I think I would be severely remiss as a Canadian to not work at least one song by Leonard Cohen into this year of musical selections.  Luckily for me, I have a great love of this particular track, thanks to the film Secretary.

The film delivers on so many levels for me.  In terms of its depiction of self-injury, the film portrays the multifaceted nature of a poorly understood mental illlness, from home life triggers to the actual release felt beyond the borders of initial physical pain.  Maggie Gyllenhaal delivers such a poignant character in Lee Holloway that it’s hard not to love her.  Conversely, James Spader’s Edward Grey demonstrated the conflicted nature of those who indulge in the more taboo kinks of sexuality, and the overwhelming pressure of society to conform to what is ‘normal’.

The S&M/sexual tension sends me into overdrive, the chemistry of these two actors through the proverbial roof each time they are on screen.  I know several people who are more than willing to be bent over a desk by James Spader after seeing this film.

The music is also well chosen, and this classic track is but one example.  Damn, I wish a man would sing this to me.  And the fact Leonard sounds this good at his age just blows my mind.

Day Eighty:  I’m Your Man – Leonard Cohen

In the upcoming novel “10 Days of My Life”, Jarlath asks Shina what is the most important of the five senses to her. She gave him an honest answer and Jarlath then goes on to say that to him Sight and Hearing were the most important.

In the book Jarlath explains why he would rather lose Smelling and Taste over Sight and Hearing attesting to his obvious love for the beauty of nature and life itself. Sometimes, we may be trapped in a situation where we feel that death is the ultimate answer. That’s why suicide rates have been on the rise in the recent years. Stress and expectations drive us down to the road of self-destruction.

Somehow, our worries make us forget the beauty and meaning of life and that it is only given to us once. I encourage you to read this upcoming book to learn how Jarlath appreciates his life and maybe you will appreciate yours too.

Just admit it. You’re a sucker for love. Unless you’re under the age of 10, misanthropic, or just plain evil, you’ve had (and might still have) that special someone and, whether you’d like to admit it or not, you feel pretty damn good when you’re in love. (Even more so if you’re one of those swinger macho-man types.) As humans, we’re all programmed to enjoy sharing these profound connections with other individuals. Why? Well, in terms of pure science, love releases chemicals like endorphins, serotonin, and oxytocin that make us feel like we climbed to the top of Mount Everest while playing a video game and having a perpetual orgasm (strictly scientifically speaking, of course). I’m sure you already knew that though. Despite the extensive understanding of chemical interactions in the brain, there have been very few attempts to explain the evolutionary function of love. Therefore, the question at hand still remains: why do we, as a species, love? Although I will likely be embarrassingly wrong, I will attempt to answer this question in this post.

The reasons for certain forms are very evident. For example, parent-child love is necessary because the intrinsic and distinct lack of self-sufficiency in children necessitates the care of an adult. Other forms of love, however, are far less clear. At first sight, romantic love is ostensibly unnecessary and inconsequential to the survival of our species; it is entirely possible to propagate the species and create the societies necessary for our continued existence without any motives other than our continued collective prosperity. Why, then, do human adults experience this involuntary attachment to other perfectly self-sufficient individuals of their species? Does love encourage socialization that protects us from our now-former predators? No; prey animals do not form these profound bonds. Does love promote behavior that improves our species? No; our love is usually for specific members of our society rather than the species as a whole.

My theory is that love, whether platonic, romantic, or erotic, for other able-bodied adults serves to protect our species from internal threats (other humans), rather than external ones (lions and tigers and bears). Because the human mind is structured to incessantly strive for self-improvement (as opposed to improvement of the species), it is human nature to resort to methods such as robbery and war to achieve perfection, or suicide to avoid failure. It is therefore necessary to anchor individuals to others in order to minimize internal conflict. Love is highly effective in this sense because of the interconnectedness of society; even if each individual were attached to only two others not within his/her immediate family, the social network formed through these connections would still be vast, and the number of opposing factions would consequently be far smaller than it would be if these connections did not exist (obviously). I therefore propose that the institution of love exists not to improve our species, but to avert deterioration therein. Now, you must understand that it is not my intent to denounce love or any of its subsidiary emotions. Nor am I conveying that humans are inherently evil or self-destructive; love prevents us from being either. I am simply proposing that love neutralizes any detrimental side-effects created by humanity’s self-perfecting tendencies; I am attempting to view and justify objectively what is normally observed and explained with irrational bias…before another girl comes along and ruins my ability to do so.

On October 30, rapper and K.A.R. member Mike Beck was tragically shot and killed in Brooklyn during a robbery attempt

As a Brooklyn native, Maino was heavily impacted by the alarming news and has decided, along with music executive Littles, to honor the fallen Beck with a unity concert titled “Self Destruction.”

Taking place on Monday, November 23 at the Imperial Nightclub in New York at 9, the concert’s overall purpose is to serve as an outlet to raise funds for Beck’s 10-year-old son’s college fund.

Rappers such as Saigon, Hell Rell, Uncle Murda, Grafh and Cadillach Tah will also be there to show their support as reports have stated that they will perform at the event.

In terms of who will host, the driver’s seat will be handled by Hot 97’s DJ Kay Slay and K. Foxx, along with Fust TV radio personality Dee Vazquez.

Along with the performances, there will also be a number of speakers prior to the acts that will voice their opinion while they address the violence that continues to take victims from the community.

During a dicussion with MTV, Maino spoke on his past relationship with Beck.

“Mick Beck was a good friend of mine outside of music.  It’s sad because it’s hard making the transition from the streets to the music industry, so this could have been me five years ago when I didn’t have a deal.  When I was coming up, I fought the same demons trying to convert from one lifestyle, which was my street upbringing, to the next, that being entertainment…living right and steering clear of the streets, roadblocks and downfalls.”

“I felt doing this show was the least I could do for a friend.  I’m raising money to send his 10-year-old son to college.  What’s the point in me making it out of the same web he was fatally trapped in if I can’t give back?  This is what real people are supposed to do: give back.”

It is always a good look to know that rappers are more than just entertainers and that they maintain true relationships outside of the industry.  Maybe by leading the example, the unity of rappers will finally find a way to steer the youth in a more positive direction and end the chaos.

Looking at the current music industry, I find it interesting how a lot of the biggest stars have attached themselves to one another.  Beyoncé and Jay-Z are considered the golden couple of R&B / hip-hop, and although they are both megastars and extremely talented in their own right (and have lots of independent ventures, and carved out their own careers independently before getting together), it’s the fact that they are together which makes them seem almost invincible.  When you listen to some of Beyoncé’s love songs, you can imagine her singing about Jay-Z; when she has a song like “Diva” which exudes confidence in a hip-hop style, you assume that Jay-Z had something to do with that attitude.  Even if it’s not the case.  Likewise, on Robin Thicke’s new song “Meiplé”, Jay-Z raps about Beyoncé being the “black Brigitte Bardot”.

Running with the Beyoncé example, she teams up with artists such as Shakira and Lady Gaga (whoever’s hot, basically) to cement her status as one of music’s elite.  Just like Timbaland and Justin Timberlake, or Timbaland and Nelly Furtado.  Relationships-wise, remember the furore over Britney Spears and Justin back in the day?  Their relationship elevated them to supernova-level megastardom, and was a massive element in their fame and success.  Interestingly, when they broke up, things just weren’t the same.  I think as members of the public, we like a couple who are balanced musically and seem to fit each other personally – it seems like fairytales can happen.  And when they self-destruct and we’re forced to admit that the fairytale was something created by the public and the media that the celebrities could never live up to, it’s just not the same.  I’m sure that there are some people who would attribute Britney’s entire marriage to Kevin Federline and her subsequent meltdown to the fact that her and Justin broke up, regardless of the reasons behind that breakup or the other factors in Britney’s life that added to her downward spiral (and subsequent resurgence).  I think that the same is happening with Rihanna and Chris Brown at the moment – however good their music / dancing / fashion might be, the fact that they were part of a couple – however much they would deny it to the paparazzi – made them seem that little bit more gilded in superstardom.  Now that they’ve split up, regardless of who beat who, they’re both experiencing some backlash (despite the fact that in both cases, their new material is certainly up to par, if not better, than their previous work).  What’s up with that?

I was thinking about this not because I ruminate daily on Beyoncé and Rihanna’s love lives, but because the same kind of thing has happened at uni.  Consciously or not, several of us within our course have paired off – not in a romantic sense, but just attached ourselves to one best friend.  There’s Pete and Emma, Penny and Daisy, Julie and Clare, among others – and of course me and Mike.  Talking about Mike and me, we’re the unofficial ‘leaders’ of our group – everyone seems to look to us whenever we speak in class, whenever someone needs to volunteer to do something in the group, organising social events.  I dread to think what would have happened if one of us didn’t smoke – we wouldn’t have had the chance to gel so instantly (on the first morning, Mike came up to me and said “Do you smoke?” “Yes.” “I thought it was you outside.  THANK GOD.  I smoke too!” and that was it!).  But I still think that because of the people we are, we would have found each other before too long.  It’s interesting how we seem to attract others around us, be they members of the aforementioned pairs, or others.  At first, there was a pair of the two youngest girls, Jenny and Sian, but as time’s gone on, Jenny has started to explore life on the dark side (i.e. she’s hanging out with me, Mike and Vikki) and loosened up to have some fun.  There’s a sense of charisma and magnetism that pairs who get on well exude without even much effort.  I wonder if those in our group who don’t come out for social drinks, who turn up to uni alone and go home alone, are enjoying it quite as much?  I know that the point of the course is not to have fun and socialise, but I like to work hard and play hard, and I think it’s a good balance for getting the most from this experience.

The funny thing was one night recently when Mike couldn’t come out.  I was still the social ringleader, but I did have a couple of comments such as “So what is Mike doing tonight?”  ”How is Mike?” “You won’t smoke as much tonight since your smoking partner isn’t here.”  Me and Mike texted during the evening (he was sad he couldn’t be there, I was updating him on the scandal and gossip as the night progressed), but I thought it was interesting how people still kinda saw me as the ringleader, but thought that he and me were inseparable to the point of knowing each other’s business inside out.  I told Mike about it on Sunday when I saw him, and we laughed at the fact people seem to have the conception that we cannot exist without one another (I’ve heard one person say “Mike loves you, he follows you everywhere!” when I don’t see it as following, I just see it as a natural gravitation towards one another) – last time I checked, I managed 23.8 years of my life without Mike, and he managed even more without me.

Once you become a part of a “power couple” in whatever sense, does that make you inferior when you act on your own?  As much as I enjoy being part of the “Mike & I” leadership party, I’m still my own person.  Me and Mike have a lot in common, but we’re different in a lot of ways too, and I don’t need him to function.  And vice versa!  I think that having a companion or partner in crime makes you feel stronger, bolder and more confident, but it doesn’t mean that without the other person, you’re nothing.  I wonder what Jay-Z thinks about his position in hip-hop’s elite, and whether this position would be compromised were he to divorce Beyoncé tomorrow.  Sometimes a friendship or relationship brings along with it a certain amount of social bank or clout, but that’s not the sole reason why we should be friends with anyone – we just gel with people and connect from there.  Because at the end of the day, people may see a certain facet of us in the public eye – whether we’re celebrities or just day-to-day people – but behind closed doors or in the privacy of our own relationship, we have that connection for reasons people don’t understand unless they’re willing to plumb the depths below the surface.

Photo by VC Ferry

you parade
your pain
like a
hard won
trophy

shine it up
admire it
weigh it

but
it’s a
heavy
crown

and you
share it
pet it
display it

but
it’s time
to put it
down

now

L. K. Thayer

All Rights Reserved

© 2009

I now realize that Dr. Gerald G. May wrote my recovery story—possibly your story, too?—in his classic summary of how grace works to heal addictions:

In practical terms, this means staying in a situation, being willing to confront it as it is, remaining responsible for the choices one makes in response to it, but at the same time turning to God’s grace, protection and guidance as the ground for one’s choices and behavior.

Broke, homeless, delusional and desperate, I stayed in Lexington and confronted my situation as it was: I began recovery in the same neighborhood where, for years, I had publicly humiliated myself as a drinker. Malibu rehabs, costly medications, Easyway clinics™—even books—all were out of my reach. I was too poor to afford anything discussed in this blog (with the exception of AA’s steps, which cost nothing). Turning to God’s grace, protection and guidance, however, I had no inkling of the full, rich, painful and blessed healing that would be mine.

There is no virtue in subjecting myself to active alcoholism for a quarter century. Nor do I claim virtue for sobriety, because alcohol whipped me into subjection—the booze quit working, then I quit drinking (a natural sequence not unlike the Sinclair method). I can’t even claim virtue in choosing AA friends like Cobie, Jack, Jim and my men’s AA group or Rev. Ron and Faith Lutheran. All represent unmerited gifts to which alcohol, God and time led me—and that may be the most practical layperson’s definition of grace.

No, my only claim is sincere gratitude for the sobriety, peace of mind and sanity that God provides through the myriad of people or organizations named so far in this blog. Our story has already been written—and some of us alcoholics appreciate that, only after we subject ourselves to life’s original Author. He wrote the book on grace. And for us, a simple prayer—God help me—becomes almost as habit forming as alcohol used to be. And how so? you ask. Because it opens our minds, hearts and souls to that wondrous grace.

Copyright © 2009 by Randall E. Greene

“Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The …prayer of a righteous person has great power….”

I would usually start with my name, but I want to be truthful here.  I find although most people will tell you “just be honest” with them, its not really what they want.  They usually prefer lies, untruths, fictions, omissions – whatever you want to call them.  That is my just my subjective experience; and therefore I realize I’m not always objectively right about things.  I am ok with that.  I want to be truthful with you, however; about my thoughts, my feelings, my desires and the successes and failures I have celebrated and endured, without judgment or recrimination.  Anonymity is the best way I can think to accomplish this.

I would however like to lend some insight into the person behind these words, and hopefully reveal to you and I why I have decided to begin writing here.  I’m married, not always happily, to a very beautiful woman.  We have a wonderful daughter and I do love them both very much.  I had good parents who tried their best, and good friends who endured me since I was a young boy.  I have a good job that thousands of people would kill me for.  I know this to be true because I see the resumes and demo reels all the time.  In most regards I have certainly led a charmed life.  Let me explain.

I never had problems meeting women, making friends or swaying enemies.  I never had a problem at anything if I decided I wanted it.  “I never had to think, I only had to do it, and the result was always perfect….”  You could say that on paper I lead a beautiful existence and I am lucky.  I know I am.  I am glad and thankful for all I have.  But that is not why I write.

As a young man I kept a journal for my poems.  There are many I have revisited lately, and I find a common theme among many of them – the black light; the negative light that covers what’s good in shadow and reveals to us truths otherwise unseen.  Maybe things we don’t want to see.  Its revelation is often shocking, disturbing, disgusting; I find its secrets revealing about ourselves, and I know there is so much hidden left to be exposed.

For example, this man you just met who loves deeply and loyally, has a gentle soul, a polite disposition and a charismatic, undeniable charm.  However his hatred boils, his wrath is caged and writhing in an abyss not easily gleamed; and undeniably, and with greater frequency and ferocity, his black light spills around him.  The secrets it reveals are often the heaviest to carry, and for that reason he writes to unburden himself.  These are all the things maybe i shouldn’t know.

It is with all sincerity henceforth to convey honestly these inevident revelations on all manner of subjects as they are revealed.

“To be doomed to an alcoholic death or to live on a spiritual basis are not always easy alternatives to face.”

I study the floor buffer’s patterns in motion until clarity comes. My plan is to polish wax so bright a narcissist can see his face in it.

A few weeks after completing rehab and moving into Oxford Marquis, the halfway house, I got hired as a janitor at the University of Kentucky Student Center. The job was a classic alcoholic’s comedown (but the only job I could get). Twenty-five years earlier, I visited this same building often to buy books for graduate classes in English literature. Those studies helped me secure a publishing job in New York City. Now, however, my abilities are genuinely taxed, struggling to operate a self-propelled buffer on the same antique tile along the same hallways where, as a young man, I had swaggered.

But the swagger is gone in 1999. I resemble Ichabod Crane, that fictional character whom the “Headless Horseman” addled with a pumpkin. On any given night while I work as a janitor, I exhibit various symptoms of alcohol-related brain injury. These include difficulties with balance and walking (ataxia); problems in abstract thinking and planning; confusion and problems with vision (Wernicke’s); mood changes and delusional episodes; short-term memory loss (Korsakoff’s syndrome); as well as numbness and pain, or pins and needles in my extremities. Some of my AA friends believe that I am a wet-brain drunk (although they do not tell me that at the time). In any case, the long-term effects of booze have proven toxic to my central nervous system.

Alcohol even damages the brains of non-alcoholic heavy drinkers, according to MRI-based research. “The brains of heavy social drinkers provide evidence of brain impairment, even if the drinkers cannot see it themselves,” experts report in Medical News Today (2004). Many heavy drinkers whom the researchers scanned consumed only 60 percent as much alcohol as did the alcoholics they tested. “Our messsage,” the experts caution, “is drink in moderation!”

In 1999, however, warnings like that are too little too late for me. My liter-a-day drinking had led to consequences that stalled my life. Night after night I trudge behind a loud, blue buffer. I pray ceaselessly on the job. I force my brain to recall poems, hymns or Psalms that I memorized years ago. I attend AA meetings. I practice patience. A permanent downturn overtakes the corners of my mouth, but I persist. Neither drinking nor recovered, I am nowhere, no one, a dead man working.

Copyright © 2009 by Randall E. Greene

A man is only creatures capable of self-destruction, and only minutes in full conscience to do it is bad, even fatal, for him. Through his death wish may be more speculative, and abstract shrugs longer from the air, but no one with the slightest acquaintance with the human race could possibly conclude that human beings always pursue their own messages by means of rational calculation. The Primrose Path to perdition never ceases to attract.

Not least among the attractions of the crime rose path or drugs of abuse. This is always then so will always be so. The temptation to spirit lives essential difficulties, dissatisfaction, and terrors by means of chemically induced oblivion have always been, and always will be, great, at least until the meaning of life is going down once and for all. Addiction to opiates draws the appropriate conclusion from this: that addiction to opiates is a brief and rather than a real illness, treatment of wishes pretend rather than real treatment. Hal and why addicts came to live to doctors, how why doctors came to return the compliment, and how what society in general swallow the laws will sell, is explored in this blog.

Not everyone yields the temptation, however, nor is the proportion of the population that does so comes been in time or place. Our underlying anxieties about lives, may retain always the same. If this worst not so, the literature of the past but hardly have any meaning for us, but our response to them is not always the same. It is of affected by, among other things, the purpose of which is a give our lives.

During the past 14 years, I’ve worked as an addict in general hospitals in a British slum, and an even larger prisons next door and then that time, I’ve seen addiction to opiates, principally heroin rise from an infrequently encountered problem to a mass phenomenon. Indeed, it has become so widespread that the city Council has now for the requested citizens not put their use needles and syringes in black plastic bags that it distributes to households for garbage election. In a stairwell in public housing project is quite complete without the discarded paraphernalia of intravenous drug abuse.

No doubt the sudden increase in the number of heroin abusers in the city has now all the fractional, to use the word favored by at the Belmont just when the proximate cause of phenomenon is still unknown to them or anyone else areas. In all probability, the supply of heroin from the city became much greater and more secure, no supply would or could have expanded so quickly unless it met its corresponding demand. Demand derives from principality from disaffected adolescents and young adults who had been brought up to believe that the immediate satisfaction of personal desires with the highest, indeed the only, good, but whose economics process work prospects were, relatively speaking, grim, who would never be able to fill the fantasies of luxurious existence. Such young people without the spiritual consolation of religion, or distraction of a deep satisfying culture. Robbery followed by oblivion has therefore their utopia. Even among young Britons of a higher decide show class and would better careers prospects and most civil drug addicts, it is now common to hear the evening before extol is a wonderful social of them because the person extolling it was so drunk that he is now unable to remember anything whatever about it. This suggests that some Buddhist pessimism about the possibility of human existence

Do you ever get that feeling ? You know the uncomfortable one when you’re stuck in a place or situation you’d rather not be in ? Like on the bus squished between the window , the elderly woman in the wheelchair , and the mentally handicapped and extremely obese man sitting next to you . . . or at the party with that one group of people you know for a fact want to start beef with you . . . or with family when all you want to do is be alone and sleep . . . or in your own skin .

I feel so disgusted with myself . I feel gross and pathetic and empty . Women – on a strictly biological level – serve one purpose : carry and support life . If I can’t do this , I’m not a woman . . . so then what does that make me – a monster ? That’s what I’m starting to believe . To me , all my body represents is a small collection of flesh failing to function in any successful manner . Countless failed attemtps at trying to create something beautiful , something to envy , something to which I could give myself complete credit . All I wanted was to accomplish something , and I did – self destruction .

Now I sit and envy all others who take for granted a miracle which seems to have been bestowed on all but myself . Or wait – it was , and I burned it to the ground . I want to shed my skin , turn , and run . I would never look back . I need release from this damaged , lifeless corpse the rest of me calls home . I’ve never been the religious type , but if you’re out there , God – do you believe in second chances ? Not for me , but for this boy I love . If anyone deserves a family of their own , it’s him . . . and he says he wants that with me .

I know I’m not the only person I’ve hurt because of Ana and Mia . . . now I’m just wondering – how many different ways is this going to hurt me and the people who care for me down the road ? None , I hope – but that would be ignorant to think .

Thank you for still loveing me , just know , you could do a lot better than me and the web of problems I’ve spun . You deserve the world . . .

. . . and I’m sorry I can’t give it to you .

My damaged brain starts listening, Lord, and a Goethe line rings in my ears: “What sort of God would it be who only pushed from without?”

Progressive deterioration—as detailed so far in many of this blog’s postings—is symptomatic of mid-stage alcoholism. Other indicators, according to Dr. James West at the Betty Ford Center, include loss of control or drinking more for longer periods; expressed feelings of remorse; repeated, unsuccessful attempts to cut down or quit; reducing or giving up important social, occupational or recreational activities; alcohol-centered behaviors characterized by legal problems (DUIs), job loss, hospitalizations and family disruptions; rationalizations; and alcohol withdrawal.

By the time I entered rehab, I had demonstrated most of these symptoms. Gone was the high-functioning alcoholic who had been a book editor in New York City, then a journalist in the South. Vanished was the ghostwriter, the political consultant, the businessman, the son, the brother, the uncle, the friend. All that remained at the Schwartz Center was a hollow man.

There, I participated in morning exercises, answered questions in group, filled out blanks in a workbook, read what little I could comprehend of recovery literature, played basketball, ate snacks and went to meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous or Narcotics Anonymous. All the while I felt like Elmer Fudd in Hare Brush, that cartoon from my childhood in which the Looney Tunes character winds up in an insane asylum because he believes he is a wabbit. Yet rehab does have value, I discover over time. It informs us alcoholics about many options available for our recovery. It can also be the place where grace speaks to us, one alcoholic at a time.

One afternoon I stared out the window from inside the Schwartz Center. Across the highway (but still visible from my rehab bed) were active drug dealers, street drunks, addicts and prostitutes, all milling on the sidewalks or riding in slow-moving cars along Newtown Pike. It’s amazing how recovery and addiction play out side-by-side dramas in the real world: Live. Die. Outside. Inside. Relapse. Recover.

“Dear God,” I prayed. “Help me make sense of this insanity.” A few days later, God did.

One of our counselors led us to a shaded lawn at Eastern State Hospital (the historic psychiatric facility adjacent to our rehab) where he described basic meditation concepts, then instructed us, “Try it.”

Each of us men seemed bewildered, like football players forced to wear Zen robes, meditation skirts and sandals to a pep rally. However, during that awkward session, God spoke wordlessly to me, as if in soundless whispers: You are more than your damaged brain, Randy, more than your diseased body. I heard this repeatedly while I tried to meditate. And each time, the final emphasis was the same: A part of you is eternal. That echoed a refrain which I recalled with affection from my mountain childhood:

Build your hopes on things eternal,

Hold to God’s unchanging hand.

Later, these memories led me to Luke 17:20-21, which promises us: The Kingdom of God is within you. There, grace ceaselessly awaits our return.

Copyright © 2009 by Randall E. Greene

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