Tag Archives: fear

The Creature I Have Become

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I identify as a humorist, writer, cartoonist, and certified fool (Yes, I have a certificate from the Children’s Writer Institute that proves I once foolishly believed I could learn how to make money as a writer).  But my current novel project is a horror novel, The Baby Werewolf, which I twice before tried to turn into a completed rough draft novel. This time I mean to follow through to the bitter end.

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Torrie Brownfield, hypertrichosis sufferer and possible werewolf.

In order to reign in the goofiness enough to deal with the issues in this novel I have been doing a lot of horror reading. I have also undertaken the reading of a very good author examination of the life of Edgar Allen Poe.

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Poe’s life was highly instructive.  You may not have realized this, but most of the giants of American Literature prior to and contemporary with Poe did not make most of their money as writers.  Emerson was a clergyman.  Nathaniel Hawthorne worked as a customs clerk. Poe, the first to try to make a living solely on work as a writer, editor, critic, and poet, was subjected to the horrors of poverty, illness, and want.  His wife was chronically tubercular and ill.  He never made the money he was obviously worth as a creator of popular horror fiction, poetry, critical essays about other authors, and as an editor for profitable magazines of the day.  Other people made loads of money from his work.  Poe, not so much.

It is instructive to a writer like me who can’t seem to land any sort of income from my own creations.  There is no demand because there is no recognition of my work.  I have come close, having my work praised by editors and fellow authors, and being a finalist in novel writing contests twice.  The goal is good writing.  I will probably never see a return on my investment in my lifetime.  My children may not acquire anything by it unless one of them really devotes a lot of effort to it.  Like Poe with his drinking problem, chronic depression, and ill wife, I face physical limitations and poor health, grinding financial issues, and family factors that make it near impossible to put marketing effort into my literary career.

And this novel is a hard journey for me.  I was sexually assaulted by an older boy when I was ten.  A lot of the fears outlined and elucidated in this particular story leap right out of that iron cage in my psyche where they have been contained for fifty years.  Fear of nakedness.  Fear of sex.  Fear of being attacked.  Fear of the secret motivations in others.  Fear of the dark.  And, most of all, fear of what fear can make me become.  Fear of being a monster.

But I have not become any of the dark and terrible things that fear can make me into.  Instead I became a school teacher, mentor to many.  I became a family man, father of three children.  I became a nudist, hopefully not a dark and terrible thing in itself.  I became Mickey.

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Filed under autobiography, feeling sorry for myself, horror writing, humor, monsters, novel, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney, strange and wonderful ideas about life, writing

Dancing on the Edge

20151201_103041Life is fraught with all sorts of real dangers, and I face them all every day.  But I also suffer from acrophobia, the fear of heights.  And I can tell you for a fact that it is not a real thing.  It is a mental disorder that makes it difficult to get up on a ladder and paint the house.    It makes it difficult to walk next to the railing in any balcony.  And yet, I have proof that is a phony fear, a goofy fear, an all-in-your-head sort of thing.  Not only do I face it and overcome it (I have been able to paint the house), but I love the window seat when riding in an airplane.  Looking out the window after take-off is an adventure better than any video game.  I love to fly.  That irrational fear is a different irrational fear.

And yet, acrophobia paralyzed me once in a panic attack.  We were visiting Arches National Park in Utah.  My wife thinks it’s rather funny to watch me cringe when she can walk up to the edge of a cliff and look over.  She wanted to take a picture of the Princess when our daughter was only five, and she had her backed up near the edge to take the picture with a big deep hole behind her.  I strenuously objected, and would’ve gone out and grabbed her, but I was paralyzed with fear, and I realized I might very well pitch us both over the edge.  In spite of my objections, the picture was taken.  The Princess even jumped up and down a couple of times before she left the edge.  I was curled up in the passenger seat of the van after that with my hands over my eyes and shaking like someone was electrocuting me.  The wife got a good laugh at my expense, and my suffering was entirely too real, though no one else in the car believed it.  (Yes, that certainly made it better, didn’t it?)

My Art

But life is like that.  In so many ways we live our lives on the very edge of the metaphorical cliff.  I have six incurable diseases and I am a cancer survivor.  But I am not taking my four medicines any more because of the cost and what health insurance refuses to pay.  I can’t even afford the copay at the doctor’s office as often as I really ought to be going.  Climate talks in Paris are trying to solve the global warming crisis, but scientists report things like the methane gasses from the melting permafrost, and we realize it may already be too late.  The world may become a boiling ball of heat and acid rain like the planet Venus because so many corporations for so many years put profit margins above environmental protections.  We may succeed in snuffing out life on earth, so I am seriously not alone being on the brink of a plummet into the permanent darkness of non-existence.  But what can you really do?  Do you stop living?  Do you curl up in a fetal ball and quake with fear?

I choose to dance.  I have proven time and time again that I can overcome that irrational fear.  It does not have to rob me of joy and make me suffer.  It is all a matter of the choices we make.  I do my best to recycle and plant growing things that make oxygen out of carbon dioxide.  I do my best not to get sick.  I choose to do what I believe is the wisest thing to do in the face of the deep dark precipice.  I choose to dance.

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Filed under autobiography, humor, Paffooney, philosophy, Uncategorized

Have No Fear, Mickey is Here

Beauty and Beast

I have recently had more run-ins with my old nemesis… Fear.  He is a vicious animal that makes my heart race and muddles my thinking (which is ironically very hard to do considering the muddlesome nature of my brain to begin with.)

I posted a political post a couple of days ago suggesting you should shoot yourself in the foot.  Fear tells me he likes shooting.  He is a card-carrying member of the NRA.  Second Amendment rights are more important to him than the First Amendment, the Fourth, the Sixth, and definitely the 15th.  He agrees with Donald Trump about Mexicans.  We have to seal the border, and if they come across to commit crimes, steal our stuff, and mess up our lovely whitebread world, we oughtta be able to shoot them.  Fear likes conservatives in politics.  He knows they don’t really mean it when they ask us to give up stuff and give them more money in return for protecting us from all those scary “other people”, but he likes the notion of guns and military to “protect us”.  Those “other people”, they are scary. and icky, and awful.  We hate them.  Let’s kill them.  Fear really does say this to me, and I am fairly sure that he says it to other people too.  But I have decided I don’t really want to listen.

superchick2Superman 2In fact, I want to stand up to him.  I am tired of listening to people whom I care about repeat fear-fueled talking points from Fox News about why white cops who killed black youths without giving them their right to a trial… especially un-armed black youths… were probably justified and were rightfully afraid for their own gun-fortified life.  I was mortified when the white cop in McKinney, Texas threw the black girl in the bikini to the ground and put a knee on her back.  That was a girl like so many of the ones I have taught in Texas.  Sure, she may have said bad words to him… because she was afraid.  But she had more reason to be afraid than he did.  So, I need to use Mickian magical powers to punch Fear in the nose.  This monster will not beat me, even though I am naked and unarmed.  I am not afraid.

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And here’s the reason why…  I love people.  I don’t hate them.  I don’t fear them.  I particularly love some of the people that friends and relatives routinely tell me that they fear.  I have had black, Hispanic, and Muslim students that I would die to protect without hesitation.  When I stood between a Hispanic boy with a sharp metal throwing star with which he intended to commit a murder, and the boy inside my classroom he was threatening, I was ready to die.  He was not entering my classroom while I lived to block the doorway.  Fortunately for my stupid, brave self, an even braver History teacher prevented him from getting to me and got him to drop the weapon and run away.  Later that day I cried several gallons of tears and thanked God I did not wet my pants on the spot, but that is not the only time in my teaching career that I stepped between two combatants in order to protect them both and end the fight.  The secret to those victories was never having a gun or weapon to fight back with.  All I had to do to win the battle was overcome Fear… to beat him down and not let him be a factor.  You can always talk your way out of any terrible situation.  If the person you are talking to knows you are not showing fear, and you bother to tell him or her that you care about not letting them get hurt, even by their own actions… even the most wicked-hearted people are still people and still have a heart.  If they don’t, a gun isn’t going to save you anyway.  It would’ve helped Ninja-star-boy to have someone supply him with a gun.  So I say this without fear.  “Fear, you do not have a say in my life!  I do not give you any power over my faith, my politics, my daily life, or my loves.”

Now, I am not made of bricks or steel, and I am definitely not bullet-proof.  But I am not afraid to say, I am a liberal in my politics.  I believe in helping people, not hurting them in the name of Fear.  And so, if you Klansmen and white supremacists are offended by that fact and believe you need to punish me for my commie-liberal-sinner crimes, I am ready to tell you that I respect you as a human being, and disrespect every hurtful thing you stand for.  I will gladly give you your Fourth and Sixth Amendment rights, and do everything in my power to prevent you from exercising your Second Amendment rights on my poor little (Biblical-word-for-Donkey used as a euphemism).

Oh, and I am not about to tell you where I live.  I may be stupid and brave, but nobody is that stupid.

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Filed under humor, Paffooney, politics

Finding the Truth

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I am an intelligent human being and I understand a lot about science and how to do research.  Unfortunately, I am also now retired with time to burn when I can’t make much use of any physical activity other than surfing the web and finding out things I have always been wondering about.  I say unfortunately because I really dislike most of what I have discovered and found corroborating evidence for.  I have become, for lack of a less loaded-with-excess-baggage sort of term, a conspiracy theorist.    Aliens did crash near Roswell, New Mexico in 1947, and the American government did recover the craft and alien crew.  JFK was murdered by a hit squad working for and with the CIA, and George H.W. Bush, whose father was a Nazi supporting Adolf Hitler during World War II, was most likely the event controller on scene that day, although he claims he wasn’t in Dallas that day or wasn’t even a CIA operative at the time, despite photos and a letter from J. Edgar Hoover that disprove both of those claims.   And most disturbing of all, the attack on the U.S. on 9-11 was a fake terrorist attack perpetrated by the elements of the American Government that Eisenhower warned us about, calling them the “military-industrial complex”.    Three buildings fell down in a manner that suspiciously looks like a controlled demolition done by professional demolition experts, and only two of those buildings were struck by airplanes.  The sheer weight of evidence generated by the cover-up alone guarantees that we are looking at an event papered over with falsehoods that we are expected to accept and not question.  Is it a coincidence that George W. Bush was president and his brother Marvin Bush was in charge of a company that did security for the World Trade Center complex?   Architects, airline pilots and plane manufacturers, and law enforcement personnel have all ruined their careers (and some even lost their lives) by expressing publicly their doubts over the government’s version of events.

Here is a Youtube video you might want to check out if this is totally new to you;

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So what does this mean for pointless little people like me?

We are increasingly being treated as farm animals.  Rich people have taken over control of our government and society so that profit-takers can continue to do whatever it takes to continue reaping all the rewards while we do all the work.  Keep in mind that pigs and calves are kept in pens where their movements are completely constricted, not even able to turn around and face the other direction, all so their muscles are never exercised, and their meat remains as tender as possible.  We have no say in what happens to us.  We are merely here to do the work, and be as productive (and possibly tasty) as possible for the least amount of compensation possible.

Ted Cruz as Grandpa Munster is such an apt image for this problem.  He is a laughable clown throwing Texas cow poop all over the American government.   But he is also an un-dead blood-sucker with no human soul (at least that he hasn’t already sold to someone).   Will he be the next president of the United States?  I sincerely hope not.  He is totally owned by the powers in the darkness (dark money providers like the Koch Brothers who are so dark that the Koch Brothers are probably only the outward face of the problem and someone else is behind the scenes).  But it appears to me that he is only the joke candidate that is there only to guarantee that we are forced to choose either Jeb Bush or Hillary Clinton, both of whom accept and represent financial interests and bankers who melted down the economy in 2008.

The scariest thing on the web, I think, is the message in the Georgia Guide Stones.  Who put them there?  What do they mean?  Here is what Wikipedia says are the inscriptions on the stones;

A message consisting of a set of ten guidelines or principles is engraved on the Georgia Guidestones in eight different languages, one language on each face of the four large upright stones. Moving clockwise around the structure from due north, these languages are: EnglishSpanishSwahiliHindiHebrewArabic,Chinese, and Russian.

  1. Maintain humanity under 500,000,000 in perpetual balance with nature.
  2. Guide reproduction wisely — improving fitness and diversity.
  3. Unite humanity with a living new language.
  4. Rule passion — faith — tradition — and all things with tempered reason.
  5. Protect people and nations with fair laws and just courts.
  6. Let all nations rule internally resolving external disputes in a world court.
  7. Avoid petty laws and useless officials.
  8. Balance personal rights with social duties.
  9. Prize truth — beauty — love — seeking harmony with the infinite.
  10. Be not a cancer on the earth — Leave room for nature — Leave room for nature.

How are we supposed to get the world population from 7 billion down to 500 million?  We are not going to murder everyone not a U.S. citizen, are we?  Or everyone with a economic worth below a million dollars?  I would like for some of these guidelines to come into play.  4, 5, 7, 8, and 9 are all very good ideas.  1, 2, 3, and 10 all chill me down to the marrow in my bones.  I am not cancer.  And now might not be a good time to be a farm animal… particularly not Daffy Duck.

So make of it what you will.  I believe these things are at least partially true.  Am I a loon?  Yes.  But don’t let that keep you from looking into these things yourself.

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Guidestones article

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Scary Dreams and Paffoonies

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Yep.  Danged snake-men used to keep me awake as a kid.  Kept checking under the bed… the closets…  Could one of them swim through the plumbing and get into the upstairs toilet?  One never knows.  Drawing them was a way to make them go away.

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