Archives For Words

Yesterday was hard. Tomorrow is not guaranteed. In my quest to achieve a better today (all that each of us truly has anyway), I’ve been delving into the root causes of some my habitual behaviors.

Those patterns of relating that are borne of the intersection of nature, nature, and inclination.

What I’m finding is sobering.

I’m finding that seemingly innocuous, well-meaning words have the power to shape the course of a life.

Don’t believe me?

Consider this: as a small child, when I got a scrape, a bruise, a “boo-boo,” in an effort (I suppose) to toughen me up, I was told to say “I’m alright.”

Thing is, scrapes hurt. There wasn’t the “Are you okay?” Rather, I heard “You’re alright.”

Repeat something enough times, and it gets internalized. Becomes a part of our inner monologue.

So it was, on a visit to my grandmother’s house, and while playing hide-and-seek, I fell through the well cover. Did I cry out “Help?” Or “Help me?”


Louder and louder I shrieked “I’m alright! I’M ALRIGHT!!! I’M ALRIGHT!!!!”

But of course I wasn’t–I was a small boy on the verge of falling into a well, with the very real possibility of drowning. Fortunately, my grandmother found me, and kept me from falling down the well.

“I’m alright” became my modus operandi, my life philosophy. Even when, especially when, things were most decidedly not alright. Here’s the thing: rather than toughen me up, prepare for the harsh realities of life, this little phrase served instead to crush whatever empathy my burgeoning soul possessed.

To this day, I have to work at feeling with, and for, someone. Because they, too, are alright.

Even when they’re not.

And that is the big power of little words.

God help me.

20120425-111300.jpgWe are a strange breed–we who try to cobble together, Frankenstein-like, meaning from the jumbled words screaming to escape the crenellations of our cortexes, the dark rivers of our hearts. They–these words–will not lie still, and unlike that patient etherized upon a table, they wriggle and squirm–awaiting their birth.

And once poured forth upon the page, not only do they not die, but also take on entirely new lives of their own. Yet still do they live in the backs of our minds as well–these word babies, once birthed, yet waiting still to be born.

Though they permeate–like a fragrant tea–our waking lives, still we see them even when our eyes are closed. Words are the tea our souls are steeped in; like tea, there are different hues, tones, notes, and flavors to our words. There are the weaker, and the stronger.

And spometimes they shamble weakly, zombie-like; other times, they run. Still other times, they sing.

Blessed are we to catch these falling notes before they are lost to the mists of memory and of time.

Cast wide your nets, writers, and wonder at the words.

Do you wonder at the words?

Note: tomorrow there will be no new post here; rather, I’m hosted by Captain The Joseph Craven on The Greatest Blog of All Time. So please head over there tomorrow. Thanks!

You see it there, right? Right there in the title of this post–“fiend.”

Who do I mean? Who is this “fiend?”

Bryan Allain.

What do I mean?

He did this to me:

This Bryan Allain.

That’s right–I play words with this fiend!

He’s cutthroat, he’s lean…

And he’s mean!

This Bryan Allain.

Play him yourself.

You’ll see what I mean!

(search for ‘bryanallain’)

*By the by, I’m given to understand that his last name is French Canadian, so one pronounces it “Eileen.” Or so I’m told. 😉

'Pussy Drink' photo (c) 2010, Martin Pettitt - license:

Folks, I’ve been trying to work something out in my head for sometime now, but can’t quite place my finger on it (the issue–not my head).

This notion, abortive though it may be, is simply that I think the way language (at the very least, English) is often used shows an implicit disregard for women.

Continue Reading…

Over the weekend, I gave my twelve year-old son some fatherly advice about self-deprecation; I told him to stop.

This is advice I need to heed myself. I told him that if he was constantly putting himself down, others would pick up on that vibe, and follow suit.

Well guess what I did this morning?

Here’s a hint from my Twitter feed:

Yep, there it is in black, white, and bondi blue: me being a douche to myself.

My wife has accused me of much frumpery lately–and she’s right: I’ve been a frump.

And being an introvert, this is altogether too easy to do, this wilting inward like a sun-scorched flower. Life just feels like too much right now.

There are reasons for this, but generally when my sleep issues (apnea) are worse, I’m a negative nelly, and morose. I find it harder and harder to be positive. The sunny side just isn’t.

(I get mad at God–like it’s His fault I don’t sleep at night. “That’s fine,” I tell Him. “You wanna spend time with me? I’ll give you the 15-20 minutes of my morning commute, and a couple chapters during lunch. The rest is mine until You start blessing me with decent rest at night.”

Yes, I really am that immature and passive-aggressive with God).

Of course my whole family picks up on this vibe. And who wants to be around that?

Heck, sometimes I don’t even wanna be me!

But God didn’t leave that one up to me, now did He?

Thankfully, I’ve got a wonderful wife in MissLisaMJ–a woman who loves me enough to give me a swift kick when I need it! Two great kids, who love me more than life. And some great online friends who don’t let me get away with my self-douchery:

“No more talking like that.” Thanks, Mrs. Lunardo, I’ll take that to heart!

What do you to break out of your funks? Who do you have in your life that you let speak into it?

PS: If you’re not following any of the people mentioned in the post above, you totally need to, ok? to recap, there’s @misslisamj, @sharideth, @tylertarver, & @tamaraoutloud