Pico de Orizaba

Pico de Orizaba
Taken from Huatusco, Veracruz, the closest town to Margarita's family's ranch.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Ok that misunderstanding over with or passed...  The issue isn't with love.  It's kind a complex concept if I tell you...  Do I want a mother's love?  No.  That need passed a long time ago.  The rage isn't about today.  It's about yesterday.  The problem of today is the aftermath.  All life is a process.  1st World success is dependent upon credentials, political connections, status, accomplishments, resumes, social skills, image, the management of illusions and access to money.  It's all about the superficial and material.  As I imagine you've noticed, one thing I lack is superficiality.  I am not as candid as you may prefer.  I don't offer you fantasy.  I am not an illusion.

I don't talk about the weather.  Never had.

About love.  Yes, I have Margarita.  I believe this is the first true love relationship I know in my lifetime.  Margarita has wondered why I would need anyone else if I have her; anyone else meaning friends.  The problem is something I learned way too late into my life in the U.S.; that good friendships satisfy needs love relationships can't touch.  I spent my life looking for her and ignored a reality that maybe just maybe I could have gotten so much more satisfaction with male friendships.  After Joey returned to Denver, the female friends faded into the background and the male friends became more visible.  Two of them, Jonathan and Milo appeared out of the shadows and we enjoyed immensely the short time spent together those 4 months preceeding my leaving for Mexico.  I had male friendships throughout childhood.  However, when the opportunity arose for becoming involved with Francesca, I dropped all those male friends.

I do believe in loving bonds between male friends.  Michael and I share that bond.  I believe Milo and I were developing that bond.  But I cut the friendship short before it fully developed.

Milo and I met in the Tea Lounge on 7th Avenue and 10th Street in Park Slope one of the evenings after I left work at Dizzy's Kitchen.  The Tea Lounge was an incredibly popular cafe for meeting friends, for reading or writing, for listening to music, for sampling a different tea for 100 straight days, for drinking good coffee with wonderful pastries or for drinking a beer on the tap or a decent wine...  There were tables with comfortable chairs, there were couches with coffee tables.  There were cushioned benches.  And there were bar stools at a counter looking out onto the street where one day I found myself looking eye to eye with Steve Buscemi.  I had just looked up from my drawing and at that moment I saw a man walking with his son, crossing 10th street in my direction.  Since I was sitting on one of the cushioned benches at the window to the street, I had a view down 7th Avenue.  I was looking at this big-eyed man with funny lips and a baseball cap approaching me who seemed vaguely familiar.  The moment he made eye contact with me, I realized who he was and I imagine my eyes opened wide.  He seemingly froze infront of me for a second. His eyes opened wide too, as if he was surprised to see me. Then he walked onward.  I always joked around that his eyes bulged open as if  he knew me too...  The both of us quickly walking away from the other...

The day I met Milo, we ended up at the same table, both of us wearing baseball caps backwards, both of us with a glass of red wine and a book at the round table in the middle of the lounge.  I had seen this funny looking baldish man a few times before.  But, there was no reason for talking to him.  However, this time the coincidences were too many to leave a conversation for another day.  Milo is a writer of illustrated children's stories.  He's a marrionettist who designs and constructs his own marrionettes.  He is a musician with a musical ear and plays a beautifully the piano and violin. Word has it that he picked up the guitar.  But that was after I left for Mexico.  I consider myself Milo's biggest fan of his drawings and paintings.  He has a light style I can only dream of for me.  However, he became frustrated with his drawing and painting and ditched that aspect of his creativity, which is a shame.  He use to have a website with his picture books.  But he became so frustrated that he removed the picture books from the web, which is a shame, since I would view his artwork any chance I could, especially when I become overwhelmed with my own intensity.

No, a 42-year-old man doesn't need a mother's love.  For what?  This isn't anger speaking.  What the 42-year-old man needs is personal success.  In order for that man to have obtained personal success by the age of 42, he must have created a certain structure, entered the process that leads to success from very early on in his life.  Now, what if my father didn't die?  It's a question with a simple answer.  He would have been my role model. If he was a decent father, which I imagine he would have been, although a bit strict because of his own upbringing by a heavy handed, strict father, I would have learned a lot from him. My sisters would have had their mother and everyone would have been developing within their respective spaces.  Granted, Sheri believed that she and my father were really close, that she was his little girl.  But, if you look at the photographs, it's my hand that my father is holding, not Sheri's. And I imagine that molested greatly Sheri.

What should my mother have done?

I think she had her work cut out for herself.  I don't believe many people could have recovered from the sudden death of their spouse, seen their dreams suddenly shattered, and raised 3 young children alone. No, there was very little outside support for us.  We lived too far away from the relatives.  Supposedly, 2 weeks after my father died, my mother enrolled in Somerset Community College.

But this isn't about who could have or couldn't have recovered from or managed blah blah blah.  This is about certain things that should have or shouldn't have been said or done throughout my childhood.  Things that could have been avoided or prevented or nipped in the butt.  This is about what do you think a 4-year-old needs for his optimal or normal childhood development when his father dies.  You make the checklist and you go down that checklist to see how many of the necessities were covered.

This blog is about why I ended up in Mexico and why it is so unlikely that I will return to the U.S.  It's mainly about my life before Mexico, although it's also about my life here.  It's about my fears and my concerns.  It's about those relationships that led towards my meeting Margarita.  It's about my relationship with Margarita.  It's also about my own personal needs for myself.  In the process of writing about the past as closely as possible to my true personal experience as was a concern of James, I return to the feeling experiences of the past.  My rage is as real as my frustration with myself and with my disappointment with my family members.  It's as real as my love for Margarita and my respect for my multitude of talents and my intelligence.  I don't believe that anger is less valid than is enjoyment.  I don't believe that a beautiful flower deserves more attention than a malnourished child or dog or society...

You may ask, why rage against your mother on the internet?  And I ask you why shit in my bed on the internet.  Why masterbate infront of you so you can see that I don't ejaculate?  Why lift up my shirt for you to see my scars?  James said that, for people to read my writings I must write about children biting into a cupcake or Margarita's smile.  Ok.  Maybe that's why James decided against writing his own stuff.  How many photographs of roses do you want to see?  How many paintings of Lilacs or Lillies make it into the galleries today?  What people want is something different.  They want an experience that's knew for them.  They want contraversy and conflict.  For all art forms to work, there is the necessity for creating a balance within a contrast.  There must be friction somewhere.  I will repeat myself; in the same morning James wrote me, I love your writing, it's cathartic;  Ross you've gotta stop this.  It doesn't work.  I don't like where it is going.  In World Without End there is so much trajedy and horror in Ken Follett's description of Medieval England.  Should I have put down the book?  Can you imagine the amount of gore I read during the 2000 pages of that book and the first one Pillars of the Earth?  They skinned a man alive in the church.  The hooves of a stallion crushed the head of one of the hero.  So many women were raped.  These are events that should cause outrage in the minds of all.  However, in order for the minds of all to become outraged, they must read about the events that happen ever day of your life all over the world.  Should we close our eyes to those outrages?  Should I write about my personal experience leaving out the true story because you may not be able to handle some of it?

No one knows how anyone will react to anything.  When you are an artist or a cook you learn that very early on.  YOU CAN'T PLEASE EVERYONE.  In fact, you're lucky if you can please some people some of the time.  My favorite painting of Kim's which is probably a favorite of many people remains unsold...  How can that be?  If you see it, you'll understand what I mean about it's artistic power and beauty.  The day that James told me to stop writing, without knowing what he said, since he wrote me through our email, 3 people praised my blog...  But I can't help but consider his issue.  Hence, I've broken my flow of writing.

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