Diary of a Madman: My Weekly Descent Into Madness
by G Diesel

Entries 1-25 | 26-50 | 51-75 | 76-100 | 101-125 | 126-150 | 151-175 | 176-200 | 201-225

Entry #201
Through the eyes of a child. There once was a time in your existence, when you saw the world with greater clarity. When the prism through which you viewed life was clean, free of the muck and waste society relentlessly kicks on your lens.  You were curious and were in touch with wonder. There was eagerness and enthusiasm in all of your days. You were free of the oppressive weight of emotional baggage, your outlook on life not yet jaded. And then, over time, the shit started to pile up—the loss, the struggle, the failure, the disappointment. It beat you down, tearing at the very fabric of your spirit. Here you find yourself today, lethargic and blasé, cynical and unmotivated, grinding yourself down just to get by, “living the dream” as a buddy of mine would sarcastically say. But it doesn’t have to be this way. You and you alone are the keeper of your soul, the commander of your destiny in this world. Sure, fate and fortune play their role, but in the realm of that which you can control, you’re the fucking boss. Life can be arduous and thankless, but it is your decision to allow it to continue on as such. I strive each day to remember the lofty standards I set for myself in my youth, to touch the gorgeous naiveté that convinced me that anything was possible… The stubborn idealism that would settle for nothing less than what was the best that I could conceive. This unyielding honesty and electric imagination need not be dampened and drowned by the dark clouds that hover above. For the storm shall soon pass and brighter days will surely follow. As in the promise that comes with each rising sun hides a celestial vigor and vitality capable of propelling you forward. Powerful enough to compel you onward to achieve the great things for which you are destined. It is there for you to use, for you to behold, for you to sculpt and to mold… If you’d only allow yourself to see it, through the eyes of a child.
Entry #202
Home. As the rhetoric of partisan politics reaches its zenith and the time for electoral reckoning looms large, powers far greater than the polls and the populace have set the record straight, making people so often preoccupied with the petty and trivial take a long, sobering look at their priorities. Mother Nature has a way of evening things out, quite literally leveling the playing field, and leveling everything else in Her wake for that matter. The closest we terrestrial beings will ever come to knowing God in this earthly plane, you’d think we’d pay Her more respect and show Her more reverence, being thankful when She shows mercy upon us. A reminder came abruptly this week in the form of battering gusts of hellacious wind and incessant sheets of torrential rain, with only splintered devastation and rubbled despair left behind. The sort of natural destruction that has the leader of the free world walking side by side with the governor, on the same Jersey asphalt where I once laid rubber Nike sole and orange Spalding tread. Helpless to the will of the elements and their impact on my childhood home, bound stranded by emergency travel restrictions keeping us from assessing the damage, people so strong and independent have been, in a flash, rendered powerless, and many of those most vulnerable, have been swept away on a wave of anonymous darkness. It was, however, in these moments of sorrow and frustration, that the truth came to light. I will never forget where I came from; it is indelibly a part of who I am and how I see the world. But my home will always truly be where my heart longs to go. Not in the regional sights or concrete structures, but in the people. My home will always be in the loving laugh of my father, the consoling advice of my mother, and at my lady’s side, her hand in mine. As I tell her when I travel, no matter where I go in the world, I’m always fighting my way back to her. That is where I belong. In this way, my yearning for home as I understand it is as woven into the fabric of my nature, as the tides and winds are endemic to Mother Earth. She and I are kindred spirits, though I am increasingly cognizant of my status as subject to the queen. She ripped apart houses, crumbled infrastructure, tore down trees and flooded streets, leaving standing only the survivors—the salt of the saltwater-soaked earth holding forever strong, left to put their lives back together, one brick, branch and broken window at a time. And while at the moment I know not the fate of our structures and material goods, I thank Mother Nature for sparing the only true “home” I’ve ever loved.
Entry #203
Opportunity. For much of my life, I was so “all or nothing” with regard to my dreams and goals, that I would turn my nose up at promising prospects that would present themselves, often because I felt them to be trivial, or not worthy of my vocation. I’d attribute that, in large part, to the abundant piss and vinegar-infused arrogance of my youth, that convinced me that anything not directly related to fulfilling my destiny, as I saw it, was a colossal waste of time. Ah, the idyllic ignorance of idealism, I knew it well. Over time, I’ve come to look at that word differently… Opportunity. As we age and endure, we mature, growing wise through loss and pain and strife. We get our priorities straight, gain new perspective and stop taking shit for granted. We’re forced to, if not by the necessity of circumstance than by the understanding gained in due course, simply living a real life in the real world. I’ve found that the table is set for victory in the mundane monotony of everyday life. That anything you do is worth dominating, that success begets greater success and that eventually, the small shit starts to add up. Nothing happens in isolation. You see, I fundamentally believe in the validity of my dreams. I will pursue them to the ends of the earth and I know that in the end, what will be the determining factor is my will to stay the course. But I keep in mind the long game at all times and I know that this leg of the journey could take eight months or just as easily could require eight years of diligence and dedication. Fine by me. In the meantime, I will make the best of the present. My mind is set to extract the most of the now, exploiting every opportunity that comes down the pike. Knowing full well that all things are related, and that conquering the small challenges of today, can directly lead to the great triumphs of tomorrow. If only, I am willing to seize this opportunity.
Entry #204
The hill. There was a hill in my hometown that ran from the small Catholic elementary school where I was a student, down to the second floor duplex apartment we rented when I was a kid. I trudged it daily, uphill, sometimes in the snow, to school or the park. Then downhill I’d run it at a breakneck clip, the weight of my book bag only adding to my momentum, using the old parked cars that lined the street below as a barrier up against which to stop . It always seemed so steep and treacherous, such a far climb to the top. For years, when I’d think of the old neighborhood, I’d often envision that massive hill. Finally, this past summer, I decided to go back home, taking my fiancée and better half of almost twelve years on a daytrip there to prove that I actually did originate from somewhere, and that my birthplace was not merely a city of mythos. Getting off of the highway, we pulled down the street at the top of the hill, passing the old school and church. Turning the corner, what I saw blew my mind. From the very apex, the apartment I lived in as a child was maybe a hundred yards away. I could throw a rock from that hill through my kitchen window. It was then, that it dawned on me. It wasn’t that the old neighborhood had shrunk, but that I had grown. Obviously in all the literal ways, but in an intangible manner as well. I had left that town and experienced much in the last two plus decades. Learning, meeting new people, travelling. Enduring loss and celebrating gain. My goals expanding, my priorities shifting and my way of thinking being altered forever. It was then that I realized that this little personal experience was life encapsulated, our journey summarized in a single observation. What once seemed like a mountain to a boy, was now merely a mound to a man. That limits I accepted before as finite, no longer held over me any jurisdiction. That with the right perspective, even life’s most monumental challenges are no more daunting than climbing that small Pennsylvania hill.
Entry #205
Speak softly. Sometimes, when you pause and reflect on who you are and what you do, there is a chance for deep personal examination and scrutiny, from which often springs honest revelations that help us to better know ourselves. Witnessing recent human tragedies stirred in me such a need for personal inquisition, as when you wonder about what motivates others to do what they do, often you start by asking yourself the same. So much of who I am now, was born of my upbringing. Values imparted to me by my parents. My mother teaching me compassion, empathy and social justice. My father tempering iron-clad toughness and rugged individuality with genuine warmth, selflessness and a true love for the underdog. Even with all that nurturing, I had a two-ton chip on my shoulder coming up, born of the rough and tumble, multicultural, working class experience of being a kid from Jersey who didn’t have shit. I’ve been on the bad end of my share of ass-beatings and have seen too many of my boys lose their way, eventually to be gone far before their time. All of this, the blend of the good and bad that is life, has formed me into the man I am today. And for that, I am thankful. You see, once you’ve tasted blood in your mouth... Once you’ve felt real fear… Once you’ve seen someone you care for hurt… Once you’ve experienced profound loss and endured, you tend to lose a taste for that shit. If you lived it, you don’t have to seek it out. You don’t need video game fantasy or cage fighting violence to satisfy your primal urges. As he navigates life in the real world, it seems a person can go one of two ways—becoming an agent for pain or for peace. One who hurts or one who heals. I’d always noticed that the best fighters never look for a scuffle in the streets and that real soldiers only take to arms as a last resort. In that same way, if you’ve been exposed to enough darkness, you’ll never have that blood lust, choosing to throw hands only when preyed upon and backed into a corner. Better to put that anger we all share to good use—building yourself up, fueling your journey and providing for your neighbor the chance to do the same, free of malice and menace. Becoming a specter of imminent danger to those who would do you harm. Being the manifestation of all that they don’t ever want to fuck with. While all the time, treating others with respect and kindness, with understanding, decency and civility. In a world so cold and cruel, to gain the freedom to speak softly, you must turn yourself into a big fucking stick.
Entry #206
Gifted. It is human nature to observe those capable of doing wondrous and amazing things, so far out of the ordinary, with awe and reverence. These, the gifted elite of our species, often stumble accidentally into their calling, soon to realize that they’ve been blessed in a manner beyond that of even the most accomplished in their chosen field. The basketball wunderkind. The piano virtuoso. The math savant. This is not you. Nor is it the vastest majority of the populace. And it goes without saying, this genetic anomaly is most certainly not your humble author. But this of course, is no excuse to not reach the mountaintop… No reason to not surpass those born with the gift. You see, life, broken down to its essence, is simply a series of decisions. Each morning that I’m lucky enough to open my eyes, I make a choice. I decide that I will not settle or compromise, I will not give up. I will be earnest and honest and do whatever it takes, no matter how small or menial, to inch ever closer to my dreams. And eventually, I will get there. Not because I’m any better or more talented than the next man—quite possibly the contrary could be true, but because I simply refuse to be denied. I will offer my life, and go beyond the restraints of reason and sound judgment, past the confines of doubt and derision, vowing to myself that regardless of circumstances and responsibilities, I will not lose sight of the man I was born to be. As that idealized version of myself, I’ve come to realize, is no more than the manifestation of the choices I make each day… My will and commitment and dedication in human form. With all the various formidable skills we’re able to cultivate and refine in our days, ambitious determination may in fact be the greatest gift one could ever be granted. For, though it is true that we weren’t all born to be meteoric prodigies or overnight phenoms, that doesn’t mean we aren’t truly gifted, in the one way that really matters most.
Entry #207
Legacy. Our time on this planet is indeed brief. In many cases, it is not only short but brutish—filled with seemingly endless struggle and stress. At many points, we fight just to get by, so caught up in grinding the gears of the world’s machine that we are without the luxury to step back and assess our own lives from a measured perspective of self-reflection. Time pushes ever forward, and before you know it, hours become days, weeks become months, years become decades. And what do we have to show for it? Forever living for the weekend, we do the dance of decent society and over time we lose sight of the priceless value of each day. We forget that this fleeting time we have here can only amount to as much as we’re willing to invest. What we must be aware of is that our words and actions, our good deeds and that which we create, do not have to end when we do. They can live on forever in the hearts and minds of those we touch during our short time here. Each day and moment, every action, can be as profound, or conversely, as meaningless, as we decide them to be. Each life we affect only as positively impacted as the time and care we take to do so. Perhaps there is an inordinate amount of ego or arrogance involved in this mode of thinking. But if we don’t take our own lives seriously and personhood personally, what is there that is truly worth caring about? Like I said, our moments on this plane are finite. The only shot we have at immortality is to build a legacy so big that it lasts forever. To create something so real and lasting that those who come next must tend to it and carry it on, living up to its lofty standard. We certainly can’t live forever, but we can sure as hell try. And in this great, yet beautifully futile effort, can be found our legacy.
Entry #208
Yours and yours alone. Not everyone is meant to understand your dream. Because of their own particular life experience, education, personal influences and family background, they can’t see the world through your lens. How could they? They haven’t slept alone in a cold room with your soul. They don’t see the vivid slide show playing for a private audience of one, in the darkest hours each evening when you close your eyes. They can’t hear the symphony in your mind; they’re unable to catch up to the rhythm of the savage bass drum that is your beating heart. That’s OK, because they aren’t supposed to understand. Your dream is unique, it is one of a kind and like you it cannot be duplicated. It is so rare and elusive, it is fucking priceless. It must be tended to and cultivated like the most lavish of gardens and be defended to your dying breath. It isn’t to be diluted and whored out, a passing fancy ready to be sold to the highest bidder. It should nag you and haunt you, motivate you and inspire you, keeping you awake at night. It should grow and morph and mature at a rate in lockstep with the development of its keeper. It should be woven into the very fabric of your being. As elementally a part of you as your DNA, your dream should be etched on your genetic code. Its rays should emanate out to warm all who you touch; its awesome weight to be carried by those who come next in line, all of whom must grapple with dreams of their own. Your dream is who you are and all that you can ever aspire to be. It isn’t meant to be discussed openly or defined. No one is supposed to comprehend the magnitude of your dream. They’re to shrug shoulders and shake heads, until the day of reckoning arrives, when you show them, and in a single burst of undeniable illumination all becomes clear. Until that time, don’t waste your breath explaining who you are and what you want. They aren't supposed to "get it". This is your life. This is your dream… It is yours and yours alone.
 

 

 

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