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

Entry #151
The world is filled with missionaries and merciless mercenaries; those who yearn to save us all and those bent to douse the planet in kerosene, strike a match and watch it burn. I guess I find myself in the vast gray expanse in the middle—torn between my love for all God’s creatures and my anarchist’s streak that may be unquenchable by anything less than chaos and an overturning of the social order. I’ve spent my life holding only so much regard for authority figures. Feeling compelled by my own sense of right and wrong, my own guiding principles, my own march toward destiny, I have no time or inclination to think inside somebody else’s box, let alone to be physically trapped within its confines. I’ve dedicated my days on this earth to breaking down limits and boundaries, borders and stereotypes, misconceptions and bogus convention. Who we are or what we become is up to us, not the mandate of our spouse, our boss, our parents or politicians. That cookie cutter calamity of soccer mom suburbia is only as much of a death trap as we allow it to be. We are not our house or job, our bank statement or retirement plan. We are not the sum of the measuring sticks society applies to us to determine our value. We are powerful, decisive, autonomous beings capable of creation and great change, of generating immense force, of exerting control and command. Be not breakable. Be not subject to the will of your environment, but instead subject your environment to your will, remaking the face of the earth in your image.
Entry #152
With my boots on. Recently, I had the pleasure to view the film “The Wrestler” with my lady. While we both thought very highly of the movie, we each came away from it with a different feeling. My girl seemed to see it in a sad and depressing light whereas I found it inspiring in a tragic and melancholic sort of way. Randy “The Ram”, while damaged and reeling, was nonetheless a warrior who for all of his heartbreaking flaws was intent to live and die true to himself, as he saw fit, the judgment of society be damned. There is a somber beauty in that which speaks to me. They used to say that the only way for a true gunslinger in the old west to go out was to die with his boots on. That always sounded right. There is a beauty in doing you until your day is done. To wander aimlessly through life devoid of passion or dreams or goals, bitter and unmotivated, broken and apathetic--that is no way to live. To conduct yourself in accordance with the expectations and standards of another is the ultimate sell out, the sale of your soul. I pray that I can only be so lucky as to struggle and strive and fight. To rise and fall, to bleed and sweat and cry to the heavens. To spend my numbered days and expend my indomitable life force in the unyielding, unapologetic, dogged pursuit of my destiny on my terms. To live like a man, to die like a warrior. At high noon, in the warm rays of the sun, smelling the smoke from my barrel, looking up at the bluest of skies… With my boots on.
Entry #153
There are instances in his existence where a man finds himself up against the wall. Shoved there by society, leaned on by life, cornered by circumstance. Lacking the headroom to breathe deeply, the elbow room to move comfortably, the open space to spread his wings. The pressure mounts as he feels his shoulder blades pressing against the cold brick. The darkness envelopes him as he ponders his ever-contracting space, struggling to focus on the thinnest sliver of daylight, his mind no longer able to conjure a light at the end of this black chasm. His lungs are unable to expand, allowing for only the most shallow of breaths . At this, the most defining of moments, he is left to make a choice. Fight or die. Cave, relent and fold up like a cheap tent or continue on resisting, with no promise of survival, with no guarantee that his most valiant of efforts will not be mere acts of futility. The truth that reality TV, network sitcoms and music videos won’t tell you… The fact ignored in your favorite celebrity’s self-aggrandizing blog is that there is dignity to be found in struggle. There is honor to be discovered in your pain and sacrifice, splendor in the ugliness that defines human survival. Life, at its essence, is a war of attrition—the paradoxical situation in which a man must be willing to give his dying breath in his effort to endure, to lose it all in order to win. At the dusk of our days, let the sun not set on your submission, for the true victory you seek may simply lie in having never given up.
Entry #154
Having turned 30 this past year, I certainly wouldn’t consider myself old, but the life experiences of my teens and twenties lent to me a wealth of wisdom. I’ve seen a lot in my three decades and in that way, though in so many fashions a big kid, I’m something of an old soul. Progressive, but in what I consider the important ways, I’m old school. I’m not sure when it happened, but some kind of great generational divide occurred recently, somewhat under the radar, and it has me heated. Society and pop culture are lying to our kids. When I was coming up, to be wealthy and well-known, you had to be good at something and beyond that you had to pay your fucking dues to get there. There was a certain respect that even the laborer who worked his fingers to the bone could pay to the star athlete who came out of the projects or to the blue collar kid who went to law school and vice versa, because they both understood tough times and they knew that to better their place in the world was going to take hard work. Little ill will could be directed at somebody who recognized their gifts and then busted their ass for years to succeed. However, the post-MTV, YouTube, reality TV world in which we live has created celebrity out of privilege, gluttony, immorality and negativity—teaching the next generation that you can be a slacker and fall ass backwards into a life of luxury. I’m here to call bullshit on every last one of these charlatans selling this ugly lie. Success takes years of patience and effort. It necessitates planning and determination. It demands obsession and commitment. You must forge forward undeterred through the darkest of hours, through doubt and ridicule, through failure and frustration for years on end if anything of any consequence is to be yours. You are entitled to nothing and nothing can easily be all you can claim. Accomplishment will not just arrive addressed to you; left neatly packaged on your doorstop with a pretty bow atop. Your dreams are out there waiting in limbo, poised to be animated and brought to life or to die and whither like so many raisins in the sun. These beautiful dreams will not come to you… You must go to them.
Entry #155
The well. Sometimes I consider those with lives of privilege with nothing on the line, with no risk in their daily existence and I feel pity. From the secure confines of their comfy pedestal they postulate and pontificate but their words ring hollow. Living in a world of thoughts and ideas is only valuable when execution enters the equation, where experience gives words weight. In retrospect, I can give the most sincere thanks for the pain I’ve endured. The struggle, sorrow and despair. The doubt and anxiety. The burdens that never broke me paid to me dividends greater than any federal note ever could. They filled the well—the shadowy place in my being where my resources are pooled to be tapped into only in the most dire of circumstances. To persevere through crisis and depend only on self helps to differentiate a man. It instills in him a hunger the ferocity of which few can ever know, a stark authenticity constantly palpable in his very approach to life. My well is full, dark and deep and I can go there when times are hard. I can draw from deep within and find the strength and anger and unquenchable thirst that I need in order to survive. Found somewhere between the pit of my stomach and my infinite soul lies my bottomless, emergency reserve—the well. When the shit hits the fan and times are hard on the boulevard, can you go there? Can you dig deep?
Entry #156
Lost and lonely. Funny how life works, ain’t it? A young prodigy is born poor in Middle America. Sequestered, abused and sheltered, channeled through a system designed to produce commercially viable art--precocious brilliance meets a multimedia marketing machine. A decade later, he’s the biggest celebrity in the world, an icon the likes of which has rarely ever been seen before. Making records that go a hundred times platinum and amassing unfathomable riches--treasures that are the product of countless accolades garnered and boundaries broken. Yet something was never quite right. It seems all the adoration in the world means little where there is no love. It would appear all the wealth of Midas amounts to nothing when the soul is impoverished. It suggests having a million fans could easily be trumped by the care of a single friend. Surrounded by sycophants and pariah, by leeches and hangers-on, by paparazzi and star-fuckers who all want their seat on the gravy train, the ring leader at the eye of the storm, the man with the great loyalty of legions, stands alone. One wonders what is wrong with our society. How those we raise to the loftiest heights and place on the highest pedestals are the same people we tear to shreds with the most primal of bloodlusts, frolicking in their demise, basking in the streaming tears of their very public agony. We now hear the heartfelt tributes of so many hypocrites who in the face of tragedy decide to lace their venom with sugar instead of salt, angling for one last paycheck, a final cashing-in. Trivializing death in the inane disposable text of Facebook status and Twitter tweets, summarizing a life of immeasurable accomplishment in a hundred characters, sandwiched between the rest of the meaningless shit we’re so proud to share. I can’t say it surprises me. You see, we are a people of extremes. You can’t simply be great; you have to be the king. You can’t merely be eccentric; you have to be perverse. You can’t just be an introvert; you have to be a solitary, isolated figure without a single person you can trust. I pray that one day our hard work will pay off, that our wildest dreams can come to fruition, that we can see the top of the mountain and touch people’s lives. That we can earn the right to be ridiculed and marginalized and to eventually die, so lost and lonely.
Entry #157
Having stacked up 11,315 days on this spinning orb you would think that the 31st anniversary of my born day would have little effect, but something about this yearly ritual tends to stop me in my tracks, leaving me overcome by emotion. Seems like I must spend the previous 364 days bottling up the stress and frustration, the anger and expectation, the joy and the sadness of the daily grind like a pressure cooker simmering low and slow. You see, our opportunities are so few and these dwindling days so valuable, that I live constantly cognizant of the grandfather clock of eternity’s relentless ticking. Instead of coming apart under the strain of the endless struggle and buckling below the weight of the piling years, I take this annual occasion to refocus and narrow my gaze more tightly on my aspirations, to center my ambitions between the closing crosshairs. My thirtieth year on this planet was an exceptionally eventful one wrought by triumph, trial and tribulation each in sizable doses. A rollercoaster ride with no safety harness, twisting recklessly at a frenzied clip. But born from that madness was movement, from this gut-wrenching pain sprang progress. All of this proof positive of what we always knew—growth hurts. It was a reinforcing testament to mankind’s reliance on pain in order to grow, on enduring breeding evolution. When I shed a tear today it will not be only as an emotional release, it will not be a product of sadness or melancholy. Instead, those salty streams will be trails of joy for on my worst day I am truly blessed. Blessed to have the unconditional love and the staunch support of my family, friends, cohorts and allies. Blessed to be healthy and free, focused and determined, full of piss and vinegar and fueled by visions so vivid. Blessed to live to fight another day, to struggle another year, to scratch and claw a precious inch at a time, forever drawing closer to my dreams.
Entry #158
The Meaning of Life. We find ourselves pondering the great question, asking the heavens why we’re here. We search for the little victories in our daily war—tiny wins that give our days purpose. We instinctively need to know whether mankind is a mere happy accident, a biochemical anomaly caused by the random chaos of the cosmos or if in fact we were specially designed by a higher entity, sent here with an express purpose. The way I see it, either way, we’re here. Caught up in the rat race, the paper chase, the droning monotony of existence. But fear not, I have the answer, the response to that great query as age old as our species itself. The meaning of life is progress in the face of struggle, triumph in the face of doubt. It is that tear of joy, that uncontrollable smile, that electric surge in the pit of your stomach in a private moment of triumph knowing you did what they told you couldn’t be done… Throwing a mental middle finger in the face of the haters and doubters, the pessimists and cynics that littered your path up that steep mountainside climb. Remember my brothers, life is very much what you make of it and can be everything you have the audacity to demand it to be. Do not compromise your integrity; do not make apologies for your dreams. Live each day in bold defiance to the feeble-spirited souls who don’t dare believe. Be proud of who you are, take rebellious joy in what you’re becoming—your critics and their worthless opinions be damned. One day they’ll all understand. This is the meaning of life.
Entry #159
Play til you hear the whistle. If there is one life lesson I’ve carried with me from my youth as a baller it was that simple axiom. Make your move, go hard, take your lumps and finish. My pops taught me that. You see, we pick up these little “and ones” here and there along the road of life, every time we beat the odds, every time we weather the storm undeterred. A meaningful life isn’t lived tiptoeing through the tulips and running in between the raindrops, skating through our days unscathed. Our time on this earth is defined by taking a fucking beating, absorbing the meanest, most menacing blows this cold world can dish out and finishing anyway. Many of us, in one way or another, live hard. Some of us live for the contact, we take pride in our scars, we welcome the pain. But that isn’t to say we should be so arrogant as to spit in the face of the fates. With the dawn of each day comes fresh opportunity. A chance to start anew, to right the ship, to finish strong. To grow within by identifying the error of our hardheaded ways and make a change. Something in the way I’ve been wired makes it impossible for me to understand the sort of shoulder-shrugging acceptance and resignation with which some people view their destiny. Each day I’m blessed enough to open my eyes, as I see it, is square one. Take advantage of this new chance, this clean slate ushered in by the rising sun. Take back control, exercise your will and take measures toward creating a better life, if not for this day, then for the night that will surely follow. Every goal in life is the same as those many brief moments of decisive action made on the Jersey blacktop so many moons ago. Make your move, go hard, take your lumps and above all else finish. I implore you to fight til you hear the bell. I beseech you to play til you hear the whistle.
Entry #160
Where God lives. The circumstances of my life have allowed me to arrive at certain beliefs and truisms accepted as fact without the requisite irrefutable proof I so often demand. The self-balancing ebb and flow of the universe, the legitimacy of karma and the wonders of nature and science have allowed me to comfortably believe in the existence of a higher power—a benevolent force responsible for all that we see, one capable of fashioning the sustenance that sustains us all. This greater force, while surrounding us always, is not at home where we would be most inclined to imagine. Far less is this Great Spirit in the majesty of the highest mountain ranges or the roaring seas, I believe, but instead where we are most elementally weak. God lives in the tears of the neglected child, the sorrow of the grieving widow, in the forlorn gaze of the abused animal, in the profound hunger of the homeless man. The creator we pray to for wealth and accomplishment, for the winning lotto ticket or the pay raise, resides where our neighbor is in pain, where the weakest among us is in need, where we are too selfish to care, where we are to self-absorbed to be concerned. Let this serve as a reminder my brothers, that your power is only as potent as its ability to generate change, your great stature only as impressive as the shelter from the storm it can provide. Our greatest challenge is not just to do what is right, but what is extraordinary… To not merely do what is expected, but what our heart compels us to do for the least of our brethren at the times it is the least comfortable or convenient. For it is at precisely these moments, when humankind is at its weakest that our humanity must be strongest; where the vulnerability of the most broken, burdened and afraid among us can provide a glimpse of where God lives.
Entry #161
“So they made light of my type of dreams. They said wise up.
How many guys you see making it from here?
The world don’t like us, is that not clear?
Alright, But I’m different.
I can’t base what I’m gonna be off of what everybody isn’t.” –Jay-Z “So Ambitious”

Though Jay spit that jewel in 2009, such sentiment is the “blueprint” by which I’ve lived my life for as long as I can remember. A barstool in Brigantine, a cubicle in Manhattan, a poker room in AC, a pool hall in Scranton, a prison block in Trenton, a corner in Philly. Yeah, many of my peers have done lengthy bids at these various locales and though my spirit exudes the blue collar ethic of these East Coast realities, I always knew that they were no place for me. That terrestrial, everyday bullshit just never had any allure. In fact, it always scared me to death that I’d end up there—that my destiny would find me in the place I’ve long worked to avoid. Hanging out, all the time too deluded and distracted to notice my dreams hanging themselves. While I share in every way the daily grind, the working class angst… While I’m neck deep in that same pool of sewage, fighting to keep my head above the surface, I know that I’m here. I can smell the sour stench, I can see the excrement and decay, I can practically taste the waste. If nothing else, I am aware. My senses are heightened. Fully conscious of the endless possibilities of this single, solitary life, alert to the ticking away of priceless time, cognizant of the grim consequences of falling off course. My loftiest goal was to never lose sight of the man I’ve always sought to be—a manifestation of chasing dreams, toiling in obscurity and fighting the good fight. The one believing in the value and dignity of my struggle even when the outlook is most bleak. The contrarian who dares to dream that “more” is out there, that “better” is possible. Knowing that I’m not simply the end result of my environment or a mere cloned genetic facsimile, my birthright is to be all that I intend to be in defiance to the odds and opposing factors, in honor of those who laid a groundwork of blood, sweat and tears. To illuminate my destiny in spite of what everybody else isn’t.
Entry #162
The long internship. I feel life has its ways of preparing us for what lies ahead. In an untold manner, far before it will ever make sense, we are learning valuable lessons and building something of a “tool box”–a very unique and specialized skill set that will pay dividends down the road. It is truly a matter of perspective as to how you view the various occurrences in your life. The trials, tribulations and losses are mere learning experiences to later draw upon; the daunting challenges meant there but to galvanize your spirit. The bizarre cast of characters whose paths you’ll inevitably cross are case studies and reference points and teachers from which to learn. The often arduous and seemingly trivial tasks of the daily doldrums are there to impart invaluable instruction that will indubitably come into play at some later and unexpected date. When it comes to trivia and seemingly “useless” information, as I see it, I “know what needs to be known”, having access to just the right amount of information on varied topics to serve me well when the moment dictates… Forever learning and questioning and strengthening my base. No data is “useless” in a world so wide, no tool in your utility belt insignificant when the situation you’re in demands its deft utilization. Take no nugget of knowledge for granted, sneer at no proficiency as unimportant, regard no friend as disposable, no encounter as trifling, no task as fruitless, for life, at its essence is but one big internship... On-the-job training for the greatest of conquests that lies ahead--the conquering of your dreams.
Entry #163
Find the good. One of my father’s greatest qualities, tough guy that he was, was his ability to look past the quirks and flaws, the shortcomings and imperfections in his friends and acquaintances and to focus on the good in a person. To find that which had value and worth--the inherent decency in a person’s character, and to allow that to inform their relationship. All too often I have stood in judgment, wielding hurtling stones within my glass residence, getting caught up in external superficialities and my own bullshit existential crises, often holding people to an unrealistic standard. Who am I to judge? What right do I have to label and marginalize? I am my brother’s keeper and if anything I must lend support and wisdom. I must nurture and give guidance. I must key in on the elemental beauty intrinsic to humankind and exert my energies toward helping it flourish and prosper. Trite notions of New Year’s promises aside, this is my solemn resolution. In the days that lie ahead, it is not enough to merely strive for accomplishment and achievement for personal gain and satisfaction, but instead to enrich your family, your neighborhood, your universe through your own progress and development. To contribute to the greater good, by striving to be greater than just good and to carry your brother in his moments of weakness along the way. To embrace, accept and uplift. In loving unconditionally we can better condition ourselves to be loved. In finding the good in our brethren, we can rediscover the good in ourselves.
Entry #164
The urgency of destiny. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Smashing through my tympanic membrane like an Apache war drum channeled through 12” Kicker subs, I can hear Father Time tirelessly chasing me down. Ten years ago, I was barely street legal just beginning to conjure my life’s pursuit. Ten years before that I was a cocky guard with one too few passes before a shot and one too many lines shaved in the side of my hair. In the blink of an eye another decade will evaporate into the ether. Believe that. The casual daze of our monotonous days will rob us of the most valuable commodity we have—time. Wake. The. Fuck. Up. This day that you’re currently wasting living a life that is not your own will soon be gone, as will be the present moment in which you are reading this rally cry. This is the only life you have—the only opportunity you will ever get to take your shot, to do that which you are compelled, to be that which you’ve only dreamt of being. Our precious lives are not sitcoms frozen in time to live on forever in late night syndication. We are feeling, growing, evolving, breathing, eating, shitting, creating, aging organisms that like all animated matter on this planet will eventually wither and die. There is no cosmic pause or reset button for you to push when the moment comes that you begin to value how fucking immeasurably fortunate you were to be able to get out of bed this bitter cold January morning. I pray that you come to know the urgency of destiny, that soon you’re able to embrace the fact that you were destined to be here to do something of great consequence. This miserable excuse for a life that you bitch and moan about each day is the greatest gift you’ve ever been given. Make the most of it now, because someday soon it will be no more. And that someday soon may be sooner than you think.
 

 

 

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