Celestial Navigation 

I’ve been thinking about the stars. 

It helps that I’m sitting on the beach in south Florida, the white noise of the waves speaks and quietens my inner screaming. That annoying voice that says you’re found wanting, never good enough. The ocean just is, and that is accepting and a comfort. 

Back to the celestial bodies, not the tiny ones on the beach, but the ones on the celestial sphere. I marvel at the idea that knowledge passed down through the eons allowed the ancient cultures to travel by the stars. It wasn’t until recent time that an accurate clock could even work on a ship yet the Polynesian people were able to find there way without, just by watching the stars. 

Putting myself in that celestial perspective in instantly calmed by the certitude that humanity can look outward to see direction beyond the banal and stupidity of the present. I’m encouraged by the thought that it will always be so, the stars, even long after we are gone. 

Thinking about the stars. 

©The Autobiography of Mr. Perfect, 2016

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We follow a trajectory.

From birth, our trajectory is set by our unique circumstances, some vastly different from others, under conditions which we have no control. As tiny babes we are launched into the cruel and loving world like projectiles just that initial impulse that send us on a certain path through life.

Gravity, it warps the fabric of space, objects in space weigh down this fabric and the gravity well is dependent on the mass of the object, the more massive the larger the distortion of the fabric of space. An object traveling through space rides on this fabric, and like marbles that travel on a wavy blanket, the object trajectory can change as it rolls past the dips in the fabric. The warps change the trajectory with no regard to the initial vector, setting the object on a vastly different course, but in all cases the object also impacts some small influence on the large massive bodies, it’s just physics.

As people, we have encounters with people, places, and events, all of which have and affect us, they alter our trajectory like the gravitational pull of large bodies. And just like physics we affect change in the larger massive bodies just by whizzing past. The closer we pass the larger the impact, and the greater the change we can effect on our environment.

Gravity, it works over distance, but as distance increases, the impact lessens.

In life, the impact on our personal life is proportional to closeness to people, places or events. If we are too close, the person, place or event is too heavy, we spiral into the center and are captured, stuck in orbit we can never leave. Sometimes events can pile up to a supermassive level, then they tend to collapse in on themselves and we are sucked in never to escape into the black hole of life, and go nowhere, our journey is at an end. 

If we look back over the trajectory of our life we will see those obvious changes, but what we don’t see is the impact we’ve had on others. Our effect on others is gradual, even at our lightest, we still have an imperceptible, sometimes changing others in unimagined ways. We always need to know that all interactions have both impact to us and to the other. And as we gain stature we gain mass and can somehow affect events and people much further away, it is an important lesson.

Recently I was arguing with a very massive friend of mine, who has tremendous influence over me, and I felt like I was not moved by her logic, but after looking back at my own trajectory in my life since I had met her, I saw that her impact had a significant change on my trajectory, and that those conversations in the aggregate had been significant in changing my attitudes and life focus, in effect changing my trajectory. With that thought I felt that I changed her as well in some imperceptible way, or at least I had hoped.

Blessed with the knowledge that we are changed in even tiny ways by each person we meet and can even those we meet, I am joyed at the opportunity to affect change even in the greater world by just being me. 

Gravity, it is a wonderful thing.

©The Autobiography of Mr. Perfect, 2016

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Missing you

I walked out to the beach and you were there.  I could feel you beside me as I walked, you kept bumping into me that way you do as you’re distracted by the beauty and wonder, forgetting where you are. Not here, but in the back of my memory.

I look at the seashells scattered on the beach and hold out my hand as you dart from cache of tragically perfect or beautifully flawed works of nature back to my hand, as each one is drying slowly in my upturned palm, I see you smile up at my face. Not here, but in my memory. 

I looked up at the seabirds dancing on the sky, screeching and graceful in the chaos of their swooping flight and I heard you exclaim, beautiful! Not here, but in my thoughts.

I see two lovers kiss and I feel your lips on mine, as you squeeze my hand with a question mark on your face, I smile a response to your offer.  Not here, but in my fantasy.

I hear your light intake of breath at the beauty of the sun slipping below the ocean and feel your soft breath on my ear as you hug me close as it disappears completely. Not here, but in my heart. 

As I lay down at night and think of sleep and dreams to come, I hear your soft snore, smell your warm sweetness, and feel your leg on my hip as I hold you in my arms. Not here, but someday. 

When I woke, I lay there and thought of you and the empty feeling in my heart that comes when you leave, as if you took a piece of my heart with you when you left.

I know that piece of my heart that you took with you; reminds you to eat lunch, it strokes your hair and kisses your tears away when you’re sad, it bites your neck and says rude things in hopes that they make you smile. 

And I know that you left a piece of your with me, it’s that piece of your heart that keeps me company and watches over me and caresses my thoughts when I miss you.

©The Autobiography of Mr. Perfect, 2016

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Pink sheets

Pulling back the bed cover I saw that there was pink sheets on the bed. 

Perfect, I thought, with not a little sarcasm.

Earlier that day I’d passed up a fuck date in exchange for some time.

Time alone.

So here I was, alone with the reminder of what I missed, and what I gained.

Was the exchange worth it.

I was in a crappy 40 dollar hotel in the florida panhandle.  I was on one of my ‘quests for inner self awareness.’  

Find yourself, after losing yourself! Something that I did often, with limited sucess.

The room was in one of those really old highway motels that are one storey with a front and back window a small rust stained bathroom and a musty damp smell.

It was raining outside and cold inside inspite of the 70 degree day. The AC loud and sonorous, had one setting off or on, and it failed to pull the damp out, but did put the temp at a cold 65 degrees.  

The cold  with the thin pink sheets and almost as thin coverlet on the impossibly hard king size bed made a nearly it a nearly unsleepable night. 

Sleep was the last thing I needed anyway, in a zombie like state since I left home, I’d stopped at a ‘sometimes’ (yes you may assume she was a Florida booty call) girlfriend’s house while making my way south.  Not sure why I called her, chalk it up to sins of the flesh, but I opted to move on and stayed here instead of her bed.

Dumb decision, In horny hindsight, but it would’ve been no good, too distracted by the thought of my inner journey I would’ve been a disappointment to her and me.   This journey of self discovery was one that I needed, so I eskewed the offer. (Keep telling yourself that if it helps).

I was on a journey of letting go, letting go of the past, seeking a path forward; shit, maybe even trying to find the path! So, since as a male I can’t do two things at once, not with my brain and body, I opted out and gave my apologies and hit the road.  

Which brings me to right here, stopping when I could no longer drive seeing a roadside motel and waking the nice Indian lady at 1am to get this room. 

40 dollars.  A deal!  They still had the old fashioned key on the plastic tab, for which I had to put down a 5 dollar deposit returnable when the key was returned.

Inside the room was clean though stained with life, the bed completely filling the room, a small bath with a frosted back window, not often you stay in a place where there is an easy escape out back, note to self-make a beeline for here next time I’m on the lamb from the law! At least I would be prepared in case things went south, like in the movies.  

Dropping my duffel on the bed, I put my cooler down on the floor and pulled out my bottle of vodka, and my trusty tumbler. I never go anywhere with out glass, cut-rate motels never have glass and my vodka eats right through paper cups.  

Scooping out some unmelted cubes from the water, I poured a large drink, taking it into the bath to get a shower.

Slipping into the pink sheets, a poor substitute for the pink I’d passed up earlier that evening, I contemplated the next day.  Beach, sand, and thought, I needed to look out into the oceans waves and wait for inspiration, the mother of all life, the ocean was my friend.  As I drifted off, my thought was I needed a shit-ton of booze.

Considering my life up to now, fucking to fill the empty parts of my life, I was happy, life outside of life, that was where I was, simple easy and soothing.  A balm that Gilead didn’t hold a candle. Booze sand and sun. 

(Note to readers, this story was started a few years ago but I never finished it. I’ve always loved the irony of pink sheets as a counterpoint to carnal knowledge of wonderful sexual release, so I kept editing it over and over, the trajectory of time space not withstanding, and I’ve had way toooo much rye whiskey tonight, so I’ve let my child go, to make it’s way in the blosisphere (is that still a thing?) , so be kind and know it’s still all typed with thumbs on my semi smart phone.  Love and kisses, Mr. P)

©The Autobiography of Mr. Perfect, 2016


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I dreamed about you…

Giving into the night, I drank too much very good vodka, diluted with grapefruit juice. Staggering through the deep silence of the end of the day I found myself in bed, awake at 3am drifting up from a dream about you. 

The dream was surreal, on my way to meet you for lunch, I kissed the breasts of a transgender woman, lost my shoes on a bus, missed my stop by miles, hired an uber ride which ended up being a motorized tricycle, forced to wear a very heavy helmet that locked onto my head, all while talking to you on my phone where you kept asking when I would arrive for our lunch. You were holding our table and I should have just told you to eat without me, but I had hope to arrive soon.

Drifting back into sleep, after turning off the lights, I tried to grasp the tendrils of the dream, to renew my journey to your side, but the threads were weak and I was unable to pull myself to you, instead I was just as lost in my dream state longing to see you. I never made it to lunch and I woke in a funk.

Wandering through the fog of my morning with the intent to get to work, you texted me a good morning thought from Rumi, that made it better.  Bittersweet, but nonetheless better. 

©The Autobiography of Mr. Perfect, 2016

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I’m glad I talked to you…

I’m glad I talked to you.

Today on the lake someone drowned, a tearful woman told me it was two people, taken too early.  Both from the same family.

I’m glad I talked to you.

A joy-filled day at the lake turned horribly wrong. That instant turn from fun to deep wrenching pain of loss. And I know that’s just the beginning. 

I’m glad I talked to you. 

I could only think about was what was the last thing they had heard from a loved one, not that it matters to the drowned, but those left crying by the shore, what did they say? 

I’m glad I talked to you.

Did the left behind remember an admonishment given? A cross word? Or a loving moment?

I’m glad I talked to you. 

Did they wonder what went through the mind of their loved ones as they passed on to the next stop? We’re they scared, did they reach for a loved one hoping for rescue? 

I’m glad I talked to you.

Every day someone is taken from this light, forever gone, no second chances, do we wonder if our last interaction might be their last?

I’m glad I talked to you.

In the last day, thousands of lives have slipped the earthy bonds, no warning, just gone. Take care what you say, how you act, how you love. Life is previously short.

I’m glad I talked to you, because it may be my last chance to tell you how much I care. 

Love and cherish one another. Treat each day like it is because it certainly will be some day.  Because one day it will be, and there is no second chance. 

Ascent, Barbara Hult Lekburg, BMA Sculpture Garden

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Summer of Love… 

The summer of love was ushered in by a full moon on the solstice in 1967, tonight returns the full moon and the solstice.  Sitting in my front yard I watch the moon rise with my friend and she has but one word for the sight, “beautiful…”

Will this moonrise on the Solstice in 2016 usher in a new era of love and acceptance? Considering all the hate in the world we can only hope.

We can hope that this be the beginning of the universal summer of love for man, woman and all kind.  Let’s all look up at this beautiful moon, Luna, clothed in silver and gold and put aside our long held predejuces and turn to one another with the knowledge that we are not so different, that we all value love, yes it has many varied forms, but we still love and we all want peace and warmth.

Let us pray in, our own special way, that those who just don’t get it are finally touched with the grace of acceptance so they too can accept us, in spite of our differences and faults, accepting the truth that all are good at their core no matter the exterior that we are the same in love, and that they will finally just reach out and accept that we are not a threat, but partners in human kindness.

As I turn to my special friend, and reach to embrace in the lovely silver light of the moon, my heart aches with joy to share this moment and I hope beyond hope that this moon will shine down on a humanity lost in hate and turn hearts of stone to warmth, prayers to reality and peace for at least a summer.

Put aside idiology in the knowledge that love knows no bounds and transcends all in this universal summer of love ushered in by the feminine moon Luna. We all come from woman, in this we can agree, so let us honor our source and go forth in peace.


Peace be with you all, Mr. Perfect, 2016.

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