Showing posts with label Age. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Age. Show all posts

Sunday, March 5, 2023

Is Madonna right to accuse mockery of her appearance on the 2023 Grammys as "misogynistic and ageist"? by #KylePhoenix

The problem with this idea, the question, the projection, Madonna, all of it——is that it’s through a warped lens—-much like race. I was recently watching a group of folk discussing race and colorism and it occurred to me, how I’ve thought this before, but in projecting myself onto the panel—-realized they were trying to make logical sense of an insane system.

Madonna is in an insane system.

So for the past 50 years—-including her teen years and then magnified in her twenties when she became famous, she’s been inundated by these beauty standards and expectations. Say it was at a Level 4, and then she got famous, more and more, as a decade went by so that by the time she was say 30—-it was at a Level 14. The normal woman in America/world society probably hovers at a 5 to 7, in terms of beauty standards, self-regard.

Now yearly, Madonna sits down and talks to lawyers, record executives, etc. and they examine some of the past and project to the future. But in general, numbers start coming up.

  • 300 million records sold
  • $500 to $700 million in personal fortune.
  • Billions earned for Warner Brothers.

I was watching an interview with Oprah and she was walking around her West Hollywood offices and there were all these posters and framed pictures of her and then I saw another interview of her at her former Harpo Studios—and it dawned on me—-an odd question—-what the fuck is that like? BLOWN up pictures of you——everywhere. Then TV images, then print pictures, then magazine pictures and on and on and on and on. And photoshoots. Have you ever noticed how many freaking pictures celebrities take?

I have a Madonna mash up video this guy made sort of tracing her career from beginning to now in about 8 minutes of the song. There are a LOT of pictures. There are so many pictures, that I’ve never seen before, that I wonder how many pictures I haven’t seen.

Now flipside it———-imagine being Madonna and having seen every single one of these approved pictures—-the photoshoots, the videos, the films, the interviews?

When we look back on the psyche/personal effect of the 20th to 21st century—-Fame and the Internet—- will be the biggest psychic bombs. On one level she’s in a business and has turned the business/agreed to it, as a projection of herself. And been successful at it. She’s also made a career or dressed a career by changing her image——her appearance, to the rest of us—-trying out new looks at such. She’s turned herself into sort of a template to try out all of these possibilities, combinations of hair, face, make-up, clothing, ideas——and unlike most women, who age and maintain a similar appearance, she has the resources in money, clothing and people, to be vastly diverse.

Most women only “change” with age and then a few creative changes of hair color, new make up, time, injury. It is unusual for a human being to change through intervention of both design, style and even yes, some science.

But there are only say, a thousand of us on the planet, being offered directly or indirectly, MILLIONS of DOLLARS, to make these constant changes, constantly.

Personalize It

Many of us, male and female, due to family, time and work, gain weight. I would then offer/argue, that the benefits of work make us spend more hours there, at a desk or company, eating unhealthily, rather than exercising for hours on end through the majority of our lifetime.

We kind of get paid to be capable of work yes, but also to be present and therefore, to trade that potentially incredible healthiness, for money. We also trade time to be with family, raise children properly, so we don’t always have time to, again, super duper, exercise.

65% of Americas are obese. Two thirds. Because of time, work, eating habits, choices.

But Madonna is in pretty good shape because she, being Madonna, is more than her job, her work is more than her Life’s Purpose—-she is her Life’s Purpose——and part of the Madonna “brand” is change, diversity, experimentation, pushing margins and boundaries. Most people, one don’t know their life’s purpose, and two, maybe only a few dozen people ARE their Life’s Purpose, in such a monumental way. And I think that monumentalism is from their work projection to the rest of us.

Madonna therefore IMPACTS us differently than Susan down at Target. Beyond like or dislike, she’s part, a large swatch, of our realty fabric so her visage/body is in like this dualistic symbiosis with our own projections of our images of Madonna. And we’re comparing all of that bullshit to our internalized ideas of women, age, what is “appropriate for women”, what’s right, etc..

I personally have never been outraged or particularly shocked or aghast and judgmental of her—-she’s not THAT extreme to me, but I have liberated and libertine sensibilities. The ONLY time that I was like—-oh, ok, Madonna—-was during her Sex book campaign when she was strolling up a Miami Boulevard naked—-bush out. I thought that was audacious—-not for her or a woman—-but for a celebrity. But I’ve seen plenty of bushes before so I wasn’t aghast. lol

So we have Susan from Target or our mom or sister or wife or rando women, in comparison to Madonna, who is unique in that she has resources and control and experimentation with her appearance/identity, and is handsomely rewarded for it.

We do arrive to Madonna with our social issues and mental maladies of racism, sexism and ageism. We try to force something bigger than a normal human’s—-reality identity?—-I don’t even know how to completely contextualize “not Madonna”. She’s in rooms, with teams of people, creative people, thinking differently about Self, about being a woman, about time, about age than your mom or Susan at Target, behind the cash register.

She’s also used to attention in a much different way than most are. She’s at a place where attention for her is not fuel like it is for the majority, it’s more of a malleable medium—-she controls how she is seen to a greater degree than Susan. But she can shift, but not control, the way the lens—-the minds—of those viewing her—- are, what they think about broad things, like women as a space and age as a context.

I think she’s high end, higher space seeing, right there is a projection upon her about what she “should” look like and be based upon how many “Susan’s” we’re normally surrounded by or are.

The above female Target workers are women, some closer to her age range, but they don’t have the resources or lack of physical stressors or ability to eschew that which is unhealthy for them by whim. Perhaps what Madonna is unintentionally showing us—-is one, the future. as people have more time and resources—-the masses reduction of being trans will be Self Design——in more options, colors, diversity etc. and that will mean what it means to be a woman will change dramatically, because of what longer lifespans and more resources will mean to age.

The projection is that those born in the approximate 1960s will be able to live with healthy interventions past 100, and those born past 2000 will live over 125 years.

I personally plan to “retire”, barring illness or injury, in my late 80s——as a Columbia professor did so at 88—-so I’m thinking 90 is when I might go—-”Wow, I’m old!” but I don’t know if other than moving physically slower and not wearing thongs, will I ascribe to minimizing myself mentally due to age. But my Self Reality isn’t based on my physicality, so I can accept that will decline. I’m more my mind than my own attractiveness/beauty/appeal/youngevity as Madonna is, must be, seems to like being, and has certainly profited from.

Madonna, barring some surprising illness or accident, has another 20+ healthy years, particularly from her resources and ability to engage the cutting edge. She’s further along than the majority of women so she probably perceives women as far more advanced and autonomous than most women do of even themselves—-we tend to see people as we see ourselves, or the potentiality of them as ourselves. And yes, that includes like men pop Viagra for hard-ons, she has popped some Botox to tighten something here and there, and there because her industry—-of Madonna—-depends on being Madonna.

This is Bette Davis at the same age.

This is 64.

This is 64.

This is 64.

This is 64.

This is 64 that we’re more accustomed to seeing when the person is not an industry. Madonna’s point about aging within fame and the undertones of her having resources to change what she will, is really what this is about. Age is changing, women have varying resources now and therefore will have various expressions of that physically…….and we’re all perceiving celebrities through multiple, insane, warped lens to begin with. I would argue that Fame is both becoming the epitome and removal, from normal society in a self-consuming way.

Profile photo for Kyle Phoenix

It’s kind of good. I was just laying in bed, cuddled with my wealth of pillows and comforters and thinking on what my next moves were going to be. Two books had arrived from the printer (of course there are minor corrections, but that’s to be expected.)

Rewind.

I was on the #5 bus headed up Broadway to the post office to pick up this box of books. And since it was just a short jaunt of a few blocks, I had my phablet and was listening to music but hadn’t brought along a book. So I was thinking.

I was thinking about a past relationship and as I am inclined to do—-getting a little steamed about the thought, person, argument. Replaying it in my head and looking at it from a new angle—-which was spurred by a spontaneous dinner with a colleague a few weeks ago and she’d asked me about my dating life, as we’d talked about hers. I laughingly told her a comment a guy had made, judgmental but complimentary, yet it had taken me a couple of years past the relationship, to realize he meant that he was intimidated by me. It didn’t help that my bus ride, weeks later, was to pick up a book that had included bits and pieces of that relationship, fictionalized.

This is why said gumball was rolling around at the back of my mind. I get to the post office——frightened there will be a long line in the middle of the afternoon—-no line! I wait maybe 30 seconds and hand my slip to the attendant and a minute later have this huge box in my tote bag. I open it in the park across the street and the books are brand new and sexy and pretty and heavy and smell good and when I page flip, the text is crisp and visible.

I start smiling and beaming, overjoyed.

I realized, running mentally through past classmates and friends and folk who wanted to be writers that I’m standing here with more of my books, adding to the passel selling around the world. I’m not just blooming with gratitude and joy, I’m grateful that I’m not living the tortured life of some other folk.

I made a decision over 10 years ago to step out of the matrix known as Corporate America——having done financial work, securities litigation work, a host of things, a strong resume——for education and then used my time to control my schedule and to simply write.

Write, I do.

When I was young, scoring 6,7,8 grades ahead of my own peers on Standardized tests and imagining what I might be interested in, I was writing. I never took my writing “business” seriously so after undergrad I went into companies because they were “serious business”. You get to go up in the elevator and you have a desk—-that one!—-and it’s yours and you decorate it. Eventually I didn’t decorate as much because I was consulting so there were time limits on how long I would be there. I made it a point to not get comfortable. To not make that part of my identity. For about 10 years or so I didn’t know what the alternative to that corporate identity was….because I liked business, liked the intricacy of it, had owned several businesses as a child/teenager.

I even had friends/schoolmates who sailed into CA, never to be heard from again…..until I saw FB pics or them on the street—-fatter, a lot less hair. I realized they had a desk and probably decorated it, perhaps even the Holy Grail——an office—-a room, a little room in a bigger office, that is yours, but not really yours.

But I get to—-write even this blog post—-write a novel most of my working time, my work now taking up about 5 hours of active working. The other 35 is my writing Kyle stuff. I’ve been offered several promotions, could get all ambitious and hungry, and play dirty games……but I can literally feel the days, the hours, when I write less at work. When work takes up too much of my attention away from my Life’s Purpose.

I’m living and creating my Life’s Purpose. Yes, I know when I die, but I often think about what happens if I die this year? To the books? The TV show? I then think in production plans and product plans, I have to make an Exit Strategy plan for me, in case of death.

I used to think my giftedness meant I could do anything, that I could simply focus and learn and master anything—-which I sort of can. Which for awhile provided a whole range of possibilities.

Then I found this one, good thing to do well, very well, and it all clicked.

I’m walking down Amsterdam, swinging my tote bag full of books I’ve written, good books, and I’m beaming like the sun. I start to think of the ex and friends, near and far, and how they’re going to that desk, maybe in an office, inside of a bigger office, and how I’ve made the conscious choice not to.

It’s not what I expected, but I am happier with myself, little ol’ me.

#KylePhoenix

#TheKylePhoenixShow

Thursday, March 1, 2018

Kyle Phoenix Answers: Why do older gay men tend to be more attracted to me than younger ones?

Age effects gay men differently by social surroundings because the same benchmarks by society aren’t in place to adhere to.
Hetero World Defines and Organizes for Heteros: School, pre adult romances, adult romance, engagement, marriage, children, life building, retirement, death.
A lot of the structural stuff thrown at men is based on women being a part, partner, in their aging/maturity. So Valentine’s day, cotillions, proms from grade school on up, are geared towards opposite sex coupling.
Practice, heterosexuals get more practice at being heterosexual because all heterosexuals are “out” and accepted for being heterosexual.
If you’re not hetero it’s individualistic and situational whether your family, town, city, school, has a place for your sexuality and which one of those you’ll have to change and adjust.
Parents barely school their offspring in hetero sex much less same sex.
I challenge men in workshops with, when did your father talk to you about how to properly give a blowjob to a man?
Or how to relax and enjoy anal sex?
When did your mother give you her grandmother’s wedding ring to give to that special someone?
When did your parents assure you that if you met someone they’d help you by paying for the ceremony, a house, a vacation?
Hetero sex is sanctioned, approved.
Economic behaviorists talk about we get better at economic choices when we make more of them—-which is why it’s so hard for people to get rich. You go to the store for groceries, you’ve been doing it for 30 years, you’ve mastered that process because you’ve done it thousands of times. You go to buy a car, how many times in your life have you bought a car? 3? 5? You go to buy a house, how many times in your life?
Now how many times have you picked a mate, a same sex one?
Heteros get more time in the beginning but as gay men age they get more experiential time in sexual experience, emotional experience, dealing with rejection, have more resources to share and understand that part of coupling isn’t equality it’s sharing what you have freely. They are more grounded and hopefully, mature so not as emotionally fragile or shallow, are more conscious of the finiteness of time and pleasure of good choice verses random choice with hope of a good outcome.
So older gay men hit on you because they’re better at being gay, their biology also presses them as it does hetero men to pick the most viable biological hosts for their “seed”—-though two gay men can’t procreate together—-the topping, bottoming, pheromones, semen play, etc. doesn’t mean that there isn’t an undercurrent desire there to share, give, impregnate—-it’s just not studied and recognized about what a bottom is biologically not emotionally seeking in bottoming and as so for topping. Sexuality study is still in the infancy of cause to justify and validate but has yet to graduate to how being a human translates throughout sexualities, the biological imperative, no matter sexuality.
One of the most interesting aspects of biological pressing is the fashion industry. Women are considered by males the most biologically fertile at the ripe of puberty—-16 or so——so much of fashion and movies are for that “look”, that age because it’s when the male as a species sees women as able to be impregnated. Women socially have adopted that as an ideal—-they think or override for vanity reasons—-but really it’s because that’s when the most males pay attention to them , first , in their lives.
How does that translate to gay men?
He rationally knows he can’t impregnate but that doesn’t mean the early blossom doesn’t catch his biological eye—-simply type in Daddy, uncle, older male porn—-it’s greater than same partner age porn.
But what if so many of the older men are bottoms? Then what? The testosterone/estrogen balancing in individuals as primary Alphas or Betas occurs in aging males as lessening testosterone and increasing weight, more estrogen comes into play. So bottoming older men are biologically seeking to receive men, semen, pheromones—-again there are bits and pieces of male to male biological sex reasons because cause of sexuality overshadows examining it.
In workshops, when I question gay men about why they want to bottom they talk about how enveloping it feels, penetrating desires, infusion, semen and pheromone based attraction and obsessions (another whole thing in gay porn—-it’s where a lot of the whole facial shot thing comes from and barebacking and breeding—-giving/getting semen).
Its fascinating to try and get men to answer age and biology questions about their sexuality without stigma from other gays or their societal oppression training.
But that’s the complicated, multilayered answer to old chasing young I’ve gotten in about 15 years of work.
Systems Integrationist, writer, teacher, entrepreneur
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Friday, July 21, 2017

Kyle Phoenix Answers: 10 Reasons Why Gay Men Are Usually Good-Looking Vs. Straight Men?




1. Gay men have more disposable income

Lack of courting women and childcare responsibility for at least 10-20 years of adulthood. Even if they partner with another man, its highly unusual for a man, without children, to be a house husband, so there's additional income.
I'm not very vain/high appearance maintenance but I routinely try out soaps, cleansers and use high end shampoo for bubble baths.
I order FreshDirect food online, have takeout at least once a week and average a restaurant once a week in a slow year. I wear mainly cotton, wool, natural fibers 90% of the time. I've bought $50 socks---Donna Karan, a gym membership at $100 a month, my dentist is on Central Park South, my doctor on the Upper East Side, I like/buy Emporio Armani suits....socks and ties. I fast shop at Whole Foods and other middle to upscale supermarkets so food is fresh, I can go organic, less pesticides. I try to walk jog 20 miles a week to exercise and think----no kids, no ltr partner means I can do tho for hours on end, simply attend to myself.


2. More free time to research.
I teach the video Food , Inc and I regularly watch films and read books, just finished Tools of Titans and a caveat from Ferriss the,writer was to pay attention to which interviews you gloss over. So I geared down on the health sections and have made Time and money investments in increasing my insurance coverage for health additives, upgrades, etc..

3. I have more sex.
Sex is both calorie burning when you do it for a few hours, as I prefer, and lowers blood pressure and risk of heart disease. In a good year I have maybe 12-15 hours of sex a week.

4. More relaxed lifestyle than heterosexuals
The positive side of a gay culture is its much happier, more parties, spontaneous vacations, more fun/superficial if you chose to engage or get lost in that. As men we "play" more.

5. Work balance is different.
I only do work I love or enjoy. I technical work 2 1/2 days a week and running my own micro business means I can do it the other days or not or overlap work to those 2 days. Not having children, marriage yet means I'm less stressed.

6. Black don't crack.

7. Native Blood heals.
I'm part Narragansett Indian, coupled with some sturdy African and Irish/Scottish stock there are genetic benefits. But not smoking, rarely drinking, never having done drugs----food and exercise are life nuclear fuel to keeping my skin elastic, collagen gleaming, I tan nicely. Diabetes is offset by my paternal lineage, cancer is rare in my family but heart disease isn't so I exercise medium to high.

8. I practice safe sex 100% of the time
The messaging worked with me and I get antsy when it's even in the state of the city of the neighborhood of unsafe. But that eye on biological infection makes me health conscious to injuries, if I have a bump or bruise, I'm less likely to let it go unchecked.

9. Higher education and peers
I'm saturated in knowledge on health, too excess by the super in shape gays. The ones who intently explain juicing and powders and kettle balls----the sub community I engage to is health and appearance conscious.

10. Being on tv weekly I see myself, I see weight gain, I see how I appear and sound. Now ironically I'm not as self conscious or narcissistic but I have a near constant barometer.
In gay culture its like being a woman and a man, you're conscious of your appearance in a heightened way because men assess you. Hetero men dont feel the same sense of conscious scrutiny from men and women, maybe just women.
I want to stress how I'm maybe a 5 on the gay self consciousness scale because my life work is more intellectually mentally focused. Most men are rocking on a level 8 around me . They are much more intense about looking good, I rate as well put together, but damn near heterosexual on self attendance , I am low maintenance comparatively speaking. I would put heterosexual men at a 3 on the scale, high end a 6. Which is still beat by the gay 8.
The most extreme looks thing I do is vary razors, shave properly and I went to a dermatologist for a couple of years for better skin regimen. I also use Noxzema every once in awhile. :)



Friday, May 30, 2014

Cleaning House: Dealing With Aging & Ill Parents, Part 1 by Kyle Phoenix

Cleaning House, Part 1

            I look upon my parents, who are currently dying, and it gives me a renewed sense of purpose to my own life.  In many ways, yes, it is depressing and occasionally heart wrenching but I aim to see them clearly.  I spent years growing up with my mother, father, and stepfathers often unsure of my own self, of my abilities, of my memories, of my interests.  The price of growing up with addicts is that they distort reality and often inflict this distortion upon their children, so that as the child of addicts you often grow up without a clear frame of reference.  Most parents admonish, do what I say because I said so; addict parents say: believe what I say is real because I said so.  At 21 I was served by fortunate circumstances to get away from my mother and stepfather and not only go to college but go lock, stock and barrel to live on campus, under my own financial steam as they took away and squandered my college fund.  I filled an entire half of an Amtrak car with my boxes and bags---I knew I wouldn't return to live with them ever again. 

  

            A handful of years later, I thought perhaps I’d been rash and tried to help them by staying with them and pouring my income into their budget to “help” them recover from their squandering of millions.  They both destroyed that to the point where their pastor told me that they didn't deserve me and to leave without any guilt after only a few weeks of being there.  They were sober but still living out their addictions through money, greed, dysfunction, irresponsibility.
            Often, late at night, like every other human, when I wish for something, it’s been for parents.  For responsible adults with whom I could gratefully sit at their knee and learn, be mentored.  I’ve even envied friends with demanding parents---at least it mattered to them that their children become something.  My mother and stepfather have little use for me (or I expect anyone else) if it’s not connected to money.  Their joint addiction is now money and food, hence the dying from diabetes now.  I swore at the house on the mountain years ago that I would only return for death, theirs. 
            And that’s what I’ve done.  I’m of course torn because I don’t want them to die yet I look about their self-inflicted pain and misery and I wonder what joy is there in their lives or do they bring to others?   None, honestly.  The irony of television is that as much as they watch it, it neither brings them joy nor do they bring it joy---except I expect as cable fees (and then dividends to shareholders).
            I intermittently go back and forth, we don’t live in the same city (by my purposeful design) and I try to clean their home so that it literally isn’t reproached by the State, fill their refrigerator with food that isn’t brown, sugar filled or preservative laden foodstuffs.  (Sadly, the only green they regularly attach to ain’t vegetables.)  I’ve tried to pay small bills, even figured out how to commit my own personal budget to including them as one should I think when you have older parents.  But their financial mismanagement destroys that.  They insist upon having no budget, on spending every dime that comes to hand, on running up bills they can’t afford, on eating rapaciously.
            They will die, in various forms of agony, I expect.  The doctors are now slowly amputating pieces of them, their limbs, and giving them both huge dosages of ultimately body rotting medications.  Modern medical technology should include the legal right to slap the shit out of adults.  But it doesn't.  The needed corrective slap is often in the form of skyrocketing bills and slow disintegration of assets to the healthcare system.  This will bow them, it will crumble them, and the little that they have will disintegrate.  I say that because 15 years ago when they started this decline they were in their late 40s, still time to become corrective.  Now, both in their 60s, there’s no more time---it’s slaughterhouse time.
            Don’t get me wrong, I’ve tried to intervene on so many levels that I am bone weary exhausted.  Yet it is of course (as it should be) hard to watch them self-destruct.  Their answer to their self destruction is always”…if we had more money…” or “…bring me some food…”   Now I essentially manage my contact with them because of their varying levels of depression, dysfunctional thinking and emotional manipulation.  I can proudly say that my sense of self, my own personal Voice in cutting them off, shutting them down, defending or removing myself, is 110%.  I’ve never felt so personally…self-empowered dealing with them before.  There is a point by one’s 30s where you know yourself, where you’re no longer frightened or guilted into saying no.
            They ask me what will happen and I starkly tell them: “You will die.  What you are doing will kill you.  I am simply observing at this point.
            My own personal tears of sadness are about the parents I’ve never had.  I mourn for that ethereal dream couple that died long ago but that I always held hope for possible later life resurrection.  They ask me about grandchildren and I ask back---“What would you teach them?  How to watch TV every waking moment?   How to eat to obesity and destruction of one’s own bodily systems?  How could anyone in their right parental mind have their children near you?”  Such candor often silences them.  I’ve learned that even the insane recognize truth.  I now carry truth as a weapon and shield with them, ready to cut down or hold off their madness.  Don’t misunderstand, most of the time with them, I spend in silence, off to myself.  The more I have these implements of warrior truth, the less I use them or want to be in their company.  I’ve learned how to walk away from both of them when they start spewing venom.  I’ve learned what to refute and what to ignore.  I’ve learned to not allow my observation to become pity.
            I look at them in this observer frame, and I’ve told them, they are grand lessons of what not to become, what not to do.  In many ways all of my parents (and quite a few family members) have acted as almost sacrificial examples of the ills of race, racism, addiction, pain, lack of healing.  90% of my family is like a “scared straight” trip to a boot camp.  I know that sounds harsh, even hyperbolic but between addiction, mental illness, pedophiliacs, criminals, domestic abusers, rapists, professional prisoners, and ne'er do wells, those of us alive, educated, sane, with teeth, and no felonies, is but a handful.  It seems in print judgmental but in my heart, it’s sad. 
            I often envy people who have a whole litany of relatives to talk to and do things with and share from.  Ever since I was a child I’ve had to successfully and unsuccessfully navigate which relatives to engage with, which to not, less I be raped or ripped off or emotionally abused or derailed from school, a functional life, a future.  That can be exhausting because it leaves no familial place to rest.  It means that since my early teens I’ve not only had to take care of myself but dodge my family, keep the majority of them at arm’s length for my own safety.
            That kind of emotional education I think has contributed to my making at first in my teens and twenties, extremely dysfunctional friends and then as I became aware of my patterns, my past, eliminating them and choosing better.  I choose friends, inner circle people so carefully now.  And I’m completely clean on jettisoning them.  The same with romantic relationships.  I risk, I try, I love, I forgive, I make mistakes, I allow for mistakes, of course but I’m an extremely low abuse kind of person. 
            When people tell you or show who they are, believe them because they know themselves the best.
            I live that so hard that if you know (or knew) me and don’t now---you showed me who you were and I cut that rope fast and clean.  Never let jackals get a second shot at your throat.  In many ways such a disposition makes me feel safe, detached and sometimes a little envious of other people’s dysfunction.  But because I have no support other than myself (and of course friends, mentors---“found” family) I can’t risk the infection of insanity.
            I’ve tried to gather as many pictures and recordings of my current parents, past relatives and intend to even do a genealogical search back even further for my children, to craft a heritage for them.  I think often of how to frame this to them, how to explain to them that perils of being brown in America, being disenfranchised, being greedy, lacking financial education, unhealthy medicating of one’s emotional pain.  The benefit of such rampant addiction in my family means that I’ve been diligent to my own state and how I manage it with or without substances.  Even at my lowest and most stressful times in life, I never reach for alcohol or drugs.  I generally go take a nap; it’s a Native American remedy---go sleep on it until you awaken, truly awaken away from whatever ails your heart and mind.  For larger or more complex ongoing issues I’ve done two intensive years of therapy a decade apart and through my own work and personal membership sat in enough group sessions, informal groups, run workshops, done television, online and radio shows to have amassed an inner mirror to my own bullshit and foibles that is as incisive as an embodied therapist. 
            I’m often amazed at how “normal” I test from others, from therapists.  I’m on the look-out for emotional flaws and maladies, not obsessively but with an eye towards my own negative heritage.  I am surprised that I have a deep spiritual relationship with the Universe, like myself, enjoy life, recognize stress and low points and self-talk to myself so happily.  The other day I was thinking about self-talk and said to myself “you’re worthless” or some other such negativity and I was literally stunned at how alien it sounded within my head.  I understood then how I don’t whip myself in that way.  Instead I’m often reevaluating myself, trying to find new dimensions to push myself into.  There was the undergrad school period, then the work period, then the entrepreneur period, then the social activist period, the teacher period then the social entrepreneur period.  I know I have some more of a learning period in music, film and psychology) to purse in the next decade even as I try to finish more degrees this one.  The writer and filmmaker periods, arching through the parental period will probably be my last, as I return full circle to the work that I started in my teens.  Even as I morph into a parent. 
            I’m not as reticent to parent myself as one might think, I’m always calculating the years I’ll have as a viable parent before I need my children’s help.  Their 40s?  Their 50s?  What will I be able to show and teach them?  Do I know anything useful yet to pass on?  Without a clear template from my biological or stepparents, I’m even more confused---I don’t want to be like my own parents and at the same time I’ll have to be continuously cognizant of their impressed patterns.  I also don’t’ want to be one of those obsessively narcissistic parents who regard their children as direct extensions of their being.  I want to be someone who is the guide for these shorter, younger humans and recognizes that they are entirely different than me.  And likes that.  My own parents never did.  Their emotional pushing at me was to either conform to their distorted views or be broken.  To be so---normal, and yes, I‘m rather painfully normal in many respects, was anathema to them.  My memories of their valiant attention always came from my most dramatic life moments---getting sick, getting in trouble with the law, getting in fights.  My accomplishments were either directly or neutrally ignored.  On one hand that allowed them to blossom in some ways but not as fast as they could’ve, I suspect had I been fully encouraged.  But now I can also see that having these gardens of creativity to myself, learning to be guarded with them to those most intimate to me, gave me a sense of self-liberation to truly explore the boundaries of my own imagination.   
            Soon my parents will be dead and I’ll have to bury them (I’m an only child), wear a plastic smile at other mourners and find a way to navigate the truth of who they were and the platitudes the other mourners will expect to hear.  I’m still not sure what my eulogy will be, I might even tape it, and I expect no matter my own spiritual aspirations, I’m going to be telling some Truth.  I know that afterwards I’ll pack up their things, throw some out, give some away, rock out on EBay and have to decide what mementos matter and don’t.  I’ll have to decide who they were. 
            My mother asked me the other day was she a good mother, had she given me what I needed, and I told her honestly, no, not really but that perhaps that was the lesson because it’s made me more self-reliant, able to tell myself and others the truth and less deluded and dependent about parental influence and authority.  (Not the answer she wanted to hear, I expect, by the look on her face.)  For me it was the truth.  She then asked me if I loved my stepfather and it was such a left field question that I actually had to ponder, search within for the answer and the truth was, no.  I explained that my affection for him was an extension of my love for her.  But that no, he never raised me (hell, he didn’t raise his own children), he lacks in many ways that which would afford us a simpatico if we met on the street; our work and hobbies are so radically different that I don’t even seek his advice for the most basic of my interests.  How and why his own addictions having taken priority and precedence over ever becoming a responsible parent in not just biology but role became obvious to me a few months ago.  He suggested that I could get some foster kids from the State, they would bring in income to the house and I’d just have to feed them and send them off to school then put them to bed every day.  But that you could get seriously paid for that. 
            I literally looked over at him and realized that I’ve had more fatherhood and manhood training than he has, which is why he said such disturbed, distorted, anti-child things.  I had never really thought about it before, thought about love and how I love them, care for them and evaluate them as parents…and yes, how I don’t.  But such stark questions and starker examples told me that their foundations in some ways were shaky from the root on up.  That they’d missed out on the art of parenting, they may’ve felt the emotion but they lacked the mature nuance of understanding it, of understanding mentoring and guidance and stewardship. 
            We automatically assume that when someone doesn't do something that they’re designated as, a parent, that they don’t want to.  Suddenly, with both of them I’m starting to see how they are incapable of it.  How perhaps broken they are in their own ways, long before I became aware of them.  And I was stunned again at how normal I am.  Drink so occasionally as to be a near abstinent and have never done drugs; have immediately taken action to deal with emotional issues.  Have never crossed boundaries and harmed anyone with my anger, intelligence or sexuality.  I can only think that I gathered morals and values, as a foundation, an antithesis to my parents from two places: others (my grandmother, friends, mentors) and by using my mother, father and stepfathers as antithetical examples of what not to do or become.
            Their addictive influence primed me to become altruistic to a fault but then somewhere in there, I have become normal when I compare myself to them, to cousins my age, to the rest of my family.  To be normal in my family is to be the black sheep though.  This is why I find it so startling.  I sit now with my parents, and occasionally relatives, and marvel at how much insanity spews from them.  How they manage gravity with such contrarian thoughts to morality and mores and values and personal boundaries.  It’s like I thought when I loaded up that Amtrak train that I was going to a foreign planet, that all the years of living on my own, alone and with roommates, the journey to alien.  But I was leaving the foreign, the alien, and the abnormal.
            A friend suggested to me that I try to remain alert and mark down, write consistently throughout this, their dying time.  That as a writer I would find it useful for myself and my work.  At first I didn’t know what to write about it.  It’s like someone shoved me on stage with a microphone and said, “Perform!”  It’s hard to do without a plan, without a destination, without a goal.  Yet now I do write, a dozen other projects, fiction and non-fiction that have no correlation to the dying time but give me respite from it.  In the past year, I’ve written something like 10 million words and I don’t feel an abatement coming.  In fact I feel like I’m trying to get rid of all of these projects and books and blogs and TV shows to get to some work behind it.  My parents watch me write sometimes and I’m sure feel that when I boarded that train a decade ago, I left them, left them to their selves.  And when I write now, I’m doing the same again…because yes, in a way I am.      
            I watch them dying now; often torn between “Would you please, please, please hurry up! and “I wish you could be better, get better.”  Their passing will be a relief…no, it will be a release.  I do wonder though who I’ll be on the other side of it.  What the sky and trees will look like when I walk around, what my voice will sound like when I’m replaying and editing a TV show segment, what I will say when people ask me about them.  Will I tell them the real truth or will I come up with some pat answer that silences the questions but really doesn’t address the matter?  Will they become my secret addiction of sadness and disappointment?  Or will they become the parallel bars that I point to that I used to bounce off of, to spin and twirl and lift myself above, that made me so strong and resilient?

            Stay tuned.

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Kyle Phoenix, 2014
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