I Am Fascinated By Human Behavior
I seem to have toe'd the line and always have, for as long as I can remember. Maybe not as extremely as I did in my late teens and twenties... But as a young boy I certainly welcomed that feeling in my gut I had no name for. Still don't.
Perhaps it was cursed confusion brought on by this uncategorizable condition that converted it to pain - emotional and physical. Pain, I learned was direct and clear where this deeper mystery remained just that; elusive.
Many years later I summed up my childhood as being just inside out-of-control. Everything I did was physical, hurtling my large body into my everyday life. Where other kids learned to gauge their leaps, reckless abandon was my pilot. There was none of this late 20th, early 21st century analyzing the hell out of everything. I just behaved according to some wiring, perhaps crossed, that coursed through me like an electrical current.
Consuming fear became a steady diet and I welcomed it to the point of almost becoming faint... In hopes of overcoming it, or at least constructing a steel tolerance.
No one told me not to go out at night. From my single digit years on, I would walk the streets after dark - hugging the blackened stretches between street lights, often in the more threatening parts of town; my snses on high alert for animals or dangerous men that might pounce. I learned what it felt like to be aware of each muscle and movement and how beautiful it felt when my body, mind, and senses glided harmoniously through the dark and danger.
With this groove came a confidence born of demonstrated ability. Nights became years and no man, shadow, or beast drove me off course or slowed my endless trek. Shoulders straight, chin up I did what most adults yearn for: I discovered what I was made of.
Around this time, middle elementary years, I learned there is a correlation between pain and passion, fear and bravery. Standing my ground against a much bigger and older boy taught me to fly... When he smashed me so fiercely in the face my feet came off the ground.
No shit, I lay there looking at the sky and dust that poofed as my body impacted the asphalt. He stood there... A few feet separating us as I calmy got back on my feet. We stood, both speechless. He and his buddy's well aware of the blood gushing from my nose and mouth. Searing steel cut a swath from my throat to sternum. Not pain, no. Still nameless, it was an awareness that told me... And others paying attention... That I was one who would take the ride until the tracks run out.
Certain this older boy recognized he was going to be sorry, he said some shit I never heard and turned heel - saving face and perhaps his ass. Maybe not, but at some primal level most men have these caveman moments where their asshole puckers and they disturbingly realize they met wildness. Most wisely bow and bolt.
A reputation soon followed and with it, a childhood of goons who wanted to see if they had a shot at besting me. Don't get me wrong, I got my ass kicked... Scarred knuckles, facial lumps where there shouldn't be any, and late night emergency room trips reveal my hand. But not once did I think, "Oh shit!" And backpeddle my way down Safe Street. And I have never been knocked stupid, so despite blood and broken bones, I continued my hunt until my prey collapsed from exhaustion or fear or defeat and choose - if you, the reader are a score keeper, to claim no losses. (At least not physical. I have been emotionally obliterated more than once)
Ultimately I discovered contact sports and the similar release to be had sending someone off the field on a stretcher.
Then the military welcomed me with open arms and I found myself in a small, somewhat reckless but exceptionally well-trained, light infantry unit.
Post military, I became a bouncer at 3 established big city bars. Continuing to chalk up scars and busted bones, a tussle with the law that landed me in the think tank a spell, convinced me to be more selective in who I go rounds with.
It was during this period, my military and city years, I broadened my horizons to include taking life threatening chances. The military offered boundless opportunity; the city had buildings, rooftops, bad neighborhoods, and ridges. Often fueled by alcohol I would launch between 7 and 8 story rooftops. Driving became another outlet... Speed, fearlessness, welcoming the sound of crashing glass and tearing steel... And the rush of walking away largely unscathed - with just enough blood and ripped flesh to feed the junkie I'd become.
Older now, some days I feel the piercing needles in my swollen, damaged knuckles and remember the words of my elders, "Boy, you ain't always going to be young.".
They were right, but not for lack of effort. I hoped, without having an articulable plan, to be dead before life got too serious.
Life won. So did seriousness. Part of me is grateful I am still around, part of me remains permanently stunted because I lived like there would be no tomorrow.
It's been an adventure, for sure.
Perhaps it was cursed confusion brought on by this uncategorizable condition that converted it to pain - emotional and physical. Pain, I learned was direct and clear where this deeper mystery remained just that; elusive.
Many years later I summed up my childhood as being just inside out-of-control. Everything I did was physical, hurtling my large body into my everyday life. Where other kids learned to gauge their leaps, reckless abandon was my pilot. There was none of this late 20th, early 21st century analyzing the hell out of everything. I just behaved according to some wiring, perhaps crossed, that coursed through me like an electrical current.
Consuming fear became a steady diet and I welcomed it to the point of almost becoming faint... In hopes of overcoming it, or at least constructing a steel tolerance.
No one told me not to go out at night. From my single digit years on, I would walk the streets after dark - hugging the blackened stretches between street lights, often in the more threatening parts of town; my snses on high alert for animals or dangerous men that might pounce. I learned what it felt like to be aware of each muscle and movement and how beautiful it felt when my body, mind, and senses glided harmoniously through the dark and danger.
With this groove came a confidence born of demonstrated ability. Nights became years and no man, shadow, or beast drove me off course or slowed my endless trek. Shoulders straight, chin up I did what most adults yearn for: I discovered what I was made of.
Around this time, middle elementary years, I learned there is a correlation between pain and passion, fear and bravery. Standing my ground against a much bigger and older boy taught me to fly... When he smashed me so fiercely in the face my feet came off the ground.
No shit, I lay there looking at the sky and dust that poofed as my body impacted the asphalt. He stood there... A few feet separating us as I calmy got back on my feet. We stood, both speechless. He and his buddy's well aware of the blood gushing from my nose and mouth. Searing steel cut a swath from my throat to sternum. Not pain, no. Still nameless, it was an awareness that told me... And others paying attention... That I was one who would take the ride until the tracks run out.
Certain this older boy recognized he was going to be sorry, he said some shit I never heard and turned heel - saving face and perhaps his ass. Maybe not, but at some primal level most men have these caveman moments where their asshole puckers and they disturbingly realize they met wildness. Most wisely bow and bolt.
A reputation soon followed and with it, a childhood of goons who wanted to see if they had a shot at besting me. Don't get me wrong, I got my ass kicked... Scarred knuckles, facial lumps where there shouldn't be any, and late night emergency room trips reveal my hand. But not once did I think, "Oh shit!" And backpeddle my way down Safe Street. And I have never been knocked stupid, so despite blood and broken bones, I continued my hunt until my prey collapsed from exhaustion or fear or defeat and choose - if you, the reader are a score keeper, to claim no losses. (At least not physical. I have been emotionally obliterated more than once)
Ultimately I discovered contact sports and the similar release to be had sending someone off the field on a stretcher.
Then the military welcomed me with open arms and I found myself in a small, somewhat reckless but exceptionally well-trained, light infantry unit.
Post military, I became a bouncer at 3 established big city bars. Continuing to chalk up scars and busted bones, a tussle with the law that landed me in the think tank a spell, convinced me to be more selective in who I go rounds with.
It was during this period, my military and city years, I broadened my horizons to include taking life threatening chances. The military offered boundless opportunity; the city had buildings, rooftops, bad neighborhoods, and ridges. Often fueled by alcohol I would launch between 7 and 8 story rooftops. Driving became another outlet... Speed, fearlessness, welcoming the sound of crashing glass and tearing steel... And the rush of walking away largely unscathed - with just enough blood and ripped flesh to feed the junkie I'd become.
Older now, some days I feel the piercing needles in my swollen, damaged knuckles and remember the words of my elders, "Boy, you ain't always going to be young.".
They were right, but not for lack of effort. I hoped, without having an articulable plan, to be dead before life got too serious.
Life won. So did seriousness. Part of me is grateful I am still around, part of me remains permanently stunted because I lived like there would be no tomorrow.
It's been an adventure, for sure.
