It's Gonna Be Fun, Baby!

An interesting article in Newsweek this week about boys failing. With some pretty damning quotes: "Often boys are treated like defective girls".

This gets me going for about a million reasons, but I'll stick to the subject at hand. It's borderline abuse the way parents treat their kids these days (half of them have circles under their eyes), and I think the mixed messages that kids get makes it all but impossible to grow up feeling loved and supported. We push them to excel, insist they do arts and sports (until we insist they "grow up" and concentrate on something that pays, which increasingly won't even pay), and think that whatever it is that they'll do will be done at the frantic level of anxiety that we race around with.

Your kids are emotionally pure. They are sponges. And in a sense pay for every dual standard you hold. It's like yelling at someone to relax. If the person listens (and I think kids increasingly tune adults out for exactly this reason), and they care, they end up not relaxed but more anxious and conflicted. Kids do what we do, not what we say. They respond directly and immediately to the standard we set--—be they love, leniency, flexibility, domineering, patience, whatever. A kid with a "problem" can be turned around in a second--—as most people can--—not by insisting they're messed up and must change, but by the person with a larger perspective acting in exactly the way that he or she wants to act in the situation.

It takes two to be messed up. No one is messed up without being so in relationship to another person (which is a very different thing that us--as adults--being messed up BECAUSE of others, which we are not.) And a committed, open, honest person can make a relationship "healthy", fun and happy 99.999% of the time by learning what it is that he or she needs to do--—how he or she really wants to respond to being manipulated, someone being needy, vulnerability, etc. This often requires facing one's own worst fears, which is why it doesn't get done as often as we'd like. You can do this with your mom, your kids, your friends, your boss, anyone. Get wicked about your vulnerability, what you encourage and discourage in other people, and insist on a relaxed, loving foundation to the relationship. Take the lead emotionally, which means taking the lead from below, from a position of open hands. (And take no shit, regardless.)

The bottom line is you can't be manipulated if you are unwilling to be manipulated. Nor can you be let down if you take full responsibility for your own happiness. The more you adapt this perspective, the less you'll find you need it, which means the more you should insist on maintaining it if youre smart.

Back to the male question, I firmly believe that men are at a crossroads. A precipice. We've mastered the material world and found it didn't make us any happier. We went to or stopped going to church and found that didn't do what we expected. We went and did new age stuff and found that we weren't mountain men any more either. Our relationships may have stopped being bad, but they didn't get deeper, they didn't have an essential change in their nature. They didn't get much better. Including our relationship with ourselves. The sex didn't get better. We didn't stop wanting coffee and beer and porn. (Hell, Kanye just admitted he's addicted to porn and my Chi-Town brother there could have the real thing every night if he wanted! That's saying something. Will we settle for jacking off because we can't handle the real thing in real time? This may be our biggest question.)

It would be easy to say that our women came after us. That we lost the public sphere where we mattered and we can't we didn't, we couldn't, etc., etc. But that's bullshit. We have been wanting to retreat and turn inward for years and we haven't done it. That's on us. We don't want the public sphere, we're tired of it. We don't even believe it. It's bullshit. It's absurd. Computers can do most of what needs to be done anyway. We just get on a plane, shake the hand and go out for drinks. For us, that's bullshit. We were born to do, to make, to create, to render, to feel and be. Huge in some cases. Quiet in others. Smart, physical, alive, with feeling! Boldly, with some swagger, mates! From the hips. Put your back into it!

And we stopped doing this. Because we thought we had to.

And part of being a man is doing what's expected of you. But a bigger part is not doing what's expected of you when what's expected doesn't work. Or isn't right. Or would make you less of a man. And that's the part we're sleeping on. Why are we surprised that our children, both boys and girls, are feeling our failure.

School didn't work for me. I was horrible at sitting down and shutting the fuck up for 7 hours a day. And looking back on it now, I'm not surprised that by the time I got out all I wanted to do was ride a skateboard, drink beer and coffee, screw and screw around. Regress. I'm not surprised that I was more confused the deeper I got into the "real" world. And more and more depressed.

And to become the person I wanted to be, that I always had been, that I always knew was true, I had to say "fuck it" to this whole world and way of living again and again and again. The white way, the right way, the money-grubber or non-profiteer way. The this OR that way. And I had to do so against the better wishes/overt dissaproval of my girlfriends, my mom, my sisters, my friends, and most magazines and TV shows--—all well-intentioned. Only my dad never told me to stop. He never really encouraged me or gave me any insight to the problem as a whole, but he never told me to buck up and go get a damn job either. And for where he came from that was an act of tender love. One I'd appreciate more had I not been so starving for a man who would let me learn from his mistakes, or even admit them.

I was fortunate enough to meet a black man who had decided he didn't want to live in limbo--—to pretend things were okay when they weren't. And he taught me a lot. If you mean "fuck it" sooner or later you've got to say "fuck it". He didn't teach me everything, his method had some stark, glaring shortcomings, but we're very fortunate to live with black people, and we've got a lot to learn from them. (And them from us, most likely.) Once we stop thinking they're "underprivileged", or that we're "privledged", we'll find a whole world open up right under our noses. That we're both blessed to be alive and have a world that reflects what we create.

Writing my book I spend half my time wading through the fear and loathing that school, college and being white, proper and professional had entombed me with. (Don't end a sentence with a preposition--see I still have it, I just know when to ignore the shit.) I could think but not speak. I was right but didn't know the truth. I was smart but not wise, or even necessarily caring. --Exactly because I was so caring--and had seen my efforts rewarded so poorly. Found so little reward for giving a shit. Wanted to be cool and professional and strong, etc.

School is that fear institutionalized. So is work. We operate from a critical perspective. Johnny can't read and will be tested until he makes himself able. Once you prove to us you can do the job, once your credentials are beyond reproach, we'll hire you (unless we can find someone else overseas to do it.) We test each other all day every day and then wonder why we're impotent and exhausted once we get into bed. Only a crazy person would get turned on by the shit we choose to do.

So our desire is fetishized. Marilyn Manson, yada, yada, yada. I'll skip this.

What I'm saying is that how we live is how we live. How we are alive. For a while our economy was so weak and our lives so strong that we could keep something of a balance alive. But not anymore. Nor do we want to.

Our kids are the canaries in our coal mines. And they're dropping like flies. And we still don't believe. We medicate them, send them to counselors, etc. Anything but admit that what we want is really the answer for us both. We expect that our lack of faith--—our absurdity--—will remain hidden from them like some kind of adult belief in Santa. That they'll get somewhere we were afaid to go--and be able to do so —without turning on us.

So what's the other way? How could school make warm kids instead of cool ones?

What if it assumed every child inherently gifted and provided tools and methods to discover and explore those gifts. What if it allowed them to grow and change (not to mention walk around and talk to each other--—hello!?) And then had a period or two a day of additional stuff that they might not stumble upon on their own. What if we removed criticism--the critical method--from the core of our selves and replaced it with a secular faith. With a real faith. Faith in everything (as opposed to most religion's faith in whatever it is that they've deemed proper).

What if children grew up around people who were happy and doing exactly what they wanted every day instead of overworked, harried, security-minded people. What if they were raised by and people who exercised belief and faith first--—overtly--—and concern and worry second, only when absolutely necessary? What if they were encouraged when they talked about Plan A and discouraged when they talked about Plan B. Cause we're obviously living Plan B all around here. The most powerful and free people in the history of the world. Unable to even get a hard-on without advertised drugs.

At some point you've just got to try the other way.

Men, our boys aren't going to be shit that we aren't. We're not going to somehow throw them clear of the problems we were afraid to face. And if we never man up how will they? Or rather, how will they be able to without forsaking our weakness? If we grow up believing that our deepest dreams are impossible, shameful even, then how can they realize theirs without destroying us mentally, emotionally and physically? How can they feel safe when all we've ever shown them is fear--—on a minute by minute basis. They may come back and be nice to us, but what will it matter then? We'll be broken and old. Unable to feel. Out of touch. We may have frozen it out, but they're alive, feel, are present. It's not yet a casual choice or a process of momentum for them. And it's not women that have to stop something for the state of men to improve, it's men that have to want and do something. Commit their lives. Life and death. To what they want.

And we have to do it no matter what women say. Take full responsibility! It's not their job to believe we can make it, to validate or approve. It would be nice if they did, and definitely take any support you can get, but ultimately, if it was easy or already done, you wouldn't be very interested in it anyway. Would you? That's why you're a man. (Or aspire to be one).

Along the way we'll have to negotiate what will seem at times like a lack of drive and purpose. We'll have to think and figure explore. We'll be ridiculed for being soft, pussies, fags. By ourselves. I heard a grown man call another guy a fag in the locker room Monday because of what kind of underwear he was wearing. I turned and said "I don't like to hear that kind of stuff". The guy, who probably benched more than I did, and certainly had more tattoos, said sorry. But he could have kicked my ass. Or called me (who was sitting there wearing an all red almost matching work-out outfit and taking his shorts off to be replaced with a pink Polo towel) a fag. The point is we are what we tolerate, what we create and allow. What we watch and enjoy.

It will hurt most when it comes from our lovers. When they say "I think you like the IDEA of writing". (This one's in The Love Artist, btw). But that's just what is. We can either say "fuck you" or we'll roll over and kiss them (buy T-LA, see which I did). And that will mean more for our children's future than all the miniature Jeep Commandos and Xbox cartridges we buy them, and all the hot meals and baseball games and piano recitals (although those do count). If we are doing what we want, they do it naturally. It's easy. Instinct. If not then conflict it. They'll either live inspired or have to be motivated. And they'll raise their kids the same way. In a world that is much, much more of whatever it is that we made.

The funny thing is that it's so much easier, except for the fact that we've never done it before. We don't even factor in the cost of worry, fear and doubt anymore, so used to it, so in love with it we are. We don't even pretend we miss relaxation, we just want to be more perfectly stressed. Believe me, for what fear and doubt cost us, there's more than enough to let everyone go free. Forever. It wasn't always (maybe) but it is now. I guarantee.

The economy is crashing. It's being rebuilt so fast that it's hard to see, but it is crashing. If you factor in the emotional and personal cost of what our economy cost, it is an absolute depression. The environmental ruin we're faced with is little more than a symbol of what we're missing as a people--in each other, as people.

We can try to keep it up--with our economic, social and personal stashes of viagra, but ultimately we cost too much to continue to compete on the material plane. We have made ourselves too valuable--and luckily (luckily because we have no problem disbelieving ourselves)--we've transferred that value into the land. So we can't even afford to do and make more more effieiently on the material plane. NOR DO WE WANT TO!! We're just afeared to do anything else. "It's all he knows" we say to guests when grandpa sits down at the dinner table in his top hat and calls the family to order like a board meeting. "so we humor him". But then it's you who's crazy and grandpa who's sane.

Anyway.

Our culture is perfectly positioned to own the next overwhelmingly huge thing: creativity. (Notice to concerned hand-wringers--ownership is non-exclusive in the spiritual/creative plane). And this economy will be enormous compared to manufacturing, sales, services, information and distrobution--maybe 8 times bigger within 25 years. And it'll grow faster, hurt less, pollute less, care more and both profit and prophet us more. In the US, we've got a more modern culture and less baggage than any other nation in the world. But we've still got some work to do--and we won't get there without some serious rock-gut pioneers. Some serious lovers and livers. Stand up men and women. And we have nowhere else to go. And life is persistant and long. What you want, if it's true, never goes away. It only grows and grows and grows. Sooner or later you either kill yourself or answer the call.

White Gold is in the perfect position for this shit. But if you let me get too far ahead, I'm not only gonna own the GM, Google, Van Gogh, MIcrosoft and TIger Woods of this shit, I'll also have a lock on the Xeroxes, the Warner Brothers, the Lexis/Nexis, the WAL*MART, the eBay and the Chase. The territory is unlimited, so a monopoly's impossible, but still, it takes close to ten years to turn your shit around and get back up to speed. To get real, baby. To grow out of your counter-culture tendancies even if you're already a talented, practicing artist. (Note: my artistic chops helped me —almost none. Art ain't gonna save your life, either. But YOU can save IT--providing you save yourself that is. And I'm guessing that's what you really want to do.)

And you're more than likely going to have to go through The Love Artist to get there. Or risk being derivative, or worse yet, not even close. You can wait until the album next fall or winter. Or the documentary (more show than prove, though) this spring. But from where I can see, y'all don't have the time. And they're still going to be at least $140 and $160. Nor would I suggest living with your mother for any longer than you absolutely have to (thought I thank and love my mom very much).

Hell, $120 for the blueprint will be the cheapest thing you get the whole time. And it'll get you seventy times as far as the $60 massages you're going to have to get just to deal with the embodied fear and mental trepidation of facing your own shit. A bargain compared to what the $15 yoga classes led by women who really want you to be more flexible will get you (and god bless them because they're doing the exact right thing for them). A mere pittance compared to the $125 an hour therapist you'll seek out hoping beyond hope to find someone who has found a way. (After you humiliate yourself by asking for the sliding scale because you can barely afford groceries and are already living on credit cards--—and don't even try a female therapist or some cheap chucklehead. You need a guy with all gray, in full-blown love relationship, lives in a landscaped home, and preferably still participates in sports, But then you'll still spend 6 months thinking you should go back to school and become a therapist). Who believes and hasn't cut his own dick off or converted to buddhism or decided to worship "the goddess".

Almost nothing compared to the places you'll search for someone to say "you're doing exactly the right thing. And this is how it feels. And keep going. You can do it. You're doing a great job. [Insert your protest here] Yes, that's exactly right, and you're going to keep going. And it's going to get better. Uh-huh! And you'll might see that again. But it won't bother you as much. That's good."

And then I'll pull my book from Amazon, because they want 55% of the cover price (for what?!). And the world can line up and thank me for putting the shit out so cheaply. For getting it out at all when all anyone else did was walk around and think it, or maybe jot some notes in a private journal or tell their girlfriend, or get mad and ironic and quiet. When without it, their kid would have been the Trenchcoat Mafia. Kip Kinkel. Dedicated to destroying the very institution that was supposed to nurture them. Because it was killing them. And there wasn't a man around who would stand up and even admit the truth in public, let alone listen and understand.

And my job will be to walk around, make music, feel everything in color, rock my wife's world on a near-daily basis, smile at babies in the grocery store, and otherwise be male and human without being mad that it took so fucking long for people to get it or get too excited that I was the one who went and got this love first. Cause it's love. And like all love, it's free and equally available to all.

And remain a good person when people stop ignoring me like I claimed I wanted when I'm hungry and going to get some lunch.

It's gonna be fun, baby!

Wanna come?