Spill the blood on me, adieu


December 31, 2008.


It was a Wednesday. I had lunch with a special someone after work. It was bad enough working on New Year’s Eve, we solaced ourselves by reliving memories. It was a commemoration of sorts. We ate at a Denny’s near downtown in the shadows of the County jail. This Denny’s was the scene of many a furtive liaisons sneaked in the brief moments after work. Before rushing home. There was an inhospitable memory flickering in our heads that we sought to capture. Funny how the human mind works.


On this New Year’s Eve, we ate, sat in the car and watched as freeway traffic boomed by. The rumble of the world thundered outside the closed windows in the squalid parking lot. Sitting together in the car, the menacing world seemed removed, inadvertent, but always, the spell would be broken. We would release our embrace and escape to our own lives.


In 2008, after our reunion, I went on a photo adventure.


What was so special about this day? This specific day?
I couldn’t really begin to tell ya. Don’t know. Do you ever have those days that linger in the hallways of your soul for no apparent reason?


I tend to get maudlin every New Year’s Eve.


It’s just another stupid day, right? Here in Los Angeles, December 31 tends to be be a brilliant, ethereal day sunlit day. New Year’s Eve always seems to fall in that precious window of cosmological beauty which makes for a great (gag) Rose Parade every year. The sun shines lucidly but diffused through a shrouded pall of winter reticence. These are the only times I will admit Los Angeles is worth it.


New Year’s Eve!


We got out of work early and we met at the Denny’s. We ate lunch/early dinner and prematurely rang in the New Year’s over some Denny’s grub. After we ate, we killed time in the car and then departed, going our own ways. I was on my own. The day was so nice and I needed photos for a blog I had started a couple months previous. My masthead sucked, I wanted something more “L.A.” This is a sampling of what transpired that late afternoon.



This is the idyllic Los Angeles Winter Wonderland.


After the “photo shoot,” I came home. I had my son this New Year’s Eve. His mother and I alternated year to year. He was “young” at the time, compared to now, but aren’t they always young compared to the now? Aren’t we old compared to never?


I was looking for the perfect photo for that old blog. I had another blog, yes, it’s true. From October, 2008 through October, 2009, I had a blog which was focused almost exclusively on news. The singular focus proved too much for me. Lingering on news completely sapped my mind.


Of course I read the news and keep abreast of it. I try to have a good, working knowledge of current events, but for me to write about that shit all the time just deflated me. I began to deconstruct the local news, but still, I realized painfully that every little thing you write can be uncovered and your opinions can unjustly be called out. I wrote a few posts about local stories that people posted angry and threatening comments on after discovering my writings on Google.


In typical fashion, I took it more seriously than they. I shut that blog down when the contract expired in 2009. I wanted to start from “scratch.” I was ready to branch out, expand my horizon. See…I’m a maniac. I fixate and am undeterred. It was late in 2009 and I was feeling that revolutionary inner yearning stirring in my heart. One night, while walking, the name “Phoenixism” just appeared in my mind. I thought of the Phoenix mythology, of death and rebirth and thought that might be a fitting tribute to myself and what I was attempting to accomplish. I was looking to find a new way. So I started this. I was a sophomoric blogger because I had a modicum of experience from which to draw upon, but didn’t really have the concept, or nuance, down yet. I knew the mechanics, but that was it.


Toward the end of my previous blog, I began veering into gender dystopian commentary and it flourished on Phoenixism. This was my new expression. Anti-consumerism, anti-capitalism, anti-corporatism…all of it. I was infuriated and opinionated and as I tend to be, I became very self-identified with my ideas. Sometimes my posts still ring with the reverberations of these ideas. Still, it preoccupies me too much. Blogging is a wonderful tool and many have used to a wonderful effect. I fear that in my pathological compulsiveness, I’ve allowed blogging to slowly devour my psyche. This is my problem, my issue…not the medium.


My last blog became excruciating and I felt as if each post became a tooth extraction. This was my own doing. of course.


I’m of the personality type that expects too much of myself and is also quite capable of running myself sadistically into the grave because of some bullshit vision.


Thomas Mann’s Venetian vision had nothing on me.


However, fuck his homo, pedo vision. Any literary connoisseur worth his weight knows that was a story of being drawn to a vision at one’s own peril. And such is my predicament. I will blog myself into a watery grave if I don’t breathe now. I had my Phoenixism vision and it was threatening to cast me to hell. And it still is. Because Phoenixism is ultimately…me.


I write all this because on Saturday, the URL known as www.phoenxism.net was 3 years old. The terrible three’s.


This blog has frankly been a running Michael Bay-type of “destructionist” mayhem. My vision shifts monthly, weekly, and even daily. I’m constantly reasserting what it is I need to say or want to say.


I haven’t the slightest fucking clue where I’m headed, or coming from, most of the time. This blog has become the fruition of some serious mental hangups. I’ve tried to maintain, but the stability keeps slipping away. I’m the type of person who will not stop a project just because logic tells me it is done; I am the type who must feel its end, even taste it. I’m a sensually reactive person. I reach a point where I feel and cognate the end of something in order to be impelled to actually end it. I won’t stop doing something until a pail of blood is spilled over me.


If you point a finger at me and tell me to stop, I will laugh. If you throw a dart at me and it ruptures my eye…I will think about stopping.


If I decide that something is detracting, killing, or squashing. I pause. In a word, I think the concept of “blogging” is killing me and my life. Not because blogging is evil. Blogging in its purest form is the future of Man. Blogging will mutate and evolve, but it will nurture the need we have to share a commonality among others. This is a fancy of modern man. This self-endowed measure of belonging. The blogging I practice is a conscious, visible written form of direct expression, but blogging in its most disconnected and misappropriated form, the one of the future, the one in which all people will discover their community, has exceeded my limits.


I am not bidding farewell. A lot of long-time mainstays have vacated the scene completely. That is not me. No way. I am an evolver, not a deserter. I’m not leaving, but I am shifting.


I am first and foremost, a writer. An author, goddamnit. I am a thinker. Blogging was a convenient outlet for me and it allowed me the expression I sought. But after 3 or 4 years of this harsh, self-induced military-style avocation, I am ready to wander free again.


I am a writer!


I will write again and let the cards fall where they may.


Perhaps one day I will return to blogging full-time. For I am not leaving, but I am distancing.


I am the type of person who is wonderfully capable of eating myself alive. I will do this! I will singularly focus on an object while discounting my well-being. Which is cool, if it’s something you really want. I like blogging, but it’s not that thing I want just now.


I want to write stories.
I want to conjure imaginary wonderlands.


This is not a farewell, but it is a transmogrification.


The new way:


I will not post very often
I will not write much about my old themes/motifs/causes
I will be much more philosophical and detached…basically, me!
I will still post and read blogs I enjoy and in fact, I may become more of an involved commentor.


Earlier, I browsed through old emails and dug up old calendars.
There is nothing like the march of time to make you realize just how foolish its invisibility truly is.