Lawrence Hollie's Obligatory Blog

1989- One last go at innocence, arrival of the new man

lawrencehollie — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 04:44:10 +0000

36 rolled around and I had little fear of it. Getting older hasn’t made me feel as much as it has made me think.

Uh.

What do I think about, other than THAT?

Sometimes I think about my past. I do this in an attempt to connect the dots from my current self to the dude I used to be. I try and see what traits have been discarded and which ones have stuck. Above it all I try to see the point where life started becoming a bit, well, darker. Not negative per se but I would be lying to you if I said that my 15 year old self wouldn’t have shuddered in fear over the events that altered my family and by extension myself. After pondering over it for some time I came to the conclusion that 1989 was the line in the sand between what was and what was coming. Check this out.

1989. I was 15 years old, wide eyed and naive. Not stupid, not ignorant, it’s just that my world view was one colored by rigid religious teachings and lots and lots of fantasies both benign and significantly perverted.
In my life 1989 was pivitol for a few reasons. For starters it was the year that I had my first official job. Beginning that May I worked as a cashier/stock boy at the long defunct toy chain Tons of Toys. Crash course in responsibility that was. I didn’t really know what the hell I was getting into, all I did know was that I wanted to work badly since I was a little kid and my mom finally relented. The gig was an eye opener. First off, I learned that just because one works in a retail store it doesn’t mean you get any free merch or discounts of significant import.

At least I didn’t while working at
Tons of Toys.

My visions of a complimentary NES game and Ninja Turtle figures were dashed when I learned that the only perk we got as employees was a %10 discount. Better than nothing I supposed but upon working there I realized that there was little I wanted anyway.

So that one bit the dust.

What was the second thing I learned?

Rather, what was reinforced?

Cause and effect.

See I was a somewhat, SOMEWHAT, sheltered kid at 15. I wasn’t a lazy slob nor was I much of a self starting little fellow. At home I would irregulary be tasked with chores, my room was a borderline toxic disaster but I got an allowance anyway. The only areas where I was commanded to hold the line was with religion and school. Follow religion, go to school and do your homework. Respect authorities and all that. But handling myself at a job was something my mom had almost nothing to do with and little interest in. It appears, at least from this point in my life, that she respected my job as my turf and maybe she figured that I would handle it like an adult. For the most part any confidence she had in my secular performance was warranted since I was ,if nothing at all, consistently ok as a Tons of Toys employee. But occassionally my actions and behavior reminded me that I was still very much a kid. For example, I remember this time where my boss assigned me with the task of stocking some shelves with 30 boxes of army toys. Fine. From what I recall this was month number four on the job, I had been doing alright and I felt really comfortable with my coworkers and boss. So I didn’t think there would be any problem if I stacked half of the boxes and saved the rest for the next day. I also didn’t think I was to blame since she gave me the assignment 30 minutes before my shift ended. The caveat was that I did the assignment really slow from what I can recall. I had a tendancy to lapse into daydreams. In fact, I remember now, I put up about ten boxes and then passed out in a children’s wading pool in the middle of the aisle. People were walking past me as I stared blankly at the ceiling thinking of heck knows what. My shift ended and I left more than half a box full of army toys sitting tall in the wading pool in the middle of the aisle.

Bad move.

Next day I came in and my boss was PISSED. Calmly but clearly angry she told me that she considered firing me for leaving that mess of toys in the middle of the aisle. I think the fact that I was a decent and respectful worker, at least up until that point in her mind I presume, saved the day. From that point on I stepped up my game and never stopped.

The last thing that I’ll mention about what I learned on the job has to do with not crapping where you eat. In plain english, it’s not a good idea to get romantically involved with a coworker.
My mom wouldn’t allow my bro and I to date until we were 18. Perhaps that was a blessing because I’m horny now, I was even WORSE when I was 15. As much as I love sex, I now value it as a bond between my girlfriend and I, something initimate and meant as an expression of love and to be honest, lust. But in her case I really LOVE her, that is what actually makes it more arousing to me. I’m having sex with the only other person on the planet who I love as much as myself. It’s a two way street. Give and take. Based on love.

At 15? I couldn’t wait to have sex with anything that was physically desirable in even the most REMOTE way. If a girl or woman was borderline attractive and showed a bit of skin, say the smallest bit of cleavage, I would recall it later and then handle myself in the privacy of my bedroom so long as my mom wasn’t spying on me by my door.
Good times. I remember there was this one girl at Tons of Toys that wasn’t particularly a knock out. She was kinda dumpy, pale, pale, PALE skin and beedy eyes set in a Cabbage Patch-esque face. BUT she would always wear these shirts that she would umbutton down to the cleavage. For that she would go from a 3 to about a 7. Boooooing. I tried again and again to have my way with her in the storage room, specifically the upstairs attic storage for the bikes. Knowing nothing about healthy relationships and flirting but everything about lust and self gratification, I would engage in hysterical and hackneyed attempts at making out with her. Thing is she would occassionally string me along with a line like “But we’re at work.” “Who has to know?” asked I. “Oh Lawrence.” she said and then walk past me, down the steps and out to the front. Her presence frustrated me enough that it was hard to concentrate when we were assigned some mutual task. It was worse because I thought in my young mind that if I played my cards right, her and I could mess around. On the job. In the bike attic. How romantic. Frustrating to boot. And uncomfortable. Lesson learned, no interoffice/studio/factory romances for this guy. Over the years whenever I found myself in a similar position I would always remember the nonsense I put myself through with that girl and then do my best to hit the brakes.

Life lessons learned. And there was oh so much more that happened throughout ’89 that I can go into in some other post.

In the meantime, I’m here, you are there. ….trying to think of a George Carlin-esque rhyme to end with.

Damn I miss that guy.

As long as you remember.

lawrencehollie — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 05:58:53 +0000

Long ago on some Boston area UHF channel they would broadcast the Benny Hill Show. Benny Hill was a British comedian/actor who primarily focused on skits featuring slapstick and sexual innuendo. My mom wasn’t all that pleased by my love for the program but damn did I think it was funny. Sometimes Benny perform a song or recite one of his rhymes. Often times these were filled with subtle raunch and puns. There is one song that pops up in my mind periodically called Go Round Again. While nothing epic it does make me think about life, taking things for granted and death.
Without going into too much detail Hill sings about a poor little boy named Johnny who becomes fascinated with riding a merry go round. When his mom cuts his ride short he begs her to let him “go round again”. From that point on everytime Johnny gets into something good he begs to go round again. Suffice to say when he dies he pleads to God for another shot at life with the following “Lord can I go round again? Please let me go round again?
Oh I can’t believe that I’ll never see your sky or your trees again. Oh the girls and the wine and the living were fine, I shouldn’t complain but then, you give damned short rides on this fairground of yours, Lord please let me go round again”. I almost, almost get choked up whenever I think of that line.
What’s the point I’m trying to make?

Well.

You may believe in some sort of after life or maybe you think that God is gonna help you get out of dying all together. Some religions, songs and sayings stress that you ignore the present and focus on the future both near and far flung. Nothing wrong with thinking or planning for the future but focusing on it, doing it to the point where you ignore the present? Not a good idea. Furthermore taking the little things for granted is more than a bit of a mistake. Obsessing over some big event will cloud your focus on the subtler situations happening to you as you read this. Because remember, the big event will come no matter what. And then it will end, no matter what. Then what do you do? Do you just cheap chasing the next big thrill and be unhappy until you get there? Some folks do that. But not me, not you. Nope. We stop. We listen and feel ourselves in the moment. In the now, right here or right there. And then it goes. The near or far future is a theory. Hasn’t happened and no telling if it will. The big thrills, the big events are a blast. But look around around you, look at those commonplace things that you sit near or walk by every single day. Look at the sky, trees, your good friend, your loved one, your pet. All those things. The things that are so common right now but could be and will be gone someday. I’m not trying to depress you, I’m trying to get you to think. Right NOW is what you got. Yoir life and decisions are in yoir hands as you read this. Take nothing for granted, decide what YOU want to do, I mean REALLY want to do and work within your parameters and means to achieve your ends. If you value your associates then let them know that. By ‘em a coffee or soda or something darn it. Look at you. You are ok, you know that?

Now go.

Remember you got one shot at this.

Once it’s all done memories of you will stick for a little while but nothing can bring you back.

And there is only ONE YOU.

The rule 3.

lawrencehollie — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 00:20:56 +0000

That thing that sits inside our head. Firing off sundry ideas, urges and itches. Your brain, baby. You can know what you want to eat five minutes from now but you will be shocked by your own ideas five hours from now. What about the strength of a thought or an urge? Can you control your urges? What is the basis of an urge? Are the things we crave indicitive of a deeper and more significant need? At times yes and at times no. Sometimes you want you want, just because. Other times fulfilling a craving is a subconscience way of attemping to fill in the gaps within our hearts and minds. I’m just firing off while I lay here in another quiet midnight. Everything I write here is subjective unless I recall my own events which are still subjective to you because you will always be wondering wether or not I’m telling the truth. I tell you, I’m telling the truth. And believe this. I have conquered an urge and have been conquered by one at one time or another.

You will conquer.

You will be consumed.

What it was.

lawrencehollie — Fri, 15 Jan 2010 06:33:34 +0000

The first time. The first second. My heart skipped. The mind reeled. My breath stopped. She was beneath me. Under me. It was really her. I mean it was her in the flesh. Back in my arms and there in the flesh.
All that had gone before meant nothing. What was I doing? She sighed and was patient. The grey t-shirt falling off her shoulder, a black strap from her sport bra clinging, riding up her chest, over her shoulder and behind her
back. Slipping my hand under her t-shirt to feel the warmth of her body and pressing my lips gently against the nape of her neck. I surrounded her. I wanted her to feel me, all encompassing, embracing, needing and giving.
I craddled her head and ran fingers through her hair. Taking my time, rushing nothing. I felt her heart beating, her skin soft and warm. This was happening. Across miles, cities and towns and into my arms. Out of the cold.
Out of so many people and out of the bustle and fury of life we took a few minutes back. And now my blood was boiling. Lightly kissing her lips. Studying her face. With love. Without fear. With joy. Without jealousy. With hope.
Without desperation. I wanted to make her feel, I wanted her to feel my thoughts. I gripped her, hands clasping her shoulders, craddling her head. It was warm inside. Just so human. Her eyes were closed. I’m seeing her in a
unique way. Instincts took over and we began the rhythm. Slow, smooth and steady. Despite the covering I felt every texture. She was strong. So alive. The rhythm slow. Holding her head. Kissing her face. Grasping her, trying to meld
with her. It got serious. She wrapped her legs around mine. Things started moving faster. Breathing harder. A voice in my head saying “This is right. It feels so right.” The momentum picked up. She was strong. She had quite a grip.
“This feels so damn right.” Pounding damn it. Do it. In, out, in, out. The force of love, the business of reproduction. Then the sun exploded. My heart was scorched. I let loose enough data to populate a town. She grinned, confident in
her power and allure. Round two. Then three.

He was asking whys and whens.

lawrencehollie — Fri, 15 Jan 2010 06:05:43 +0000

The hours go by. Now becomes history in a blink and the space you occupy will be occupied by someone or something else in a few hours and a thousand years. Do you feel scared? I used to.
Anxiety was a constant in my life, particularly in my teens, twenties and first couple of years of my thirties. I look back at the wreckage caused by my incessant worrying and agonizing over strange and
trivial things. Even the concerns that were founded did not deserve the shit storm of fear and loathing I covered them with. To be burdened with that much fear is not allowing oneself to live in the now.
After a time you need to have trust and faith in yourself and the things that you do. Love is a turbulent venture. It can rip you to shreds, it can leave you stranded in bliss. It can make you rethink and
reassess everything that makes you, you. It can build you up. It can ruin you. If you let fear and anxiety have their way with it. Fear waits in the wings, it’s in your peripheral vision. It lingers in your heart and
sleeps in your mind. My advice? Get the mastery over it. Otherwise you are so going to miss out on everything. Back to love. One of the best things about it is the uncertainty. It is alive, dangerous and vital.
It challenges you to be better, to reinvent yourself and refine yourself. It takes your focus off of yourself and teaches you to give unselfishly, fearlessly no matter what the future holds.
When I’m in a good situation I no longer worry about what is coming five years down the road. I don’t worry about five hours or five minutes from where I am. A part of my brain, a primitive part, a childish
part screams and rants and worries and demands that I adhere to it’s cause. But to do so means that I have to die and become an automaton motivated by fear, loss, anger and pain. That is not the man I am
today, nor the man I want to ever be. Be in the now. Right now. In the now. Savor it. Savor everything, even if it aint so sweet because it will never be this way again and you can’t do it the same way twice.
Hold her hand. Hold his hand. Take that risk. Take the job. Do the thing. Say it. Say it. Say it and then DO IT!! DO IT!! Become what you must become. Do it with all your power and capabilities. You go around
once. Not later. NOW!

You know about them now what about me?

lawrencehollie — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 17:03:17 +0000

I realized that I have revealed next to no details about who I am. Well, here goes. Born in October of 1973 and raised by me muttha and grandmama in Watertown Massachusetts. Life wasn’t perfect but is it ever? I certainly had it better than most. My formative years would have probably been uneventful of it weren’t for a few things.
First off I am of two races, Italian and African. My father is African and my mom is Italian. Things get complicated on my dad’s side because he actually has several different ethnicities within him. Anyway, my racial make up illicited different reactions from the late ’70s, early ’80s Watertown. My peers were the only ones who made any noise about it, if their parents or other adults did then I was completely unaware of it. A couple of kids would make the odd racial joke here or there. Nothing overtly malicious, certainly nothing that registered hatefully but it was still uncomfortable. It didn’t help that I was a sensitive kid. Even the most benign comments would be taken as a major offense, I simply lacked the ability to let things roll off naturally. So yeah I had some race issues during my youth. As if my situation wasn’t eventful enough I was also raised as one of Jehovah’s Witnesses. Granted the JW’s
probably aren’t the strangest of christian subgroups but it was still polarizing and odd to the average person. In the early ’80s the major religious group in Watertown were the Catholics. Many of my friends were Catholic and though our religious differences never spurred us to blows there were still some strange situations that came up. They thought it was awfully weird when I would never observe holidays, birthdays and never salute the flag. In fact it wasn’t my friends that ever really made a big stink, the teachers on the other hand would occassionally lose their minds. There was this one time in 6th grade were we had this awful substitute running the show. She was this crabby, ugly and extremely angry ex-nun who cultivated hard old school values. She reminded me of a pitbull with a close cropped silver colored afro. Dramatic bushy eyebrows and a mouth that had frozen, overtime, into a pursed line of anger and repression. Bitch. I fucking hated this woman but I’m getting to that. Picture the scene. Early 1986, Cunniff School. Morning announcements come over the p.a. and we get to the part with the flag salute. Everyone stands with hand on their heart. Everyone except me that is. Bitch catches me standing with arms by my sides and she wigs out. She stops everyone in the middle of the Pledge of Allie..Allig…aw hell I can’t spell it, you know what I mean. Bitch then demands that I put my hand over my heart. I tell her no and explain myself. She cuts me off mid sentence and demands again, again I respectfully but firmly tell her it’s not happening. Then she bellows “What are you an alien?!” The wise ass in me kicks in and I sing the five notes from Close Encounters. That sends Bitch over the edge and she sends me to the principal’s office where they threatened me, I shit you not, with suspension. The moment my mom heard about this she declared war on the school. In the end I wasn’t suspended and Bitch had to eat crow. What was great was my mom came in during class, during the next day’s morning announcements. Bitch was still subbing. Bitch then started making up all kinds of lies about me to my mom. In a crowning moment of cool just about the entire class spoke up in my defense actually calling Bitch out as the liar that she was. I shot Bitch a look that pretty much said “Lady, you are fucked.” Bitch was in shock at this turn of events. I was estatic. So now do you see where things were a bit bizarre for me socially. Lastly I was just an imaginative, strange and insecure little boy. I always second guessed my own actions and opinions, I was always worried that things that I said and did were never good enough. My teens weren’t any more comfortable and though I had a splendid run from 13 to about 15, things took a turn for weird when my uncle died of AIDS when I was 16. That event unraveled my family. My mom, already suffering from a bipolar disorder, would seesaw between depression and uforia after the passing of my uncle. My grandmother never did recover, the death of her eldest son haunted her even when her memory failed her later in life. She forgot who I was but she never forgot her son’s death. You know all of this may sound like a sob story but it isn’t intended to. I guess what I’m trying to say is that despite all the weird shit that went down in my life I’m still here, still intact and doing alright. I have my moments but I try to just enjoy what I have in the now and not worry about crap that may or may not occur. That’s a little bit o’ me.

Void Head part 2

lawrencehollie — Fri, 18 Dec 2009 02:22:26 +0000

Kick anxiety! Beat it, get it off! By gum there is almost nothing more soul-sucking than sweating every little thought that floats through my head. Sit down, let me tell you a story. Waaaaaaaay back in 1995 I was going out with a nice lady. I was a freshly minted 21 year old buck, fit as a fiddle with a body to die for. I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to do in life or where I was going but I did my best to forge ahead with whatever knowledge and skill I acquired in my short life. There was a problem though. I had MAJOR self esteem issues. I’m talking MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR. My brain just couldn’t fucking stop, couldn’t ever take a damn break. I was always doubting and second guessing myself, comparing myself to others and always on the defensive. Chilling and relaxing where foreign concepts to me. So when the aforementioned young woman entered my world I was absolutely NOT CAPABLE of handling the barrage of insecurities and baggage that had built up within me over two decades. With no real sense of self and no tangible positive role models to go to for help I was on my own to sort my shit out. Oh boy.

(why do people ask me questions when they already have their own fucking answers!!!!!!!)

Things between her and I began innocently enough. We went to the movies, talked on the phone and went out to eat. Both of us were Jehovah’s Witnesses at the time so intense physical contact was strictly forbidden and we were seldom alone. We talked on the phone several times a day though and we also sent each other letters. In the mail. Yeah. This was JUST before email really became the norm and even if it was the standard I didn’t own a computer. Things were fine for awhile. Then around month two things began to go south all because I let a few misread emotional cues send me into a tail spin. I began reading into every little word she said and fearing that hidden between the lines was some kind of coded break up message. I always thought that I was doing everything wrong and I tripped over myself to please her. Wicked thoughts prevailed upon me from all sides and I pictured her making out with other guys, calling them up and going on secret dates with them. I doubted her feelings for me and I began asking her several times and in different ways if she really liked me. She was pretty gracious about all of it at first but once she saw that there was a definite and real mania behind it she became spooked and rightly so.

In a matter of weeks I was a prisoner in my own mind being violently raped up the symbolic ass by fear, insecurity and depression. My mind spared me no mercy. Sleep provided me little refuge,my dreams began to turn into feverish jealous nightmares. What the hell was happening to me? The friends that I turned to for comfort had even less life experience than I had though they tried to cheer me up with whatever solutions they could come up with. Most of it was time worn, cliched and helpful only to those who believed in the sentimentality of the sappiest of greeting cards. Other friends simply told me to toughen up and stop being paranoid. My wake up call arrived in March of 1996. After months of worrying that she was going to break up with me well, she did. It came about when I expected it the least, by this point I had actually begun to calm my mind down a bit but it didn’t matter. The shit storm of emotions blasted me head on and knocked me on my ass. My world as I knew it was turned upside down and I REALLY thought that life was over. It took several days and hours of a good friend coaching me, working out like Godzilla at the gym and intense praying and introspection to set me right again. Damn did it take awhile. When I came out of the clouds I was hit by the harshest revelation of all. I realized that I wasted an ENTIRE FUCKING YEAR WORRYING ABOUT PHANTOM SHIT. I jumped at damn shadows for the duration of 1995. Taking stock of all that wasted time was such a wake up call and I grew up significantly. Many, many lessons were learned and though I loathed what I went through I benefitted.

How can I convey to you, reader what I went through? How can I console you or try to tell you that things will be fine if you just give yourself a break and lay off the worrying trip? I’m going to attempt just that in the next entry but suffice to say that today, I’m alright, I’m here and I made it this far. Life still tosses shit at me but I can take it and I even have power left in the arms to throw it all back. I am not a pillar of strength but I have enough to stand and plenty more to fight with. Part 3 will get down to solutions so make sure to check back.

Void Head part 1

lawrencehollie — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 17:09:33 +0000

I am one to talk. So often I find myself telling folks to not worry, let things pass and it will all be alright only to find myself falling prey to sundry anxieties.
For years I have worried about everything under the sun and though I was never crippled by it, I certainly wasn’t having fun either.

Is it ok to worry? Hmm. That’s a good one. I think it all depends what you find yourself worrying about and how much energy and time you spend worrying about it. I think it is healthier to be dutifully concerned about something rather than worry about it. Cancer can rightfully be worried about so long as the worrying causes one to be concerned enough to have a doctor check it. Late bills, debt and such may cause one to lose their minds until they collect themselves and become concerned enough to fix the problem.
Then there are other things like worrying about taking a test, locking up the house, feeding the pet before you go out yadda blah yadda.
We know those. The worrying I’m talking about carries alot more weight and is something that is difficult to quantify. This kind has it’s roots in insecurity, fear, obsession and jealousy. I’ll continue in my next installment.

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lawrencehollie — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 01:01:28 +0000

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Autopilot Sucks

lawrencehollie — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 16:32:02 +0000

Five minutes ago I caught up with myself to see how I was doing. I and me had a good one on one accompanied by the usual frightened glances from the straights passing by. A man talking to himself, animatedly so, is disconcerting to gen pop. They love the norm. Conventional wisdom says talking to yourself has it’s roots in insanity. Read that sentence again and think of the things conventional wisdom allows. Right? Thus in my opinion, talking to yourself is subjective. I consider it therapy. That and I am my best audience. See I got this thing about me, not quite sure what the hell it is but I’m trying to figure it out. Maybe it’s my face, my demeanor or whatever but I am thd type of dude who incites the gab out of folks. They meet me and it’s all systems go. Words fly at me, I hear ‘em and I listen. Sure one or two get tuned out by I have an attentive ear for the most part. What myself and others have noted is that I don’t provide an awful lot of feedback. I tend to operate more like a sounding board for folks, a one man audience for their soapbox. This situation didn’t happen over night and the roots for it can be traced back to when I was about 7 or so. 1981, second grade going into third.
Up until this point I recall being an outspoken, jovial little guy who more or less trusted his instincts however undeveloped they were. I can’t count how many times my mom and teachers would remark how much of a big mouth I had for good or for ill. I also had a SERIOUS problem learning math. Maybe it was the abstract nature of it, perhsps I had a tough time relating it to everyday situations beyond simple addition and substraction. Whatever the case I had a bitch of a time getting a grip on math. My situation frustrated all authority figures to no end. I’m not sure if they still do this in school these days but teachers used to make students recite stuff in front of the class. You know, “Johnny, spell apple.” and then Johnny would become an object lesson of what happens when you pass or fail.
Well guess who was the sacrificial lamb
for the sake of math? Yeah, me! My tasks involved solving a math problem orally or writing it on the board. It would have been just as well doing a worksheet but F that right? Let’s humiliate the little bastards. Boy would I sweat that stuff out. The break in my armour was exposed and the spears were dug in. Teachers and students alike had no mercy on my situation. I would stumble and stammer through the problems, tears of fear and anger welling up in my eyes as my brain tried fighting through the fog to reach the answers. Rather than genuinely trying to solve the problem for it’s own sake I concentrated instead on saying the right thing so I wouldn’t be ridiculed and chastised. I was so gripped by fear and aprehension that my mind abandoned logic. Guess what would happen? You got it, I would guess incorrectly. Cue the laughter from the students and yelling from the teacher. The funny thing was often times I would get the answer right, but my timid demanor betrayed my confidence and I would answer in a high pitched and nervous response. My teacher would be so used to hearing the wrong thing from me that upon hearing my answer they would stamp a foot down and shout, “No!” This prompted a few students to speak up in my defense and much to my delight the teacher was made to look like a fool. This situation kept up from second to fourth grade. Concurrent with that I had tutors “helping” me with math after school and summer vacations. Then there was my mom. She was a high strung woman already but my problems with math threw her over the edge. I have vivid memories of her holding up a flash card and growling “You just HAD the answer now what. is. THREE PLUS THREE!?” How I fucking hated her for pulling that shit. In the heat of summer no less. When you get crap like that from all sides one of several reactions is to withdraw inward.
2 be continued.