Thought Fifty Eight

In the guest bathroom in my home, there are two mirrors. These are in the outer room where the sinks are. Late one night, as I was exiting, I looked into the mirrors. It was about two in the morning and, I could see my image off into infinity. On both sides.

On both sides.

When I raised my hand, I saw my gun rise and fall. In a thousand images, I watch my hand come up and go down. Looking at this, I thought about a thousand billion realities and possibilities that might be.

If in this reality, if I were being hurt or to die, would I not forward my sense of being, my “I” into this reality? And would the next version of me be lost or pushed into another version of the “I”?

That would make sense.

But what if each of these thousand billion realities is only slightly different, then you would need to move even further away from these realities to come to a different of “Most probably outcomes”TM.

That would seem likely as well.

Then perhaps if you choose to “see” like a god, then you would see of these thousands of billions of realities all at once (and not go insane). Then you would know where to move your consciousness (or sense of “I”).

The funny or not funny part of the consciousness or sense of “I” is that, would you even know that you had changed. Or this all at one in that you could feel it all and, perhaps even lose the sense of “I” as you allow yourself to remember what you are.

I don’t think the gods remember who they are. If they did, then they wouldn’t be gods and by their nature consumptive gods then.


To think that even the gods themselves do not remember. Perhaps it is the remembering that we desire most. To remember is to perhaps “ascend” as the Buddhists say.

At least for me, remember is important.



For if I remember, would I lose the enjoyment of creating everything literally from the big bang event horizon across a thousand billion realities (or at least set it in motion)?

I am not sure.

Remember and participate at the smallest level. The people around you. Even the gods themselves would shake with fear, for they would not begin to understand you, nor what you do. And so the endless cycle begins again, ever moving forward.

A beginning with no conceivable ending. For the ending would always be the beginning no?




Thought Fifty Seven


Thy bitter sting.

I was surprised how much betrayal hurt. That terrible stinging sensation that spins you away into a dark place where acts of violence are not only possible but probable.

Mostly likely done without thought of the damage that it might do to others. For political gain in a swamp infested with leather skinned gators. While the birds that perch upon their backs parrot back these untruths in their squawking voices of fear.

It leads me to wonder where I too have maligned others. Have I walked a mile in their shoes that I might know the pain and fear that they have walked in?

I will think upon these things when I too am tempted to reply in ego. For a single small stone tossed into a calm lake creates a ripple that may cross the world and cause untold damage to persons unknown.

My ex-wife has maligned me, bore false witness against me, lied in court, and much more. But I no longer wish to speak of her or her misdeeds and functions of evil. Life is meant to be lived, to be enjoyed, to stretch and grow, to laugh and love, to cry and morn, to be.

This I shall do. For I am the Wolf. My friends and family are Pac.

In this the White Desert…



Thought Fifty Six

How it began.

I think a lot about writing. My book, the universe in which it exists. The people, the creatures, and at times the gods themselves.

I think about creating a universe ever expanding outward. A place in which the “White Desert” exists. So I smoke my cigars, drink my Fiji water sitting in my garage in a rocking chair thinking. Although to be honest, tonight I am sitting on my back deck under a portico with both a bottle of Fiji water and a bottle of Alo Exposed. In the background, I have music on, with candles burning. The iron whale listens to my thoughts and reminds me of the gods both close and far.

BW-04I woke up earlier this week and realized that I had turned fifty-five. Against all the odds, here I stand (or sit), having survived a marriage to a monster. When I awoke that day, I was glad to be alive. To have survived and these days thrived even.

Still, I feel the internal pressure in me to write. And I do want to write. To construct, to expose the dinosaur bones as Steven King puts it. I read Steven King’s book “On Writing” a couple of months ago. His book convinced me to stop watching TV. So I have. Two and a half months, no TV. The amazing thing about it is all of the free time, reading time, thinking time that I suddenly have. I also tend to go to sleep earlier and feel better.


It occurred to me today that perhaps this is how the universe began (as in all expanding time-space). Someone’s creativity put in motion. The creation of the gods, people, worlds, etc. Perhaps that is what launched it all.

So in the creation of my ever expanding universe, I must continue to write the stories that bring it to life. For this is the place in which I wish to exist.

This the “White Desert”.

To feel the heat scorch my brow as I sit in the tank cupola. To fight, live and die, then begin anew. Memories intact, remembering all that came before. This is what I desire.

And in the back of my mind, to not forget this time. This act of creation. To find my Pac out among these stars far and away. The ones I love, now and then. To face our fear and pain. To die a good death and remember it being so.

To not forget that we are the gods themselves, but enjoy those that we love, their friendship and comradery. To hunt down the monsters to hurt and damage others. To send them to a place where they can longer have any effect on us. Or to simply see what they are, parts of the grand play that allows us to grow. To smooth off the rough edges of our souls. To enable us to forgive, both ourselves and them.

And to recognize the wolf that we are.

This is my insight today. Perhaps in how our universe began. Someone else creating this universe in time and space. Just as I am creating my own.

Gods creating gods.



Thought Fifty Five​

The California high desert sky was clear and full of stars.

It was time. A bit overdue even. I have grown and did not need to hide anymore. I had gotten so used to hiding, that it became a part of who I am.

But I am not who I was.

I am Robert Day and I am the Wolf.


On the flight out here, I met this amazing lady. Sitting in first class talking and imbibing in a few adult libations, we spoke about who we were, perhaps what effects that gods have on us and the most likeliest of outcomes.

But she said something to me shortly after we started talking. She asked me why I was hiding.

That scared me a little.

Yes. I have been hiding. After thirty plus yes of wearing a beard just so I wouldn’t look like my dad. But I had let go of that a long time ago. Then a twenty-seven year slog through hell with an ex-wife that was in all likelihood committing Munchausen by proxy. My daughter in therapy trying to rid herself of the pain and destruction caused by that evil person.

And me still hiding in plain sight.

I don’t make promises lightly. But I promised this stranger that was quickly becoming a friend (if only for that three and a half hours flying) that I would cut off my beard.

That I would be me.IMG_0431-BW

This morning, I stood before a mirror in my mother’s house in southern California. The clipper trembling in my hand, I began to cut. Slowly from beneath this large dark beard came a face that I had never seen before.

A face that carried a few lines that I had earned through this long life of pain. I did not relent nor pause. Not until all of it was gone and there was only me left.

Looking in the mirror, I could see my deceased brother Ron, my deceased sister Darlene, my brother Steve, my mother Ilene and at last a bit of my dad.

Looking at this me I had never seen, I realized that I liked me.

Peace my friends.





Thought Fifty Four

Another night over, another journey complete. Walking among the wastelands that are so many other’s thoughts. I wake and drink some water knowing what waits beyond the slimy shores of sleep.

Gods damn you sleep.

You and the daemons that never stop.

But not now. Today is not your day. For I live forever in this day as you gnash your teeth against the icy rocks that are my collective soul. I feel the gritty touch of the darkness around me. Always there, always waiting, gnashing teeth and thrashing limbs in a sea of slimy black water.


I wait here, walking through the white sand with a mornings brittleness of stature. Rough smells of leather and cigar smoke linger about me. My boots worn from many a lifetimes walk among the desert sands. My eyes search the horizon from under the brim of my hat, but my heart knows the answers without looking.

I live in the darkness, for I am the Wolf. Wolf tracks run up and down my arm and legs so that all may see and know who I am. These daemons, they cannot take this from me. These shallow unknowing creatures that swirl in ineptitude and cast their meager stones know not.

For if they did would they fear?
Would they tremble within their small boxes as this unknowable intelligence swept past them, consuming all in its path? Their survival, one of statistical luck rather than the gods of their meager beliefs?

They walk in absolute ignorance of all around them, consumed by the silly shiny things that sing and dance before them, over and over again. Their lot in life cast before they choose to live. To open their minds and break out of this endless nothingness.

Consumed by emptiness, the boxed in dreams that take them toward another life of nothing. This brings to mind for me that perhaps this is because of the endless experience of this reality playing out in all formats across all time.


How many lives have I done the same?


I am creating this the White Desert. A bubble outside of time. Where I will dwell and perhaps walk with the gods themselves (also my creation). I will live there forever writing my story and thousand million others until this all begins again. Perhaps then I will sleep. For later even the gods and daemons will be gone, and only the endless sea of white will remain. My bones lost in the sand. But my memories will linger, the friends I have known and loved. The enmities that tortured me. The pain of learning that racked the synapses in my brain.

But mostly the love.

This I will choose to remember.



Thought Fifty Three

Across the white desert, the wind blew.

The shadows crossed the peaks of the dunes and motion was lost among them. I felt the sweat under my shirt begin to turn to a chill. The reflected light of a thousand billion galaxies shown down upon me. The cold dark gods watching impassively as they always do.

I stepped forward on the declination side of a white dune, fear wanting me to partake in its insidious grasp. I felt it slide over my mind, eel slippery probing and tasting. The want and abandon fear choking me in its grasp. The pounding taste of defeat before the battle had even begun. The oppressing place that feels like being crushed where you pray for the simple release of a good death.

I felt it.

I felt it all.

My pistol on my hip, a rifle in my hand, I had stopped moving. But neither the sand nor the skies above noted this. This strange planet of endless white sand simply continued to revolve around its sol as it had for a thousand billion years.

The daemons that danced in the shadows and sought your dreams noted it so. Looking for another place to dwell, I supposed. Thier fingers made of the lightest clouds that were visible only on the passage of sleep. A place to dwell and create the disturbances they sought. To replay their losses over and over again.

I started to move forward again. My sword lapped gently against my back as I walked. The blade forged in the heart of a star by the very gods themselves. Thrumming lightly, as if for the taste of blood. Be still my friend I thought, the time will come and soon. When blood will be spilled and wine drank without taste. In those moments, you will know. And it did.

I rested not, but continued to move forward. The sand gradually filling my boots, my pockets, in my beard and into my very lungs themselves. This white desert would own us all. There is no escape, no way back. Yesterday doesn’t exist anymore, just a faint memory and the morrow has not arrived yet. But one foot in front of the other, forward.

I could not have stopped any more than the planet could quit turning. For this is the only way.

Maybe in another time, in another place, Where green was as far as the eye could see, the rivers deep blue and cold. Maybe then once again.

Across the endlessness of the empty morrow, where we will all meet again.


Until that sacred moment, we continue forward. On hands and knees if need be. Weapons hot, sword hand free, destiny calling us forward. They will not stop us, nor slow down the progression. The white desert won’t allow it. The gods themselves twitter and faun, watching a story play out a thousand million ways over and over again across time.

I will take this feeling in my heart and turn it to edged steel. Each swing will bite deep and to bone. These daemons will own me not, nor their master. For I dwell in the dark, hidden among the ruins, my soul shattered from a million lives transgressions. They will know me not when I come for them.

And I will come…

File Sep 11, 09 58 49

Thought Fifty Two

Every cigar is a journey.

A passage of time. An experience good or bad (depending on the cigar). I was smoking an Arturo Fuentes Exquisito Maduro. Thinking that I could really have gone for a Hemmingway Maduro (Arturo Fuentes), but didn’t have the time to enjoy it and not end up leaving it half smoked.


An Exquisito is about a twenty minute smoke. Medium to full bodied. Medium draw, all good. With a strong cup of black coffee, it is impossible to beat.

Thinking about these things, I noticed this morning a couple of things about myself. I realized as I made my bed, folded some laundry and started another load, that I enjoyed doing things the way I liked to do them.

I did these tasks because I wanted to do them.

Not because I had to. Not because it was expected by anyone. Because I wanted to. For such a very long time in my adult life, I was forced to do so many things. My ex wife was a monster in many ways. Deeply controlling, narcissistic and conditional love on a scale that would be worth clinically studying (emotionally disturbed).

So I learned to hide.

I hid. In my “man cave”, in my many hobbies, in work, etc. Anything to escape the “The Hell” that was my daily waking life. She pursued me, looking to destroy me and anything that I might love or enjoy. She did this to my daughter. To my adopted son. Even to our pets (two dogs and two cats). Nothing was enough for her to destroy.

I think these thoughts came to mind this morning as I realized I still had a bunch of dress shirts in my closet. Carrying them to the garbage can, I dumped them in. Punching the stiff pressed shirts that carried the weight of my past down deep into the trash. A place they belonged along with all of the damage and destruction the ex wife caused.

I live in the white desert now. While there are monsters among the white dunes of sand, there is also peace and sunlight.

A place to dwell and think…