost it over. As I sit in my Uncle's office and type this, I know something more--I too can be above it.

At my Uncle's funeral, I have never seen so many people cry. I have never seen my Grandfather weep so openly and even though I know he is sick and the medication he is on makes him overly emotional, I know he wept genuine tears for my Uncle, in the same way, his son-in-law wept for him, and in the same way, when I was woke at 3 a.m. by the woman I love and hope to marry, that I leaned into the couch and cried a little, leaned closer to Hollie and wanted to hold her.




I love my Uncle, David , a rock of our family, and I know he has gone on to his rich reward after this, one I hope to go onto myself If I am good enough. God Bless you Uncle David. I hope you and my father are enjoying your new bodies, while we wait a bit longer to join you. I know you and my Father, two great men will be the first to greet us at those tall, great gates.

Maranatha.

More Soon.

Me