As I Went Out One Morning

Thomas Paine tried to usher in the Age of Reason. Hippies tried to usher in the Age of Aquarius. Then came me. All I can do is age.

I am filled with false hope at the moment. This might be due to the fact that the day is still young and nothing bad has happened yet. I feel like I’m trying not to be fucked up. Really, truly, I do. And I’m trying not to fuck up by fucking others up.

On any given day I feel like I’ve smashed myself on the rocks of indifference, like I’ve lashed myself to the wrong mast with the wrong sail and then headed off in the wrong direction. I’ve crashed into a lonely desert island, and am about to slide from the brine-slicked crags to vanish over the waterfall at world’s end. But today? Today, so far, I feel pretty alright.

It was in my teens that I made a terrible discovery. I discovered that a man could cry. That man was my father. His tears were for my mother’s brother. I’d entered the room to find him laid out on his bed, hands pressed over his eyes as if to hold them in. Really, he was only trying to hold in the pain. It seemed an unconscious act of self preservation, as if to prevent pain itself from seeping out and consuming him. But it was already too late. My father’s face was wet with tears and loss had clearly eaten him up from the inside. It was a powerful moment that unearthed deep, unspeakable things within me. I became afraid of dropping into that abyss at the edge of the earth.

Johnny Cash once sang about a man who couldn’t cry. The man had been like that for as long as he could remember, and when he finally did cry it rained for forty days and forty nights. Then he dehydrated and died. Then his family, friends and associates began to fall victim to horrific happenings and in some cases met a tragic demise. Is this really how it is if a man dares to cry? The world falls apart? Everything comes undone?

Okay, now it’s beginning to feel like the last days again, and hope is waning… but of course it would. It’s false. And time marches on, goose stepping like a hateful Nazi over the memories of once held dreams, over my carefully buried hopes and fears. I’ve learned not to cry in the presence of others but it isn’t always easy to be so scrupulously contained. Sometimes you cry in the worst place at the worst possible time. We’re not all machines. It just happens and there’s nothing that can be done about it.

Let’s face it, the older I get the more emotional triggers I find. Take right now for example. I’m walking past a church sign that says we’re ‘too blessed to be stressed’. It’s probably a good thing I don’t own a gun. Not that I’d use it. Not really. I’d just think about those self-righteous godomites and get myself all twisted up and spiteful inside. And then I’d slink away to take a Pepto-Bismol or two. Or three. Hell, guns make me nervous anyway.

No, it’s far better to dwell on other things. Happy things. Like puddles. Look, there’s one now. My very own sky hole in the ground. I could just step off and drop through to the clouds beyond if I wanted to. It’s the lure of transcendence. I fall for it every time. Who needs to get on a boat to disappear? Just do this. Only… well…

…I can’t.

Not really. Damn reality in all its bloody-minded literalness! God fucking damn!

Sigh.

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2016

187 thoughts on “As I Went Out One Morning”

    • I’m so glad you found me. It’s comments like these that let me know that I’m on the right track. Thank you so very much for visiting with me. I really appreciate it! Your sons are very lucky to have you raising them to be all that they can be, and not some outmoded old stereotype that shouldn’t have even been a thing to begin with. 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

  2. Thanks for visiting my blog and liking. If you had not come I would not have been able to read this awesome post. I loved the “age” content. Awesome! Men should cry more, then they wouldn’t have so many diseases such as high-blood pressure and heart failure. When they hold in their pain, it develops into dis-ease. Well I am no scientist but it is what I heard.

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  3. “Sometimes we cry in the worst place at the worst possible time” the best way to end up like this is to bury your sadness alone for a long time and one day it will explode at the most unpredictable time :”D

    Hi Unbolt, great post! And thank you for visiting & liking my post. 🙂

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  4. Dudeeeee. I don’t know you but your writing is sick. ALSOOOOOO….. If you like music, you should listen to “The strongest man alive” by The Franklin Electric. Maybe not something your into but the lyrics are very similar to what you are talking about here 🙂

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  10. Hi Tony… I truly appreciate all your honesty, which I’ve been reading in your blogs. About all I can add here is that men who shed tears are far, Far, FAR stronger than those who knuckle under to the stereotype that says, “Men don’t cry”. It’s best to let those emotions flow whenever needed… rather than wait for it to happen all at once… i.e. for those 40 days and 40 nights worth of torrential rains.

    P.S. ~ I also appreciate your reading / liking my posts.

    Liked by 4 people

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    • Tom, you are a treasure, and I don’t mean that patronisingly. Seriously, we need more men like you in the world. Perhaps then we could all learn that it is indeed okay to express the full range of our emotions in ways that are helpful rather than harmful. I really appreciate that you took the time to read and comment. You clearly got what I was trying to say, and for that I thank you! 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

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