December 20th, 2021 - Lu, Reshaping

Dear TNY,

Jesus fucking a rabid porcupine is “Lu, Reshaping” bad. 

And there are things I could say.  Phrases I often use.  Like:

Who fucking cares. 

Nothing fucking happened. 

Waste of time.

Same shit I always say.

But I was recently reminded, smartly, that people tend to call shit forth.  Call good things.  Will them into existence.  And call bad shit, shit they may be obsessing about due to any number of factors, but bad shit nonetheless.  Ghosts of the inescapable prison of one’s own mind.  Buzzing about the interwebs these days is a different word…to manifest.  And that by focusing on these negatives, we manifest the very things that aren’t serving us.  That, instead, we should take those feelings, push them out of our dissociative birth canals, and hold them before us.  Weep for them.  Laugh at them.  Dance the goddamn two-step with them.  And then let that shit go.  And focus on the positive.  Focus on the good shit in life.  And walk forward, pursuing that better fucking life.

Instead, as you may have seen here, I tend to wrap my fucking tentacles around the negative and I squeeze it and stroke it and jerk it the fuck off, the whole time hating it.  And that’s fucking my life up, TNY.

Examples:

I was told today that I’m going to get nominated for a Pushcart Prize.  Did I celebrate?  Nope.  I took time to remember that I’m a piece of shit and he should know better than to nominate me and my work.

Recently, I have experienced love (not that I loved back, oh no, could never because my brain is too fucking rotten to love back).  Was that good?  Nope, because I only focused on the negatives of this person’s life (negatives defined by me; my insecurities enlarged certain things where I couldn’t see past them) and then like a wizard of meanness, I fucking tore that person’s life apart.  Yay!

My kids are happy, healthy, and doing well in school while also pursuing creative endeavors.  Am I happy about that?  Nah.  I focus on aspects of their life I can’t change and now I want to drive to Port Townsend tomorrow and kill myself at the RV park (which, weirdly, I’m going to because I’ll have heat; so do I really want to die…I don’t know, but if I do it seems I want to do so comfortably).

You, TNY, print 49 short stories a year, you help keep an industry alive for the literary arts, a genre dying a gruesome death at the hands of other mediums.  Do I celebrate that?  No way, Jose.  I spend my Mondays calling someone else’s work things like “dickshit” and “cockmeat” and “blended up, aborted, puppy fetuses”.

I know I’ve said maybe I’m the problem before, but the way I said it was so arrogant.  The world is the world.  It’s not against anyone.  It just exists.  And my arrogance said the reason I was the problem, essentially, was because I was smarter than everyone else, smarter than the world.  That my opinion was better.  God knows how it could be.  I don’t know shit, and I know it.  But I stand behind that lack of knowledge 100% most days.  But maybe I am the problem.  Just, it’s not that I’m too smart.  Or not smart enough.  It’s that I am manifesting all this fucking negativity around me because I’m a shitty person. And then I spend my time yelling about it, when I brought it forth.  And saying I’m a shitty person? That’s fucked too.  Because I’m not a shitty person.  I just do shitty things.  And I can’t stop that sometimes.

So, to that person whom I tore apart, I’m sorry.  You are beautiful and tender and loving and soft and kind and insightful and despite all the shit I kept harping about which was none of my fucking business, you turned out like you did anyway. Maybe instead of despite, because of. Either way, you’re a goddamn wonder. Shine, baby, shine. 

And to the person who wrote this story, it’s not my favorite.  But I’m one man with exactly as many opinions.  I’m happy you got something published in TNY.  I’m sure that was an amazing experience.  Something to treasure over the course of a career in words.

And with regard to my kids and how they live, it’s not my favorite. But, they don’t want for much, they don’t talk back, they are loved and have the freedom to explore the things they love, and I have as much access as I want to them, even when it’s not convenient. Thank you for that. I appreciate it eternally.

To the editor who is going to nominate me for the prize, thank you.  I tried to tell the truth, my truth, the best I could, so that I, for a brief moment, didn’t have to hold that pain anymore.  Thank you for seeing that.  Thank you for every fucking kind word you said to me about my writing.  Thank you for meeting my brother, dead as he is, and feeling that big big love all your own. Welcome to the family.

And to everyone else I have offended along the way, I’m very, very sorry.  Sometimes I’m selfish and egotistical and shitty and arrogant and…sometimes I’m sad and depressed and negative and I punch down and…sometimes I’m an ally and I’m beautiful and I’m funny and I’m so fucking full of love. And mostly I’m just sorry. All the goddamn time.

Sometimes I’m all of it, all at once, and it’s almost too much to bear.

You know how it is.

And to you, whom I was on the phone with last night for 2 hours scream-crying about how much pain I was in (and still am in), I’m eternally grateful.  You are far kinder to me than I deserve because you’re a rare kind of gem.

Tomorrow is a new day.

So will be the one after that.

I’ll try to be better.  Bigger and better.  Every fucking day.

Nick