Yet, I don’t believe I’ve ever articulated why I believe it prudent for men to revisit my work months – possibly years – after their first reading of my work.
I’ll start by saying, I was once asked what kind of writer I consider myself.
My answer was memorable, if simple.
I’m not a writer.
I just live and take notes.
See, far too many get caught up seeking knowledge from others.
Which isn’t a bad thing, by any stretch of the imagination.
If you’ve followed this blog for any significant length of time (or simply became engrossed in my archives one long, dark night – of either season or soul), then you know I was – and remain – a big fan of Chris Cornell.
At this point I’ll ask that you please forgive me if I come across as either “band wagon jumping” or trying to exploit his death.
I assure you, neither is the case (although the latter is a touch closer to the Truth, while still being false).
See, I happen to believe his suicide teaches a very valuable lesson.
The likes of which is rarely seen in the ‘sphere today.
Worse yet, it’d have been completely absent (except for my blog, dear readers) years ago.
I’ll offer a few quotes from the man himself to set the stage:
“Children should always feel like the adults are living in this world to nurture them, to take care of them, to protect them from any bad thing that might come.”
“The reason there’s no modern-day Shakespeare is because he didn’t have anything to do except sit in a room with a candle and think.”
“I got in touch with the creative process between the age of 14 and 16, mainly because I was alone so much.”
“Most frontmen are not born hams like David Lee Roth. We’re more like Joey Ramone: awkward geeks who somehow find our place in the world on the stage.”
“The focus on my wife and my children, it really helps me make sense of the music side of it somehow.”
Lastly, for our purposes:
“I used to work in jobs I hated because I needed the money to buy a guitar. I know what it feels like to be depressed. On the other hand, I also know what it feels like to have money, to be successful, to be independent, but I can tell you that money and success never solve your problems.”
What we have here, to all evidence and appearances, is an isolated (first by others; then by self, due to comfortable – if painful – familiarity), troubled child that, in many ways, never grew up.
Now, that’s not me taking cheap shots at him, by far.
I’m simply pointing out that, due to a lack of parental guidance, the absence of a strong circle of friends, and possession of a tremendous talent in which he could easily hide then utilize to get what he was lacking – to a certain (if unfulfilling) degree, he neither confronted nor solved any of his issues.
Women would certainly always be there.
Keep in mind, at the time the tweet below references, Val Kilmer was sexually desired by countless women yet Chris Cornell stole them with minimal effort:
In fact, along with his incredible talent mentioned above and noted drug/alcohol dependence, I’d wager Chris Cornell never even Truly acknowledged those childhood-originating issues.
But, as many an internal-demon-plagued man has attested:
You can’t outrun yourself.
I don’t believe it’s any coincidence that he committed suicide during the period of his life in which it was increasingly (if only relatively) difficult to avoid his personal troubles.
He’d “cleaned up”, entered his fifties and became more acclimated to family life and responsibility.
All of which will certainly make a man look much harder inwardly, no doubt.
Now, those of you who’ve ► read my second book ◄ know I will not call Chris Cornell a coward.
Nor, frankly, will I call him selfish.
Instead, I’ll merely state the lesson all of this was intended to impart:
Women.
Fame.
Money.
All of the things folks will try to sell you on (especially in these parts) won’t repair the damaged little boy inside.
They’ll just further isolate him.
So when he’s finally heard—
The sobs are soul-shattering.
Thus, sing “save me” all you wish.
Eleven times, even.
But be damn sure to sing it to folks that will listen.
“Why am I not surprised you showed up? Today of all days, no less.”
I’d just arrived at the back bar of the Goth club I irregularly but often frequented.
So stunned by her unusually confrontational tone, especially considering ► our past ◄, I didn’t even think to order my usual Jack & Coke with a splash of lime juice.
Instead, I narrowed my eyes -more in curiosity than hostility – asking the obvious question:
Why is that, Kiki [her nickname]?
She softened immediately, breathing more than speaking the words:
“Because my mother was just hospitalized.
And you’re the opposite of a fair-weather-friend.
You disappear when everyone’s life is going well but just happened to pop back in right after it turns bad.
And you help make it all better.
I guess you’re a rainy-day-friend.”
We laughed.
Especially so, given our black-draped, dirge-rock-echoing surroundings.
The night went on and was its usual pleasure.
But I’ve never forgotten her words.
See, one of the main reasons I dislike Facebook, specifically, and social media, in general, is this:
It gives no chance for winter to come.
No moment for clouds to gather, for rain to fall.
It’s this constant artificial environment where relationships long outlive their expiration dates.
All too often, folks stay on it to “stay in touch with friends and family”.
When, really, they should let many (if not most) of them go.
If someone needs an app with countless in-built reminders to think of one, then that’s not a friendship.
It’s a mailing list.
Now, many will argue, citing man is a social creature and we all need a support network.
But I would point them to ► one of my books ◄ (and a second within the year).
Meaning most of these aren’t a support network as they know the person of five, 10, 15, 20+ years ago.
Rarely who one is currently.
Or, more importantly, should be becoming.
As a case in point, had I stayed on Facebook:
I’d still be trying to squeeze myself in the shoes I wore 15 years ago.
Rather than the comfortable boots I wear now.
As always, dear reader, the choices are yours to make.
But I will humbly ask that you give this a great deal of thought.
Since I Truly believe:
God, Fate, the Tao – whatever you choose to term it – will place you exactly where you need to be.
When I was a boy, I had a love of animals and the outdoors.
So as to caution me – but not dissuade me from either interest – my father told me:
“Realize, son, animals are more scared of you than you are of them.”
In short, when they bare their teeth, hiss or otherwise become agitated, understand this is borne of fear.
Not maliciousness.
Not cruelty.
Not even of ill-will, inherently.
It’s a way for the creature to cope with the terror and keep itself safe.
This lesson served me well with women, too.
See, the vast majority (I’d say ≥ 95%) of women that play “tough” are, at their core—
Terrified.
Odds are they had a very weak – if not completely absent – father figure.
This left them feeling twice as vulnerable as the average female.
Now, be sure to understand, dear reader, fear is a female’s default position.
So doubling that quality is no small alteration.
It’s a huge reason they are attracted to dangerous men (men are less likely to kill them if the woman in question is amenable to sex; also those men, once she ingratiates herself, are more likely to use their intimidating power to protect her).
It’s a reason they love “cute” things.
(They ► respect ◄ men; they don’t love men, in the sense men employ the word.)
“Cute” = “harmless” (babies, small animals, et al)
Indeed, it’s no coincidence we see the proliferation of “tank grrls” and “ass-kicking females” in an era where fathers are almost unheard of (by their choice or not).
So, am I saying all of those women are – at heart – just frightened, little girls?
(Permit me to be uncharacteristically clear, rather than my usually cryptic self.)
Yes.
That’s exactly what I’m saying.
As far as what my male readers can do about it—
Carefully display strength.
Exude a controlled calm.
And, above all, remember:
Regardless as to how you may feel, you’re not the most frightened one in the room.
80-Proof Oinomancy 