Usually, when shit hits the fan, I just stand back and enjoy the abstract art. It’s kind of hard to do, however, when some of that art is all over you.
I hate to see good friends of mine break apart, either through neglect, as is the case with one household of friends that I deeply and sincerely love, or through animosity and distrust as is with the other. Love is never to strong a word to use when it comes to your friends. I do not let friendships die easily. I try my damnedest to keep in contact with a number of people from as far back as second grade, from Phoenix, Arizona and Wahiawa, Hawaii to Cardiff, Wales. Anyone whom I have befriended in my short tenure as a mortal upon this spinning globe who attempts to contact me will be met with enthusiasm and rejoice. So it pains me deeply when those that I love drift away.
This goes back pretty far. Not only was a raised with this philosophy, but I’ve also seen that neither of my parents socialize much, and never do I want to resign myself to that fate. Also, a very good friend of mine, Matt Fisher, moved to Kentucky long ago and I have never heard from him since. Many dear friends of mine have passed away, or do not return emails. But more importantly, I don’t like it when two mutual friends of mine suddenly get angry over something petty with each other, like money, or a woman, or housing, and this sort of shit starts to go down. Fuck that. You’re old enough to know better.
I realize that I’m being very ambiguous, though I have no reason to. I suppose I want to conceal names to protect the innocent, even though if these people peruse my pages they will know damned well who I’m referring to.
Not only that, but I face housing expulsion soon, possible starvation, and at the very least the far displacement of the woman I love. These are all my fault however, so when shit hits the fan its a little hypocritical to complain when you were the monkey flinging the poo.