I’ve been away from writing for a while.
The return is awkward, like two estranged family members reconvening after far too long.
Thank god for alcohol to ease such reunions.
Speaking of which, I’d like to propose a toast.
In a past and creatively fruitful chapter of my life, rum was my drink of choice.
In the spirit of opening the next phase of fortuitous creation,
My cup is filled with that old familiar spirit, mixed into a classic cola cocktail-
To creation, to new adventures, to channeling the sacred and the profane into simple words that all can understand:
Tonight’s elixir is made with a fine spiced rum bearing the image of Admiral So-and-So, who closely resembles a well known national brand of pirate captain themed rum – It seems to be his dorky younger brother.
One thing is for sure: they both love big ships, and rum.
Brothers, sisters, and everyone in between-
I have a tale to tell, and I’ve committed myself to the sharing of it.
Of all the story worthy adventures I’ve had, this is by far the most important one, because it’s about the core of who I am and the humans that raised me, and where I’m going.
This story is about the essence of my family culture — but don’t worry. I know you really don’t care about an exhaustive family history, so I’m going to keep that shit very brief — barely enough to set the stage.
How’s your drink doing, anyway? I’m pouring another.
This generic coke really has a way of opening up the vanilla notes in this Admiral… who? Admiral Dumbass Spiced Rum.
And those caramel notes, are they from the cane molasses that I wish this was distilled from, or the added caramel flavoring that was unceremoniously squirted into this sugar mash hooch one step before bottling?
I have my suspicions, and for now, I’d like to leave them at that.
This story matters so much to me, that I’ve been intimidated to begin the telling of it. I’ve learned that when fear really takes hold of me, it secretes a venom that anesthetizes me and makes it feel more like indifference. I’m starting to learn that indifference is often my passion numbed out for some misguided notion of safety.
I’ve put this storytelling off for long enough.
Speaking of spirits, (how’s your glass, by the way)? Thank God for the muse.
Muses come in many forms.
I’ve recently found myself with an interesting pen pal on the other side of the country. For whatever reason, we haven’t exchanged numbers. We aren’t connected on Facebook. Our small talk simply outgrew the tiny window of Instagram messenger and expanded into email. She’s an adept wordsmith herself, which awakened my penchant for serving up the word. A few emails later, and here we are.
I’m all inspired to write.
Let’s top of our glasses, shall we?
This Admiral Dumbass Spiced Rum and cola makes not only a fine aperitif (that’s a medium sized dumb word that just means, “I’m getting shit faced for desert, eat your ice cream, kids”). This spirit makes a fine muse, too. Admiral, I think we’ll be sailing the seas of synonyms all summer long.
I’m ready for some word play, story living and truth telling.
What proceeds from here is a tale about transmuting fear into love.
It’s a story about noisy Harleys and fear and God…
And being a kid
I’ve embarked on a personal rite of passage that has taught me a new way to dance with the devil. She can be a magnificent partner.
If that samba with Satan is going to go smoothly,
You must take the lead.
More on that later.
Cheers to Admiral Dumbass and his grog,
Cheers to pen pals,
Cheers to motorcycles,
Cheers to the road, and cheers to the muse!
Next up: Black Holes and Hatred