Grab ‘im Mable he’s headed for the rhubarb!


I love this picture, it’s so organic and still machine. It looks like I feel sometimes. The strange man, the Tin Man, part animal, part machine. With a chrome plated heart.

It’s funny, I did a search for “Icarus Has Fallen”, the title of this blog. And found I am neither unique or original. Though I didn’t need Google to tell me so. But anyhow the name is in use in other places, but none seem to be as true or relative as mine (I may not be unique, but I am real). I chose the name because in the Greek myth of Icarus his father Daedalus gives him wings, but does this with a warning to never fly so close to the sun that the wax that holds them together melts and the wings fall apart. And Icarus does just that and he plunged to his death. And I know there’s a more involved story and they were escaping Minos and Crete and that Daedalus eventually makes it away and all that groovy Greek stuff. But it rings true for my life. My father was just as I am (hey now ain’t that a statement and a half…Rock me Freud!) and he gave me, though without intention a way to fly, wings to escape, they were of a narcotic kind. And he gave me a warning and then watched me go wild. Ultimately I ended up flying too close to the sun. And so I lost my wings and fell. My father, he’s escaped. He got free. Though where the true tragedy is, seems up for debate. I just like the imagery. And that is why I named my blog after a Greek myth…It was either that or call it “Skippy and his New Crayon” and no one would take me seriously then.

Climbing from my rut, it’s a long and involved process. And it’s made much harder by the fact that my life has been anything that would assure me that I really could do it. So many times before have I blown it, so many times I have destroyed the little things I’ve built, many times I have collapsed in on myself and fed myself on pity, rage and pain. And give me a second to speak and sure enough I’ll say something wrong and I’ll hurt someone before I’m done. Many times I speak too definitively, I am too convinced of my own wisdom. And often that same wisdom is the stuff that got my ass kicked in the first place. Self-esteem, brother that’s a train that rolled out of the station years ago. But you know how it is, everybody has their wounds, rust and everybody cries and everybody has no self-esteem. At least that’s how it’s told in these crazy days of pop psychology and television doctors. So maybe we’re all on a level playing-field. I just am way back there in the backfield waiting for the coach to call my play again after years of riding the bench.

Hey how’s that for a metaphor?

Yeah I’ll do better tomorrow. So I’ll close with the words of the immortal John Lee Hooker.



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