The Sniper and the Florist.

          Addictions and Passions: Heroin and other Clarities: Part two.
                                 The Sniper and the Florist.
                                    By Mark William Darus.

                           >a song to listen to while reading<
                           http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=21mEVQMxDmE


　

You are doing your job, clocking hours, earning coin. You spend your eight, ten or twelve hours whoring yourself out to maintain food for the stomach, volts for the house, water to bath with. Perhaps you have other mouths to feed or clothe that keeps you digging deep to work harder, longer. You laugh or complain with those you spend a third or more of your life with on a daily basis that you quickly dismiss as quick as you can clock-out.

You run your errands, fill the gas tank, pay some bills. Maybe you give a longing glance to a plane in flight, a speeding freight train, a brilliant sun playing peek-a-boo as it dances through white puffy clouds against a dazzling blue sky or the moon in its various shapes.

You notice things many don’t give a second glance to. This recharges your batteries with your knowledge of a simple fact: Anything you take a moment to notice in the outside world is NEVER duplicated in your memory.

You possess a hyper-awareness of all around you. You take every situation as a learning experience, unique and memorable; never cast off nor forgotten in your mind.

You work to keep yourself alive in a merely physical sense.

You live for what fires your brain, satisfies your desire to go further each and every day far above and beyond what most know you as.

Sometimes you get massive headaches to eventually reach the conclusion from personal examination: When was the last time I ate or slept?

You are propelled by the intangible. No one can truly see what makes you what you know yourself to be as they think you quirky or mad. The gearing in your head always turning: Your thoughts never silent even when exhausted.

You are constantly on OVERLOAD and it doesn’t bother you in the slightest.

Face it.

You’re an addict in one form or another…

Take a sniper as an example: What made this person feel the need to gain an ability to kill a single human from one mile away with a single headshot instead of simply slaying a deer at 100 yards for dinner?

Take a florist as another example: Flowers are flowers, though a great florist can create art by not-so-simply placing them in proper order that melts women’s hearts and wets them at the same time when delivered sealing either an apology over a slight or a guaranteed great weekend.

With some of us, we live for extremes.

When a limit is hit, most merely say: “Yes! I did it!” After that realization, they back off and smile.

With those like me, and I believe a great number of the readers here, when the limit (extreme) is met, we think: ‘Okay. Now what?’

So quickly do we get bored. We have to snag that something else to reach a higher level, like that of a video game.

We’re always hungry regardless of how much we eat. We’re dying of thirst while we guzzle gallons of water.

We want more and will always throw ourselves out there for the gain of a hearts fulfillment that will never ever realize actualization as long as we live.

I believe us to be the most fortunate amongst others that lack this edge.

We have the ability to view, hear or think about something from a completely different angle and the freedom of mind to explore it, study it, take it in to ourselves without a care as to what others think about us. We learn and grow because of this insatiable desire while others grow stagnant with tons of regrets as they get older.

Take a look at the works of Shakespeare, Poe, Sigmund Freud or Mozart. They were all addicts in one form or another. One thing they all held constant: a passion, a fire for a life that they alone could see as they did what they did to eventually share with others.

Imagine what any of them would have reached had they had global internet access…

I like to push things as far as I can.

I am not alone in this desire.

These words describe us best.

"Adrenaline"


You don't feel the pain

Too much is not enough
Nobody said this stuff makes any sense
We're hooked again

Point of no return
See how the buildings burn
Light up the night
Such pretty sight

Adrenaline keeps me in the game
Adrenaline you don't even feel the pain
Wilder than your wildest dreams
When you're going to extremes
It takes adrenaline
(You don't feel the pain)

Sail through an empty night
It's only you and I who understand
There is no plan

Get closer to the thrill
Only time will kill
What's in your eyes
Is so alive

Adrenaline keeps me in the game
Adrenaline you don't even feel the pain
Wilder than your wildest dreams
When you're going to extremes
It takes adrenaline

Run through the speed of sound
Every thing slows you down
And all color that surrounds you
Are bleeding to the walls
All the things you really need
Just wait to find the speed
Then you will achieve
Escape velocity

Too much is not enough
Nobody gave it up
Im not the kind
To lay down and die

Adrenaline
keeps me in the game
Adrenaline
you don't even feel the pain
Wilder than your wildest dreams
When you're going to extremes
It takes adrenaline

Adrenaline
Screaming out your name
Adrenaline
you don't even feel the pain
Wilder than your wildest dreams
When you're going to extremes
It takes adrenaline

(Adrenaline)

You don't even feel the pain
You don't even feel the pain
I'm going to extremes
There is nothing in between
You don't even feel the pain
You don't even feel the pain
You don't even feel the pain
You don't even feel the pain

Gavin Rossdale.

　

Have a great weekend and never stop pushing things outward!

Growth is simply a mind-step away.

Mark William Darus 01262013

Damn, You're Fucked up! Reader comments for the last 6 weeks.

                                    Damn, you’re Fucked Up!
                                     Recent reader comments.
                                    By Mark William Darus.

　

These are some of the comments that were sent to me from readers in the last month and a half via emails.

　

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mark, you are beyond fucked up, my friend. The fact you’ve had twelve thousand hits on this piece of shit blog is scary. If you’re not on a ‘Watch List’, you should be…

Jeffie M, Haviland Kansas, USA

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Dear Mr. Darus,

I find Psychopathy: Another Life to be a great place for learning and self exploration. Your viewpoint is both fresh and most raw.

Love your photographic work! Since adding pics to your entries, you gave it another dimension to run with.

Some of your entries make me cry while others make me very angry. A few have made me laugh. They all have one grand thing in common: They make me think.

Thank you for what you share and never stop!

Kelly Anne G, Montgomery Alabama, USA.

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Nice to know I am not alone, Mark.

I embrace you with heart and soul.

Lillian S, Cuenca, Spain.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\


Mark,

The Closing of last year was a great work of inspirational thoughts. It made me cry and cheer simultaneously. I found that rare.



A friend of mine shared it with me and I was lured in. I’m still reading over your whole blog entry by entry since you started it. I am fascinated by it.

You must be most resourceful to survive and maintain going such negative events keeping the type of attitude you write about.

I’d like to meet you someday as you do not think like anyone I know.

Patricia Heather F, Meadville Pennsylvania, USA.

_______________________________________________________________________

Dickface,

My sister killed herself after knowing a fucking psycho. I hope you die, cocksucker!

Sword of the Creator, ( I assume somewhere in the Bible-Belt, USA.)

__________________________________________________________________________

　

On Heroin and Other Clarities.

Good words placed.

So what is the other addiction you had?

Francis P, Stromsburg Nebraska USA.

_________________________________________________________________________

　

Mark W. Darus,

Mother Ukraine calls to you! Do you feel us as we read your words? I think you do. Visit here. Stay for the rest of your life.

Uliana, Odessa, Ukraine

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sir,

I love your work.

Have you ever thought of adding audio to your blog for the benefit of those with fading sight?

I hope you would consider this in the future.

My eyes are failing me further still after spending countless thousands of dollars to prevent this.

Please consider those like me.

David Eric H. Oslo, Norway.

AUTHORS NOTE: I am considering this. I’m trying to figure out how to do so. Thank you for pointing this out to me and fueling me further as my blog approaches it first anniversary.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fuck Progressive Insurance for firing you!

As you once told a mutual friend, ‘guess it was my turn for the music to stop and be left without a chair.’ No shit, you got that right. I had 14 years there when they fired me over a ‘connection with a caller’ some tin-fuck manager thought inappropriate.

I’m sorry but I think all the good level one managers split long ago and all that is left are nothing more that hatchet men aiding the company bottom line by filling gaps with part timers they don’t have to offer medical benefits to.

I too, was denied Unemployment in Ohio from their views.

Angie, Cleveland Heights Ohio, USA.

_______________________________________________________________________

You thrive on turmoil as you seek beauty in mind and personal sight from photography.

I hate what you write.

I love what you express.

Fuck you, Mr Mark William Darus.

You matter in my life as you give it balance.

I would like to smack your face and gently kiss its redness soon after.

You touched my life in ways I didn’t know possible.

Skye V, Los Angeles, California, USA.

______________________________________________________________________________



Authors Note:

I have always loved to read the words all have taken to time to share.

I think their feelings behind their words to be sincere in nature.

I hope I never stop getting comments.

Mark William Darus 01252013

Can this Cure my pain?

                                       Can this cure my pain?
                                Surgery said needed, but is it really?
                                            by Mark William Darus.






I got this from Amanda (name changed) and am utterly confused....



To me, this sounds like the surgery you had a few years ago...

here's what she sent me:

it was not good news for me, I need to see a spine surgeon for my lower back, it seems there is actually 4 things messed up by the tail bone and bottom vertebrates,and disks.

After that is fixed I will be fitted with what is like a pace maker for the bladder nerves. all together I'm looking at three surgeries at the least. For the bladder they hook up this box and wires for one week to make sure it will work and i don't reject it. then if all goes well a week later the permanent devise will be placed inside . The nerves operating the bladder wall are shot and if I do not get the devise to do there work I will continually get worse till i have absolutely no control, then the injury to my back from years ago has made part of my lower spine move forward and press on the back of my bladder and other organs. I've had back pain off and on since the first fall in 92 but never paid it much attention. then i fell again in 2004 then the last time 10/2010 getting out of the tub. I never would of thought those had anything to do with the bladder problems.

Everyone: I'm no diagnostician, and when it comes to medical health, I'm no HOuse. But I did read Greys anatomy, took in volumes of cause and affect as bodily parts create havoc with one another.



I saw this woman a week ago and all seemed good and healthy. Granted, given my family history I know full well how things can change in a New York minute. But still....

Between us: Besides Amanda's incredible talent to cut or chop herself when given any object imaginable from cutting lettuce to cutting a coupon.

I think her to be a Munchausen. What is the the difference between the standard "Munchausen' diagnosis is having sound medical benefits in place and those that don't?

Dr. Suess' Sneetches comes to mind: Having firm medical insurance intact, she so has a 'star on thars,' and can be cut into and stitched for profit, a valuable target. Like those on the county-coin, ie: Anne's back surgery done on county cash benefited nothing to the individual. When on the benefit and anti-benefit programs, you should heed these words said to me by a doctor after spine surgery did no good: beware of men in masks....

Why is it more women go under the cold light of a surgical table than men every year when given the same prospects?

Sure, men may be of denser stock or denial. Yet, one has to wonder in the long run.

To date: I have been in the company of 16 women in the last 8 years that surgery made their pain far worse than better. Oddly, not only did their pain amplify on the originally afflicted area but it spread to other areas in their extremities.

I don’t mean to be sexist, but I guess I am going to be here.

Let’s be serious here. When a doctor tells a female patient something causing distress, the woman feels something emotional attached to it. She leans toward the knives and recuperations.



More often than not, in the areas of longevity promises, men don’t.

When men were told the same the things, they’d dismiss it and just deal with the pain on its ground.


Studies do seem to bare credence to the beliefs in reference to ‘mind over matter’. With men and testosterone females high, it’s as if this statement holds true when it comes to personal, professional pain: If you don’t mind, it really doesn’t matter. These people can dismiss any and all hurt and move on and live lifetimes on or above the average.
Let me clarify my thoughts on my statement ‘on and live lifetimes on or above the average.’ The length of time we place into seconds of gasping breathe and desires toward material objects is totally personal in nature. Ask anyone that ever experienced a ‘near-death’ experience. Some see their lives flash into of them as others see the last time they got righteously fucked.
On surgery:
If you are a woman in the USA, holding either good med benefits on no benefits, get a third opinion or fourth for that matter. Men, well, you’ll do as you do. In all honesty with me, and I know you will all hate this: Just suck it up, take a finger up your ass ever few years above 45 or so.
　
I’m still pondering a connection between bladder control and the need of pacemaker.
Hmnmmm, a pacemaker controls the rhythm and control of a heart muscle, right? Okay, this does also control other areas of vital organs of existence. The Liver, Kidneys, lungs, etc.
You read my sarcasm here and will do further research.
In my cold hearted beliefs, I would not elect for any surgery given what she gave me knowing her background.
What do you think?
Mark William Darus 01052012

Fortune Telling. By Ryn Cricket.

                                                Fortune Telling.
                                                by Ryn Cricket.                                           

“Someone close to you died a while back
…an older woman…
…a mother figure…
…She knows you think about her…”


So I said to him that there was
This great opportunity in China…
“It’s dangerous.”
The money is four times what I’m making now…
“People disappear.”
I’m being actively recruited…
“The state department has travel warnings.”
I will have a prestigious position in a huge company
With amazing benefits…
“You’re not thinking about your daughters.”
OK. GLOVES OFF.
What?

Explain anything you just said
That doesn’t apply to America
–or anywhere.
I have been sexually assaulted –twice,
Robbed in my sleep,
And beaten right in my hometown.
I have had my wallet, 2 bikes, a TV, camera, 2 phones, and lots of money stolen.
I know 2 college boys who have mysteriously disappeared,
Different years, different states, different circumstances.
There have been three mass school shootings in the metro area.
And it’s the state department’s job to issue warnings
For EVERY country:
Pick-pockets, internet scams, faulty contracts…Cookie cutter
Every country says the same
Except the UK –check that one out.
Three times the warnings…
(Note to self –don’t go to the UK —oops, too late!)

“I thought you said Thailand was going to be all
‘wine and roses.’” He said.
This position, this possibility, this opportunity wasn’t even
In my realm of understanding.
And it’s being handed to me.
And then, my closest, oldest friend of about 35 years
unfriended me.

What I really wanted to say was “take the plank out of your own eye
Before you try to fix the speck in mine.”

But instead, I say this:
“Hold out your hand.
One day, you will be given a gift,
A complete surprise, that will bring you joy.
Be ready to accept it.”

Ryn Cricket: 10092012

Gone Missing.

                               

                                    An Event: Gone Missing.
                                      By Mark William Darus.

Okay, Friday the 18 being my second full 50 hour week of employment at my new job, celebrating my first month there, I feel a need to reflect and share.

Like every other aspect of my life, it’s been a wondrous and odd journey.

The contrast of working nearly twenty years with computers and phones and being politically correct to go back to the world of manufacturing, loud noises, freely swearing and bad jokes has been an absolute joy to me.

This last week went a bit odd.

My partner, the man who trained me, went missing. He was there Monday, but Tuesday we didn’t hear from him when he no/call no/showed. He’s 61 years of age and to say the last several years of his life hasn’t been a tragedy would be putting it mildly.

Several years ago, he had the worst day imaginable: What would you do if you received a call from a hospital saying your mom is dead? And, when driving to the hospital, you get a call saying a drunk driver crossed a double-yellow and wasted your wife and two children?

Ponder the avenues your mind would scream down.

You go from zero to four funerals in the span of an hour.

Where would your mind travel during such events occurring in less than 60 minutes?

What emotions would you feel?

You’re driving a car, that from the first call, you’re seeing everything in an eerie light scheme. You can focus enough to keep you from rear-ending the car in front of you, but all in your peripheral vision is speeding blur to your sides.

Work received a call Wednesday from his sister wondering when he left work. Imagine her shock when she was told he never came that Tuesday.

Those of us at work asked questions about seeing him that Monday.

He seemed distracted, but I didn’t know him well enough. I did sense something wasn’t right though.

So you still keep driving to your mothers hospital to see her dead, knowing you have another place to go to see your dead wife and children.

Would your mind snap then?

Would you go to booze or drugs for balance?

Or like a good Scotch, would you let these feelings and thoughts ferment?

He was found in a motel room. Alive.

I know nothing further, but I wish him well and will help him any way I can…

Mark William Darus: 01192013

Heroin and other clarities. Part one.

                                    Heroin and other clarities. Part one.
                                              By Mark William Darus

　

              How many of us haven’t known and addict or two? Surely most work with them and never notice it. Many places give ‘random drug tests, but how many seriously get busted for other than blood pressure meds or a fondness for poppy seed bagels? I’ve only known of one person to lose a job as a result of Pot usage and even then they did the ‘hair’ test to prove it.

              Don’t get me wrong, in my fifty years, I’ve had my own share of addictions. One always shifted to another more from a desire to learn about it than any other reason. To be honest, boredom did play a factor in this journey. I’ve been to Rehab twice in my life. Everyone that knows me in the physical world only knows of one of those ‘trips’, so-to-speak, and that was for alcohol.

            Addicts, like nonviolent psychopaths, are all around us. Most hold down successful jobs or are perhaps successful housewives or mates maintaining all things domestic with the kitchen, kids and sexual lies they give their men to keep their cover intact. That is until either their addiction takes total control of their lives or their self abused bodies falter. As for the sex-thing with women, let’s be honest here. The way to a mans heart, and keep it there is a full stomach and empty balls. Think about it…

           What does your normal day consist of?

             When you wake up each day/night, your eyes slowly open, their lids edges caked with dried ‘sleepers’ while a single, tiny yawn escapes your widely expanding mouth. This yawn gives birth to the stretching of your arms, legs and fingers as your body goes into an instinctive response to change as it takes inventory of its physical working parts.

           As your day/nighttime world hits you, what is your first thought? What is your first desire? What is the one thing you need to get you moving and functional and simply start your hours both awake and working?



            Is it the desire for strong coffee, a cigarette, two or three Red Bulls chugged as you blankly stare at floor not vacuumed for weeks or sex with the mate or your right hand as most men awaken with the trusty ‘stiffy’?

          Alignment is what humans search for as they regain control of themselves as their slumber worlds fall to the so-called real world as false lighting cuts their eyes wide open, sobering them. A reason to be, some sense of justice in awakening their bodies. A purpose to keep going. One of so many deep breaths taken as they throw their legs over the side of a bed to connect with cold flooring as their feet say ‘OUCH“ on a winter morn.

　

             “When I got up, all I wanted was another shot. You know, a half shot of ‘H’ to make me level. So the fuckers I crashed with refused me this constantly. Some of these men would ask me to eat metal objects for twenty bucks. I’d do it…”

          “Metal?” I asked.

               She stared blankly at the corner of my living room wall, sitting on my couch with her left sagging breast and erect nipple pointing out. She spoke as one would about a flat tire needing a change.

“’Verts! These fuckers would love to watch me suck down metal nuts and shit. They said they liked to watch it fall down my neck.”

“and did they pass okay from your body?” I asked.

　

“yeah, it did and it didn’t. It depended on when I was wasted, okay? I guess it depended on what I ate. I sometimes had bloody craps.”

      “fair answer,”


        “You’re a fucker! You know that! I’ve been with you an hour and not once have you asked me to suck your dick.” She is highly agitated, unknown to her, the hairs on her arms are standing on end.

           I see her tell tales, and proceed with my line of questioning about her day.

         “When I paid you, I said I would not physically fuck you. Shall we continue?”

         "I hate you!"

          "Nice. I didn't pass my load into your mouth and your offended by this."

           "Do you at least have fucking coffee, dickhead?"

Mark William Darus 01142012

Rest Period.

 

                                                 
                                              Rest Period.
                            Well, from the Internet anyway.
                                    By Mark William Darus.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n08JRxVLKLE


        Looks like I am going to lose my internet service for a a few weeks.

         Having just recently reentered the work world I have many bills to get caught up on.

         Know this, dear reader: I will continue to write about life stuff as it gets caught in my mind-filter compelling me to say something. I will also continue with my photography.

         I plan on doing a ton of reading, mainly Dr, Robert Hare’s Without Conscience as well as several other psychology books I’ve wanted to devour.

         So take good care of yourselves and one another, Hasta que nos encontremos otra vez, 直到我们再是。, Sakemm ahna napprovaw huma., jusqu'à ce que nous nous rencontrions de nouveau, bis wir uns wieder treffen, До ми збираємось знов, Do czasu kiedy ponownie spotka, Tills vi möts igen, Til vi møtes igjen, Než se znovu sejdeme, Until we meet again.

Peace and other insanities,

Mark William Darus 01122013

 

Cloning: Just make me copy.

 

                                      Cloning: Just make me copy…
                                           By Mark William Darus.

for the images: Visit;

http://www.facebook.com/mark.darus?ref=tn_tnmn#!/media/set/?set=a.3614812188175.122909.1809940336&type=3

Click on each pic to see my thoughts on the upper right.

sorry of the inconvience.

　

           So many species endangered, hundreds of them left with a thousand representative types.

          Funny how all these organizations push for funding to sustain the dying breeds, house them in safe, controlled structures, in hopes they mate. Cloning these soon dead animals can realign the destruction man has made on this Earth.

          We have been given the ability to sustain animal life. What stopped us? Was it a movie called the Boys from Brazil, and the cloning of Hitler?



          Let’s take a look at how we view anything less human life forms on this Earth.

          Know this: I am a carnivore. I like steak and I like it bloody rare. Not a big fan of chicken, though a good sweet and sour comforts me. Pork? I friggin’ love bacon! It’s not from some lack of sensitivity for Jews I say this, I just love smoked pig in slender strips.

          In a previous post, I placed list of endangered animal species on this planet. Blog entry: 10252012 At the Cleveland Zoo. http://psychopathyanotherlife.blogspot.com/2012/10/at-cleveland-zoo-always-good-time.html

We have the ability to perpetuate vast generations of species livelihoods, yet we don’t.

Why is that, I have to ask?

Does this lack of scientific drive forward come from Politics, Religion, or simple human greed?

Each of the three listed above can thrust their points as good as any male porn star and slam its point home thrust on thrust to the point all eyes get dizzy and senseless.

Yet most of their arguments make little sense to anyone.

When it comes to politics: Imagine a clone of Lincoln. We could do this, you know. Just imagine another Civil War. Okay, America: Tell me how that would be a bad thing?:???

Greed and Religion seem to go hand in hand in my opinion like a bullet placed into the firing chamber of a hand gun, set to purpose.

If we could clone dying animal life from this planet, hundreds of thousands of jobs would be shred in preserving them. Imagine the economy… The havoc. The horror…

When it comes to religious angle about the creation of life versus, say, abortion. Most religions have a great deal to express about abortion, and these same factions have so much to say against its creation via cloning.

Let/s face it: Mankind has the control thru science to recreate life as its on the verge of complete annihilation. We intelligently know that with each species trashed, another rung in the ladder of our own existence is climbed further toward planetary death. As we die down the road…

We have a fragile balance here.

Simple human greed plays more of a part than anything else.

　

If all those willing to talk about animal rights and spread coin did anything, they’d push for cloning of animal life instead of the passive route of asking for more funding to maintain what we have left in the hopes they breed in captivity.

Take a moment.

　

Imagine a beautiful night with your man. The moon is rolling slowly half-full, the scent of heather and grass fill your nostrils with the scent of him.

　

You desire him as his face locks on yours.



Your eyes meet, pupils dilated and fiery now.



You turn from him after the smallest of eye-mind lock with him.

He gently goes toward you.

A low, yet low male vibration sounds behind you, the growl of animal desire you crave. . You saw the intent in his eyes. You wanted him. Needed him.

　

His body gently hunkers over you as he mounts you from behind. His sharp claws never cutting you as they pass your tender midsection. Tenderly covering you, you feel his body climb over you. Chilly air replaced by his heat as his hands meet yours.

He enters your willing body…

And flashbulbs from people kill everything.

Just imagine if you were them.

Tell me how cloning could be wrong on this.

Mark William Darus 01072013

Do women need to be cut open or not?

                   I got this from Amanda (name changed) and am utterly confused....
                                          here words and mine while going over it.
                                                            Entry by
                                                  Mark William Darus.


             To me, this sounds like the surgery many of you had a few years ago...

                                                  Here's what she sent me:

       it was not good news for me, I need to see a spine surgeon for my lower back, it seems there is actually 4 things messed up by the tail bone and bottom vertebrates,and disks.

              After that is fixed I will be fitted with what is like a pace maker for the bladder nerves. all together I'm looking at three surgeries at the least. For the bladder they hook up this box and wires for one week to make sure it will work and i don't reject it. then if all goes well a week later the permanent devise will be placed inside . The nerves operating the bladder wall are shot and if I do not get the devise to do there work I will continually get worse till i have absolutely no control, then the injury to my back from years ago has made part of my lower spine move forward and press on the back of my bladder and other organs. I've had back pain off and on since the first fall in 92 but never paid it much attention. then i fell again in 2004 then the last time 10/2010 getting out of the tub. I never would of thought those had anything to do with the bladder problems.

         TECH NOTE Everyone: I'm no diagnostician, and when it comes to medical health, I'm no HOuse. But I did read Greys anatomy, took in volumes of cause and affect as bodily parts create havoc with one another.



         I saw this woman a week ago and all seemed good and healthy. Granted, given my family history I know full well how things can change in a New York minute. But still....

       Between us: Besides Amanda's incredible talent to cut or chop herself when given any object imaginable from cutting lettuce to cutting a coupon.

          I think her to be a Munchausen. What is the the difference between the standard "Munchausen' diagnosis is having sound medical benefits in place and those that don't?

        Dr. Suess' Sneetches comes to mind: Having firm medical insurance intact, she so has a 'star on thars,' and can be cut into and stitched for profit, a valuable target. Like those on the county-coin, ie: Anne's back surgery done on county cash benefited nothing to the individual. When on the benefit and anti-benefit programs, you should heed these words said to me by a doctor after spine surgery did no good: beware of men in masks....

          Why is it more women go under the cold light of a surgical table than men every year when given the same prospects?

        Sure, men may be of denser stock or denial. Yet, one has to wonder in the long run.

          To date: I have been in the company of 16 women in the last 8 years that surgery made their pain far worse than better. Oddly, not only did their pain amplify on the originally afflicted area but it spread to other areas in their extremities.  Referred Pain is the title they label this affliction.

         I don’t mean to be sexist, but I guess I am going to be here.

             Let’s be serious here. When a doctor tells a female patient there is something causing distress, the woman feels something emotional attached to it. Takes to doctors word at face value and runs with it. 
           Forgetting in their worry/stress that this physician is human,  has many friends down the road that may give him/her kickbacks for surgical referrals  and the benefit of pharmaceutical representatives  that walk their office every other week. 
       
              More often than not, all the She's lean toward the knives.    Recuperation's present,  and other pains and inconveniences down-played as small side-effects to the procedure swell in their day-to-day life creating more things to be either cut-open or medicated for.

                Hey, you all know people. Is this incorrect? Let me know if you think I'm totally off on this. PLEASE!!!

          More often than not, in the areas of longevity promises, men don’t subscribe to the offer of a knife and medications to solve things.

         When men were told the same the things, they’d dismiss it and just deal with the pain on its ground.

Studies do seem to bare credence to the beliefs in reference to ‘mind over matter’. With men and testosterone females high, it’s as if this statement holds true when it comes to personal, professional pain: If you don’t mind, it really doesn’t matter. These people can dismiss any and all hurt and move on and live lifetimes on or above the average.
Let me clarify my thoughts on my statement ‘on and live lifetimes on or above the average.’ The length of time we place into seconds of gasping breathe and desires toward material objects is totally personal in nature. Ask anyone that ever experienced a ‘near-death’ experience. Some see their lives flash into of them as others see the last time they got righteously fucked.
On surgery:
If you are a woman in the USA, holding either good med benefits on no benefits, get a third opinion or fourth for that matter. Men, well, you’ll do as you do. In all honesty with me, and I know you will all hate this: Just suck it up, take a finger up your ass ever few years above 45 or so.
　
I’m still pondering a connection between bladder control and the need of a  pacemaker.

Hmnmmm, a pacemaker controls the rhythm and control of a heart muscle, right? Okay, this does also control other areas of vital organs of existence. The Liver, Kidneys, lungs, etc.
You read my sarcasm here and will do further research.
In my cold hearted beliefs, I would not elect for any surgery given what she gave me knowing her background.
What do you think?       My Girlfriends doctor after a throat surgery by another of her physicians recommended and taken,  said to her: Beware of masked men with sharp objects.        She has never sang to her hearts content since this procedure.
 
                                           Mark William Darus 01052012    since edited a few times. 

The closing of last year.

                                       
                                          The closing of last year.
                               Blessings counted, one by fucking one.
                                            By Mark William Darus.

　

            I frankly cannot believe I am still alive. Last year was without question the strangest one I have ever known in my fifty years of riding the life-coaster.

           Let’s start January of 2012, shall we.

           2012 rang in with me on a psycho leave from work due to a diagnosis of bipolar type 2/manic depression if you’re old school like me as well as one other thing. The length of this leave was well over 3 months in duration. There were eval’s and the building of medications to level me out as much as possible without getting the Lamictal Death-Rash, (glad I didn’t get that, but back them It really wouldn’t have bothered me.) Yeah, pretty sad…

         I went into this year broke and behind on everything. Oh well, you can’t rebuild without tearing things down and smashing them into tiny bits and clearing the debris. My family did help out, but one can only ask for so much.

          I went back to work toward the end of February 2012 with a level head, (well, as level as my head ever gets that is.) I had a new manager, loads of training to take and things there felt pretty good.

         When I went back to work though, I had no issue to answer peoples questions as to why I was out. I simply told them I was on a ‘psycho-leave for bipolar.’ You can gage people fairly well by watching their reactions to blunt answers said enthusiastically.

        The reactions so varied in display. Some would smile and say ‘go figure’ while others looked horrified and said ‘MY GAWD!”

          As counseling with my psychologist continued ever forward, I became curious to his line of questioning and how each session, he‘d periodically toss out two to three apparently random questions. After a while, those questions had a certain order to them. I did some research and asked him if he was giving the Hare Psychopathy Checklist Revised.

         Where my mind was in early March 2012:

         As things generally happen in my life, I had just started research of child psychopaths after the Chardon High School (Chardon Ohio, USA February 27 2012). My mind, perhaps being more able to focus on psych-meds, I could sustain the ability to seek and find answers to questions my mind asked me. My mind is always asking questions as I see things that make no sense. Before last February though, these thoughts/questions/drives would merely last a day or so and I’d get bored and find something new to ponder. Well, in late February, I could focus.

         As I said earlier, I asked my psychologist if he was giving me the PCL-R.

         His reaction was expected. He smiled and simply said, “Well, you did say you’ve read psych books since age 12 and that I should be smarter than you on this. Apparently, my aim was good, and your sight better than I’d expected.”

           “So I was right?” I asked.

           “Yes. I’m sorry, but our time is through.” He stood, extended his hand to me.

          That was that on with my psychologist. I have no hard feelings.

           I still had my psychiatrist, and is she ever cool!

            It was with that research I happened on the psychological works of Dr. Robert Hare and Dr. Hervey Cleckley.

           I’ll share with you the link for the PCL-R at the bottom of this entry.

            A few words on the works of Dr. Robert Hare, born 1934 Calgary/Alberta Canada. He spent over 35 years studying criminal psychology. Author of several books: Snakes In Suits: When Psychopaths go to Work: 2006 (an eye opener to say the least), Without Conscious: The Disturbing World of Psychopaths Among Us, 1993 (a must read if you are into psychology.) I frankly think this man is a genius.

           Dr. Hervey Cleckley, born Augusta Georgia USA 1903, passing January 28 1984 was a pioneer in the field of psychiatry. His book, which you can find the PDF on the Net titled The Mask of Sanity, I believe to be the best psychology book I have ever read! Dr. Robert Hare devised his PCL-R test in part on the work of Dr, Cleckley.

                      March 3 2012 I started Psychopathy: Another Life.
                     This was to be the baby of my mind: My Brainchild.
                       My thoughts, beliefs, my inter-workings, if you will.


                 I shared this with both my psychologist and my psychiatrist. My ‘cologist smirked at this and said, ‘I expected no less of you, Mark. Good luck!’ My ‘ciatrist was enthused to no end, shook my hand and smiled so beamingly it could have cut the densest of foggy drives. ‘I can’t wait to read your thoughts sent out!’

              And so it began from a literary standpoint.

          The thoughts and interpretations so easily mated with words that I could not, and still have problems believing, they came from my mind.

           This blog has not been well received by everyone in my life. That’s okay though, not everyone likes the blunt truth of psychology, or its writers manipulations to make vital sense, and why should they? It’s like this: Those that read romance novels hardly ever read Clive Barker or Stephen King.



          Set the chronological fuck-up machine: Fall 2011:

           I started on a bowling league for the first time in years. Somehow a I felt some need to prove myself in the world of strangers. I gained a great deal from this. I learned how to become a part of a team with men once again. >I’m sorry, but the team-building exercises I had for ten years at Progressive Insurance but really lack in all sincerity.<

          I started with an average of 143 and over a season took it to a 191. The following summer league I bowled a 297 game. Sadly, due to lack of cash, I could not continue the following fall season of 2012. That sucked, but there was nothing I could do after I got canned in August 2012.

           Not much changed between March and July of 2012.

           About Mid-July, I was at a Big Lots store and saw a digital camera and bought it. Like psychology, I’ve always had a love for photography.

           It is truly funny how things work in my life.

            In mid August I got terminated from Progressive Insurance after over 10 years of loyal servitude before the mast for a timecard fuck-up. Granted, in the twelve months prior to this, I’d seen many others become non-employees and was flabbergasted when I had heard while I was on leave about them giving the companies ’coaches’ the ’take-this-or-be-gone spiel.’

            The music stopped at that point in my employment there, and I was left chairless.

           Good thing I am Nonviolent in nature, isn’t it?

         I wish I could say the same about others I know currently under the ProgDar there. (ProgDar: Progressive Radar.)

        Within a month of getting fired, I had my first photograph used as a book cover. I cannot express how my mind went nuts over that! Further, when the second book cover happened about a month later.

          Count my Blessings? Oh, yeah. Something was happening, changing within me. I knew it, sensed it and lived it.

          I have never doubted that some power, faith, inner subconscious belief can make things occur and bring shining moon glows cutting heavy cloudy nights and slice the murkiest of hazes and fog and show reason to be and inspiration. I have spent a great deal of my life expressing this belief to others as they reached their tiniest last strand as they asked me to waste them so they could get to heaven/nirvana/Valhalla without having to commit suicide. For me to end their lives and take the guilt from them for their wish to die.

       I frankly didn’t think I’d see it for myself as it happened.

        Somehow, I did though.

         I’d be lying if I said the thought of suicide didn’t cross my mind about a half dozen times though.

        I even went Facebook on one desolate and dank night when my meds were off about my wishes to die.

       I was caught, and the Cleveland Police arrived at my door. Thanks, BEX.

        They took me to the hospital.

          I didn’t even get a padded cell and expressed that I felt slighted by this. I was discharged about 8 hours after admittance. I learned a lot about how Cuyahoga County treats potential suicidal people )I can’t say ‘victims’ though.( I walked home from there. I wrote about the experience. They never even called my psychiatrist. I called her later that day and told her what happened.

       She is so cool! She said: ‘Cool! Can you get her to see me today?”

       “Of course, Dr.”

         As most times when seeing her, she’d schedule me for the last appointment of her day.

                       
         She’d bill for 15 minutes but her and I would talk for well over an hour. Sometimes we’d go to two hours over passionate discussions of the human condition. From all recollections of others I’ve known with meetings with psychiatrists, this simply does not happen.

            I understood full well why my psychologist no longer wished to work with me. He knew my score on the PCL-R, and I cannot say I blame him. Most in the this profession need to fear being sucked into the vortex of psychopathy.

          Counting my blessings yet again: My psychiatrist had no such fear. In the coldest of thinking and calculating on my part, I‘d wonder: Was she merely using me as a case study for her benefit? I really hope so. I hope she writes a book about her cases, her observations, hunches and thoughts. At more than a few points during our months together, I advised her she’d be an idiot if she didn’t use her sessions with clients to further the world of the human mind.

          I am happy to say this: Since I lost my benefits four months ago, we still chat and she reads this blog. Thank you, Dr! It is so nice to have you in my corner.



                                 November: Comes the dark time.
                                           Sort of, that is.

                 My gas got shut off in November 2012. I can’t say I blame them. It had been a few months without paying for them to chop it off. Yet for as horrific as this would sound to a Northeast Ohioan, it really didn’t faze me. This is not to say I am totally without fazing, it just didn’t seriously disturb me. Why should it have? I was applying everywhere for a job, donating plasma for cash, basically doing the best I could to keep my animals fed. And failing. You do what you can do…

            This leads me to the stories I’ve yet to post about standing in the lines of humans to donate plasma. So much more like dairy cattle lined up for a milking, they are herded into buildings and sucked on for a bit. I was surprised by how many weren’t crackheads, heroin addicts or prostitutes after a bad night on the corner. I met recently former Ford, GM, Bank of America, Progressive Insurance, Allstate Insurance, Walmart, Kmart, Sears, Target employees. I also careened with the likes of full time employees of Red Lobster, Olive Garden, Perkins, and other companies as they were told there hours would be cut to part time after January One 2013. Go figure on that last part: medical benefits made American Companies run for cover. I smile though: Corporate psychopothy is alive and well… Amen.

            In September 2012, I met many that were recently hired by Progressive Insurance as part timers. Hmmm, would that have anything to do with the new mandates on full timer health care?

           November screams into December and thanks to my youngest daughters lead, I gain the job I currently hold. I’m also told I will have a third and fourth book cover.

         My new job is physical in nature. Unlike my ten years at Progressive Insurance, I do not have to apologize repeatedly for things I had no control over, further making me a corporate drone and emotionally lacking human. What price to maintain an income?

        This new job has me on my feet for 10 hours a day moving several tons of manufactured steel by hand every day. Am I making less per hour? Yes, about 7 an hour less. Does this job give me an ability to look at myself each day knowing I didn’t pass out line after line of bullshit? Absolutely!

        I could not have gotten through august to December of 2012 without Gretchen and Dave R and family. Your unwavering support was incredible.

                           Now in 2013: Outlook.

                      Hell, I got past 2012, I cannot see what 2013 has to bring…
                       I am an Idiot, albeit a happy one, afterall.

                          Here's the link to the PCL-R:
                                     http://arkancide.com/psychopathy.htm
                                 feel free to email me via rhinokorg@sbcglobal.net or my facebook email your results and your thoughts. You should know by know, what you share, will be anonymous.
                                
                                    I'd also like to thank the 68 countries that take the time to read this blog. Over 12,000 reads, and I thank you all!


                                      Mark William Darus.

              PS> Thanks to Santander consumer Credit USA. I called them today about paying off what I thought I had left owed on my truck. They told me it was paid-off and chucked the 250.00 I owed them. Pretty cool.


                                 

Merry Holidaze: part two

                                   Merry Holidays part 2: A cautionary tale.
                                           By Mark William Darus.

　

Set your Wayback machines to the mid-seventies. I’m like 12 or 13. Santa gave me this Absonormouslyistic HO scale Tyco slot car set. I mean this puppy had it all! It had banked turns, four level high cross overs, insane hairpin turns and cars so heavily magnetically made they’d never fly off the track.

The magnificently logo’d design so truthfully said: 68 FEET OF SOLID RACING ACTION!!!

This was true.

Looking back, I have to give my dad more credit than I did then. Being young, I simply thought we’d open the box and race. I’d forgotten how long it took us to make the Eldon track happen.

I was so antsy and irritated with dad saying, ‘we’ll make it, Mark. We have eat dinner first, clear the dining room table, take care of the dishes and then we’ll make it.”

It was 7:17 AM when I opened hugesaurus present that held “THE TYCO!” and dinner wasn’t until what?!?!?! 2-3PM?!?!?!?! I was freaking out, most sincerely.

Dad and Mom would exchange glances, and mom would ask “ready for another tea, Mark?” I always enthusiastically said YES! Mom: No one has ever made tea like you. I miss you…

Okay, so I was a prick even then. Everyone opened presents, I’d open theirs for me and they’d open mine to them (the cash given me by mom and dad to buy for my sisters and grand folk. Granted, I clearly had issues as I’d sometimes label them: To grandpa, From Satan (he kind of liked that though. To Holly from Ansta! You get the point, I’d toss curves into shit. I’d do this to see their reactions. Christ knows though, I never signed stuff like for grandma or mom. >Well, I did do odd things to the Manger set that my Grandmother made by hand, but I’ll get to that later…<

My tiny jammied frame just sucked it up though, but my mind kept running me silently. WANT SLOT CAR! WANT TRACK SET UP! WANT RACING NOW!!!!

I’m not sure who in my family would say meaningful things like: Patience, Mark. You look sad, Mark, didn’t you get what you asked Santa for? I think this had to come from my sister Holly: Okay, so we run the track around the Bird, over the cranberries to grandmothers rolls we go?

Okay, have you ever lived in a Northern climate during Christmas? You know, the fairy tale realm of a real White Christmas, a few inches of snow on the ground with icy sidewalks, temperatures in the teens for Santa to give you a bike and be told: Oh, you can’t ride that now! It’s too cold. If you fell, you’d split your head wide open!

Call me Southparks Cartman, my eyes were X’s, my lips resembled the dire EKG zig-zag pattern displaying obvious distress. All their words were meaningless to me! Mindless placations to either aide me or to simply make me less of a buzz-kill for them. It didn’t matter to me though, I was a punk-ass 12-13 year old male child and I wanted SLOT CAR RACING!!!!

Hours pass with the swift speed of slowly falling water over sharp edged stone to make it round and smooth.

In later years, I stopped cutting my hair. I liked the long look. Though I was never a hippie, persay. It did take a long time as it grew about an inch a month back then when I was 16 or so for it to cascade over my shoulders and become an embarrassment to my father. Now dad was bald in my total memory of him. He never did the ‘wrap to long remaining strands’ around the head thing. He simply had the ‘look at the top of my head. You either see the letters ‘u’ or ‘n’ depending on your angle,’ thing. He was always cool that way. He’d gone bald early in life, and it never bothered him in the slightest in my best recall. I grew mine long! It’s as if I was saying: Remember my slot car track torture dad? Well, this is me getting even.

I’m talking Cowsills Hair long.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BFy-yzj02FE

Yeah, I know each generation has to have some point of rebellion. It’s damn near mandatory if you look backward over time. In my life, these coming-of-age rebellions have spanned from, say: Men growing hair to their ass, women shaving their heads bald, men piercing their left ears when the hair length thing became passé, women going braless (I did so like this shift in the history of female fashion! I always knew there was a 50 percent chance that they were truly happy to meet me given their bodily signs.)

During the seventies, women wanted the life they had during WWII. ‘Back When‘. A time when women in the United States worked the factories for the War-Machine doing a Mans job as the men fought the Evil Foe and such. Women learned to like the independence they gained in the physical workplaces of factories, foundries and mass production. They felt a sense of belonging that wasn’t solely based on housework, their kids and their husbands status over backyard chats. In the seventies, after some 25 years after the Second Great War, they wanted equal pay for equal jobs. These women and their generation, undoubtedly propelled by their mothers words reminisced fondly about WWII stories, made an impact.

My sister Holly was a leading benefactor of this time period. Having a grandfather and father in the Cleveland Steel life, she easily got summer jobs during her college years that opened a doorway not normally desired by girls of her age. I say she ‘easily got’ a summer job, which she did. Back when, if you were a ‘Steel Man’, you could get you kid a two-three months of summer labor work job. This Summer Help would push brooms, keep bathrooms tiddy, dump trash, and perhaps shovel slag. Then, these jobs were a given like flack from a gooses arse. Unskilled labor jobs in the late seventies were a dime a dozen here. After Holly claimed her degree at Case Western Reserve University, she went full time at Republic Steel. No longer being some ‘summer-flunky’, she soon heaved a heavier shovel. She’s not the shortest woman in the world, but she is close. She heaved slag for years before getting into a Crane Operator position.

On shoveling Slag. Slag is a by-product of the steel making process. Look at slag like this: You eat a really tasty steak. Your body gets what it needs, protein and such (pure steel created) and eventually casts off what isn’t steel (the byproducts) which is little more than shit from your arse and it‘s your job to make it go away. Another way of looking at shoveling slag is this: Imagine your driveway, and your driveway is about 8 miles long. Now imagine a wet snowfall that lasts all year long that you must clear every hour of every day. Each tug on your shoulders heavier than the last as you lift. Thigh muscles burning with each forward push.

In all honesty, If I can say there is one thing I am happy about it is my sister Holly’s perseverance when it came to being a steel worker/Crane Operator. She worked her arse thru the ranks and as Republic Steel became LTV, ISG, now Acelor Mittal, she still is in command of a seriously heavy fucking machine towering a hundred feet above those below her.

NICE!

Aw shit, I went further into an area that strayed.

But did it really go so far awry?



Well, men started piercing both ears, some carrying packs resembling a husky-esque purse, songs about unmarried women being pregnant began to spring out with Paul Anka’s (you’re) Having My Baby, (I really hated that fucking song. Such a disgusting abuse of musical instruments! However, Odia Coates vocals sounded emotionally felt, and great.)

This is out of time-based order here, but nearly almost everyone of both sexes went tattoo crazy, followed by body piercing. With tat’s of ‘MOM’ on an upper forearm of some Navy ensign far away from home and missing her, we blasted to full body Artworks covering entire flesh space that lead to magazines based solely on the subject. When it came to body piercing, we went from early Tribal nose piercing to lip, cheek and earlobe elongations to nipples, penis’ and labial areas where metal mates with flesh.



>>>going off on a tangent here, so bare with me, dearest reader. Of the hundreds of both women and men I have talked to about their piercing themselves, those that pierced their tongues, I so easily asked them: “Why the fuck did you do that?”

They always, and I do mean always, answered equally.

“I wanted to give him/her more pleasure.” they’d say with a smile.

They’d see my raised eyebrows and usually ask, “can you imagine it?”

“Not really. I can’t think of the splendor of lukewarm steel against my stout good fellow. But if I did wish such a thing, I’d merely ask her to take a few ball bearings into her mouth and say go for it, darling. I’m sure I’d have to pay for this event to occur, but I’d never want any woman in my life to plant a hole in their tongue, shove a hypoallergenic rod through it to make me feel, uhhhh, more aroused.”

They’d get a bit nervous when I said this. Go figure, if you’ve imagined yourself as the deer in the headlights across a road, you know how they must have felt. They’d usually look stunned, more often than not, their jaw would drop showing me their upper teeth.

“One thing I have to know though, if you don’t mind me asking you a question?” I’d sip my coffee and casually inquire.

“Uhhh, course not. Go ahead.” They’d try to sound confident, but more often then not, their words sounded more like a question.

“When you eat Skippy Chunky Peanut butter, do the hunks of nuts get stuck in the hole in your tongue?” To this day, I don’t believe I have ever received a truthful answer on this.

　

GOD DAMN IT, WHERE IS MY SLOT CAR TRACK???

Oh, yeah. How could I forget. It’s being held hostage in the fucking cardboard box!

The table did get cleared, dishes washed and tucked away for the next 11 and three quarter months and my father and I would assemble ‘The Tyco”.

68 FEET OF SOLID RACING ACTION!!!

I guess I learned this from my father. Direction are for idiots and morons. Just read the pictures and you’ll figure it out. This turn goes to this set of straights and another crossover piece. See it in the 3D he’d push my mind.

Over the years of my youth there was no lack of building toys in my background appearing at Christmas, birthdays or just whenever presents from good grades.

My parents had the coin and mind to know that giving your kid Lego, Lincoln Logs and Erector Sets created and inspired the ability of growth to a mind craving stimulus beyond school. At age forty, perhaps a tad year or two before, I began to build things. Working with wood, some came out fine, ie a cocktail table and end tables, some candles sticks, a shed created without a written diagram, I got lucky. That luck though, was based on the build things from those earlier toys given to me from my mom and dad, and of course, Santa.

So me and my father layed the track. He smiled as he’d say: No we can’t start yet. We have to lay the overpassess and the guardrails.

Well, it’s now about 8pm and we’re ready for out first race.

My heart is thrumping madly. My blue HO car sporty Richard Petty colors displayed is next to a car I can’t remember. We’re on the Start Line and I’m ready to run…

I can’t remember who said: Get ready, Get set, GO!!!!!

But we ran!

Fantastic!

Go to a week later.

New Years eve turning to years day.

My father and I that stroke of midnight decided to run the night for a marathon. We’d run our cars til they fell apart.

Dick Clark in New York made the ball drop.

Party people!

My dad and I made our historic run.

Lap after lap over 68 FEET OF TRACK, our cars thundered about its course. Sometimes his car gaining lead over mine to mine taking over his. We’d see our cars arses press against the guardrails punching through toward further speed. Small electric motors hissing as rubber wheels meet plastic roads. Pressing onward.

About an hour later, the Teddy and Mark Speedway went sideways.

My sisters had celebrated New Years in ways I’d gain appreciation for later in years down the road.

So my dad and I racing our cars, and Holly and Heidi enter the living room. My dad and I got our thumbs on the buttons running our cars for Supreme Male Dominance of this Household.

“How was it?” Mom asks. She’s had a few Chivas’ and soda, though I cannot say for sure.

“It was cool,” Holly said. “It was fun.”

And my sister Heidi, and who could tell what her face really looked like in a living room of xmas really looks like.

Heidi hurls at me and dad.

Her puke covers several layers of track.

Facial expressions cover the living room and dining room, though even then no harsh punishments would occur.

I don’t seriously you have experienced life until you witness a pair of tiny electric HO scale slot attempt to beat ‘heave hazard’. There is nothing quite like seeing the smallest of wheels splash and hurl bits of vomit about.

　

　

This goes down as one of the best xmas’ of my life!!!

So real and so raw.

So human.

Mark William Darus

PS: I thank these two readers from across the planet for their Xmas present! I can't say I  expected this, but I'd be an idiot to say I didn't like it. Thank you and as you asked, you are permanatently held in my camera and my mind. Facebook friend me.... Yet still, thank you!!!

Merry Holidays!

                   Fifty Christmas: Hand Held to cynical. Part one.
                                       By Mark William Darus.

　

This Christmas I was given a view to see xmas’s past.

Perhaps it’s the medications working, but my memory seems to be able to run backward over time on a single day of recurrent memory.

Christmas day.

As tiniest memory took hold, I so remember the smells of childhood.

My older and sisters and I would desperately wait at the top of the stairwell for mom or dad to give us the ‘all-clear’ to run down and see what Santa left for us. The smell of English Tea always hit me first. Mom would make me warm tea in a Skippy Peanut butter jar. She’d make it for me with the right amount of sugar and milk. Delicious!

We’d run down the stairway, and through the childhood view of things, see the same things we saw the night before. Colourful room of magnificent splendor where all things looked brand-new to us. Packages shining against a fake fireplace.

Setting the wayback machine, Sherman.

I remember Christmas eves with my fathers mother. Besides funerals and weddings, this was the only time there’d be a gathering of the Darus’. The food was always great, and though my elder sisters have a different memory of this, I was still happy to see my cousins and uncles.

Their memories became twisted with their experiences and should be seen as real to them. I being younger saw things through lens’ vastly different and much less cynical then theirs.

I was about 6-8 then.

Granted at that point I had a knowledge of death. My dad faced his first heart surgery that back in the late 60’s to 70’s was a 50/50 shot at best.

Death? Well, that was when the nightmares become real when you awake and all you love is gone, right?

　

So many xmas days I’d run downstairs to see what Santa left for me.

More Importantly to me: How my dad and I would put them together to make work! Slot car sets, train tracks, Lego, Lincoln Logs and Erector Sets. During this wondrous point, my father and I would meet and work together. He’d give me his time, so incredibalbly important looking backward, so blown off by me back then. Sometimes hitting the rewind button hurts.

One of my fondest memories was that of my father and I building an Eldon Slot car set around 1970 or so. Wide track like that of Carrera 1/24 Scale. Cars would fly off the track and he’d laugh at me as hit the throttle too strong.

Years later, he’d get me a Tyco set. It would take he and I hours to make the track. So patiently we, by his guidance, would place the guardrails on the corners to keep the cars from blasting into the otherness of living room furniture and dogfood bowels.

End of Part one…

　

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Mark William Darus. 12252012