Losing My Religion

I'm going to write my creative nonfiction piece on the gradual loss of my belief system. I will cover the reasons why and possibly how my disillusionment came about and then hopefully have some sort of reconciliation. I will be incorporating the words ugly, cant, and decussation. I apologize for the previous post; I misunderstood the assignment. Wish me luck.

Decussation

I feel I share more in common with a butterfly than a monkey. I may be related to the ape, but I relate with the bug. I think it's the metamorphosis aspect. Life isn't gradual or natural; it's jarring and confusing. A lot of people just go naturally into their roles; seem to know how to grow. Butterflies, however, go through a variety of traumatic stages from larvae to pupa to caterpillar to finally the winged beauty everyone becomes giddy about. That sort of growth seems so much more applicable to my experience, almost as physically as mentally. I'm just now getting out of my ugly stage...I would like to think anyway. I would also like to think that one day I can be a something someone gets giddy about, but that's probably a healthy distance off.

Having crissed and crossed my way through varying mindsets, sometimes in a single day, I find my life in strange and constant state of decussation. A constant X. An X that doesn't always mark the spot. X means I'm in one place while in another, and somewhere in the center is what I am. Thus through this process of the X, my metamorphosis began.

Waking up was hard to do at fourteen. Every morning I felt like that man in that Pixies song, the one that got killed by ten thousand pounds of sludge or whatever. It may have been routine to blame; the great soul destroyer, or maybe routine was what I needed; the holy soul saver? Showers were nice, but only because they made it easier to imagine washing all the sludge off. After that I'd throw something on, skip breakfast, and trudge to school, dripping slime all the while.

If routine wasn't a murderer, education most certainly was. Everyday was a box with no light and very little oxygen. On this day in particular, I had found the room to breathe slightly less and the light much dimmer. I was supposed to be doing a mock interview for Sterling Scholar, something I wasn't prepared for in the slightest. There was a twisting in me, a grief, and it had been tumbling about in my mind and my stomach for a good period of time. A change was needed, a puncture, and then a rupture. If it didn't come out soon, it would find it's own way to express itself, possibly by making my head pop off like a bottle cap in the middle of class. Not only would I be headless but my unsaid sorrows would spill(along with a lot of blood) all over the floor and everyone would be able to see it.

I decided it best to leave class and indeed school, less a sudden cant from my insides forced me to spontaneously dishevel.

(to be continued).

Bad Vibrations

Sometimes our sense of mortality needs refreshing; needs a reminder that death can come very easily and at any given moment, and really what better method of refreshment than a near death experience? I was eighteen and marginally less aware of how effortless it is to be six feet under, working a time consuming two online class schedule from the then named UVSC (tough stuff) when my family decided to make a quick trip up to the turgid establishment of Thanksgiving Point. The reason for this escapade was my sweet (but not sweet at the time) sister's wedding. She needed some shots of herself and her hubby strutting their stuff in full marriage duds in the lovely but expensive gardens of Thanksgiving point; more expensive than lovely to be sure.

Our party consisted of me, my Mother, my little sister Jillian, and of course the soon to be hitched duo, Bronson and Tana. My older sister and one half of a fraternal twinship, Cassidy, who was located in Logan, UT at the time, would be meeting us there. I don't know why I thought it would be fun to go, I mean, what angst ridden eighteen year old in the proper state of mind says to himself,"Wedding pictures with bridezilla at Thanksgiving Point! I'm so there!" Just so happens I went, and just so happens I got a lot more than carsick and cranky out of it.

The day went as it was supposed to, given a few slip ups with reservations and camera gear, but overall everyone was good natured and sufficiently photographed by the end of the day. Suddenly, however, my sister in her pre-marriage frenzy decided she wanted some more pictures by the temple in Salt Lake. Now I don't think anyone including the husband-to-be, were too thrilled with the idea, but considering my sister was on birth control to help subdue her ovarian cysts and under due stress from all the preparations leading up to the big day, trying to resist her would be like trying to resist the pull of a giant class five tornado, a tornado with a wedding dress. Compliance was a must.

We split ourselves up into two vehicles: Mom, Jillian and the Disgustingtons (an affectionate term) in the suburban and Cass and I in her old Subaru. Off we went, my new cherished Neon Bible by The Arcade Fire playing loudly in the car. I was smiling, Cass was smiling, Black Waves/Bad Vibrations was playing when suddenly a vehicle two lanes over swerved into our own, causing a white pick up to cut in front of us. With a bang and a crack and possibly even a snap, my head was bleeding and Cassidy was having trouble breathing. Neither of us were smiling anymore...well, until I pulled a chunk of my own hair out and turned to my sister, "Look" I said, smiling blood, "My hair." Then we both laughed; everything is funny after almost dying or dying or whatever state we were in. Even more funny was the giant star shaped crack in the windshield where my head had hit, little tufts of bloody hair poking out of the cracks. I got a real kick out of that in particular.

Some dumb questions like,"Who's the President?" and "What's the date?" and an ambulance drive later, we were both in the hospital. I was a bloody mess, but quite possibly the sweetest bloody mess since Carrie. Seriously, I checked my medical records later and the report made constant reference to my "pleasantness." Adrenaline had done its job and I was simply happy to be alive...but that happiness would soon fade, and fast, for my precious Arcade Fire album had been permanently damaged in the crash, never to be recovered. Life is fragile...but so are fifteen dollar Cd's. Regardless I don't listen to that album when driving anymore, not out of superstition, but out of the fear of losing my favorite album again.

Oh, and as for my dear Cass, she they thankfully turned out okay, with the exception of a neck injury which forced her to wear a neck brace for the next few months. As for my mother, my sisters and my brother-in-law...they may have a suffered some emotional trauma, but as my nurse constantly reminded me it could have been worse. "My son-in-law was decapitated in a car crash like the one you were in."
"Oh really?"
I responded, still smiling and giddy but extremely concerned, "That's terrible." Later on when preparing for a nasty shot of something-or-other to the forehead so glass could be removed from my face, she sweetly consoled,"This will feel like a thousand bee stings." In that brief moment I realized I didn't feel so bad for her or her headless son-in-law after all.

We all stayed at my relatives house in Orem that night, and I had time to reflect on my situation with the cosmos. "Maybe I'm alive for a reason," I thought, "Or maybe I'm just damn lucky," I also mused. It didn't matter, I learned some important things that day. I learned how precious life is and how easily it can all be stripped away from us in split second and that I should probably appreciate it more, but most importantly I learned that it's also usually a good idea to wear a seat belt, and I only say "usually" because if I would have worn a seat belt I wouldn't have a totally bad ass scar on my eyebrow. There are are trade-offs I suppose.

So It Goes.

The aging process can be a real beast, a beast with many teeth. Whether you're twenty and still trying to figure out how to be a proper adult, while all the while resisting the adult world, or nintey and forgetting when to eat and pee, it's all some sort of suffering or striving. It's not like this is a big surprise to anyone who's been alive more than three years, but sometimes it strikes you just how vicious time can treat it's abiders. Makes you want to be timeless sometimes. Tough shit I suppose, but that doesn't stop me from holding on to my Peter Pan complex with all ten of my stubborn little digits.

The only reason I bring any of this up is my grandfather, the subject of my last and admittedly poor blog. I was taking him for a walk today and just as we were finishing our short down-the- block-and-back stretch of pavement, he suddenly turns to me and says, "Not bad for the first time, huh?"
I found this sad. Sad because I've been walking with my grandpa consistently for over a year now. What can you do? The time beast has bitten again, and my grandpa is once again slightly less of himself. A chew toy of time I suppose. So it goes, as Mr. Vonnegut would say. It goes and goes and goes.

Obama Mama

My grandpa suffers from Alzeihmer's disease, and my dear mother, in light of this fact and the upcoming elections, decided to take advantage of this. As a bit of a background I should probably mention that my grandma is extremely conservative and as such is not a fan of Obama...at all. If she were to have her way with things there would be less black people on t.v. in general, much less a black president. My mother on the other hand, is a democrat and is behind Mr. Barack 100%. As you can imagine, the two often butt heads politically. My grandfather in his ailing mental state probably doesn't give a damn about politics either way. This does not however mean, that he is impervious to influence with a little bribery.
So my mother, in her fervor and excitement for Obama, took my grandfather on a drive to the local eatery in Parowan and bought him a shake. She then proceeded to drive him around the block and question him,"So who are you voting for Dad?" she began.
"Well, I don't know." he replied.
"What do think about Obama, Dad?"
"Who's that?"
"Well Dad..." and thus through repetition and a few loops around the block my grandfather was educated on Obama. At the end of this my mother questioned again, "Who are you voting for Dad?"
"Well, Obama I guess." Mission complete.
My grandfather was lovingly brainwashed by my mother and my grandma was in for a rather nasty surprise.

First Post MWAHAHA!

Hello I am Austin and this is my very first post on my very first blog. The title of my blog comes from an Arcade Fire song titled, "My Body is A Cage," a lovely song that'll kill you with its pipe organ. I hope to get something of a feel for this blogging business, so that other people can enjoy my blog as well...we'll see. Ta ta.