Peter the Pumpkin Eater

I could lie, saying that I didn’t write for a while because what I wanted to write about was too close to the heart, but that is not true. I had plenty of other things to write about, but didn’t do that either. truth is, after my brother’s passing a year and a half ago, it felt like the creative writing rug was pulled from under my feet somehow. To cope with what has happened, I began playing and recording music, and the need to contribute doing that still persists, so I keep it satisfied. I also reflected on my brothers life, writing on what I remembered and how much he meant to me, but all other writing… something has happened there. I wrote very few blog posts and worked even less on the main story I had going. In mid February my best friend Pete died, and within days I told myself I would need to write about that, just like i did with my brother’s passing, and yet I couldn’t make myself take a single step toward that. maybe it was grief itself, preventing me from taking steps to address itself. whatever the reason, it is only now that i start going with it.

I met Peter Christensen in late 2005 and i was his friend for 17 years and i miss him like crazy every day. First couple times we’ve met he didn’t make a good impression on me, but that changed quickly. Pete was a great and knowledgeable and friendly guy, but he struggled with lots of things in his life, and he was often negative about people around him, strangers or not. He never expressed anything like that toward me, but he had resentments toward a lot. I was happy he joined AA, like me, because i could see clearly how he was shedding his negative attitudes toward people and was trying to improve his outlook on life. He became so dedicated to sobriety and recovery that I envied his energy a bit. 

Pete knew places to get movies from. Movies were a passion we shared. We’d borrow them from stores, from library, we’d go see common friends to watch movies, Paul and Bernie. Funny enough, we never watched a movie together in a theater. Pete and I were both Helloween band fans, and they use pumpkins in their artwork. After we watched Pumpkin Head, i started calling Pete Pumpkin Eater from time to time, but never to his face.

I helped Pete move at least two times, and helped him clean and declutter on of those places before it was livable in. I’ve lost count of concert we’ve been to together. Maiden, Ozzy, Misfits, Watain, Judas Priest, The Sword, Slayer, Warmarch, Behemoth, and much more. I’d usually stand at one spot, but Pete would move around the floor, checking out better sound. Then we’d miraculously meet among the massive crowd and chat about it.

I think first time i went to an AA meeting with Pete was on a New Years eve and it was a birthday meeting. He was in quite positive spirits after that and we went out for pizza around Whyte Ave and went to my place and watched AC/DC home video for hours and through fire works. It was way before he joined AA, but he was coming to meetings at Alano Club around that time, i think. Around the time we became friends i was still at school and worked in college kitchen all week. Peter would come over Sunday morning and we’d play guitars through the massive Marshall amp he stored at my place, and then we’d split and I’d go to work. Pete and I drove around to look for my new black leather jacket and on the way I found a Venom Live in London DVD and we’d sit at my place, wearing our leathers and watching it and drinking root beers.

Pete was insanely difficult to get a hold of, half the time. Before I owned a cell phone and could send text messages, I phoned him on the landline and leave messages just to say “hi” and he wouldn’t return my call for a couple of weeks. Then out of nowhere he’d show up, when I near lost hope to hear back from him. It didn’t change a lot through the years, but somehow he was there when I phoned when I really needed him there. We texted often when he was back to reality, or at least my reality. His was quite different, I knew.

Pete died six years sober from heart failure. What the hell…

It gets insane to think a person so close to you and for so long can never be around anymore, and you could not get a hold of them. Pete, I miss your presence and your voice and the amazing friend you’ve always been. One day I’ll be around out there. You better answer your astral phone then.

Love and horns

thank you to the good people who took last two pictures, whoever you are, i do not recall

trap door

I was illuminated the other day

with a thought I’ve overheard

that every bottom has a trap door.

you know how we’re told

that eventually we hit rock bottom

and we’re made by life to stop

our self-will life-eviscerating journey?

That’s where we wake up

and turn our life around

for the benefit of self and others

and keep saying, “yeah i hit it

there is nowhere farther to fall.

I’m done now. I’m really done.”

well, here is a disturbing thought for you:

if we are resting stagnantly,

there could and most likely is

a trap door in each bottom floor,

so there is no “true bottom,”

we can go beyond our worst nightmare

created by our ego and blindness.

there are many more ways to fall

annihilating peace and respect,

self-esteem and stability

and all else that is positive and sane.

remember that and watch your step.

there are black ice spots on the road,

and the whirling doors swing faster than expected,

but the trap doors in the bottom floors

are opened by our own hands.

the image was copied from and eviscerated by me. thankyou.

Mourning the Dream


Your comforting smile

So much of you and I


That I recall.

Want, satisfied.

It’s sweet meeting you again

Known and shared bliss

All fears are extinguished

All sorrows walked through

And now they have ended,

Resurrection of a good life

Colors dance, promises granted…

… I awake –

All the goodness a dream

My essence mourns it

My mind resists it,

Before I realize, yet again, it’s futile

For no power in the universe

Can bring the dream back

Back to reality I knew in my slumber,

But another dream.


[image copied from thankyou]


Some door in me has closed

When mother was taken away.

Some deep doubt in believing overcomes me

When my woman goes through pain.

Some part of me died

When my brother left this earth.

Some tissue in my core rattles

When I think of my father grieving, living alone from all.

Some bird screams in my head as if in terror

When I recall all this.

It screams constantly.

practice what your retch

It wouldn’t be true to say I care all the time.

It wouldn’t be true to say I say just truth all the time.

And the best part about it, sometimes I don’t even realize I don’t care or not saying the truth until it happens and I see and hear it, and then I wonder: “What has just happened and what is happening within me that I do that?”

Sumtymes I’d say I will be there in your darkest. But I woke up and the night has taken you away and you were not coming back. Sum timez I say smart things that I see may be of help to you, but I know I don’t always follow them or haven’t for a long time. I try to practice what I preach even if Yoda said there is no try. Am I full of crap? There are days I feel like what’s coming out is just retching.

Who am I besides the imperfect person who deserves a break? There are days nobody seems to care who we are, how we are, how well we could be. So, I just do what I can do. And then I feel like giving up.

And then I get up and try and try.

may be

It’s hard…

… no, it’s more impossibly difficult….

…to believe that you’ve been gone

For a year

And you are not coming back.

At least not the way I knew and loved you.

Maybe you are here

As a bird, hovering over me

Watching what I do

Observing my struggles

And chuckle at my attempts

To make a meaningful living

While as a bird you just focus on survival.

Or maybe you are a spurt of grass

Breaking through the crack

In the concrete path

That I walk on every day,

Your perseverance

Besides my often-times despair.

Or maybe you are a star,

Tirelessly shining on my city

And only very rarely and briefly

I look up and stare into your beautiful eyes.

shadowed star

He is a shadowed star child

He is the pale light piercing atmosphere

Looking for life to care for him

Breathing poisoned air

When the womb wants him no longer.

Time comes when bones bend bizarre

And mind goes sideways

His living becomes torture to others

Caring smiles turns to sardonic grins

Helping hands grow short and cold.

He is no longer life cherished in their heads

But a strange alien not belonging to living

Once wanted color becomes a burden

Desired touch retreats beyond horizon.

His breath is shortened with time

Yet his light not all gone

Once extinguished, energy come back

In another field, another womb.

He keeps reappearing,

Broken body and mangled mind

Reborn until we understand

His spirit keeps looking for care unconditional.

the image was copied from and shadow-mangled by me. thank you.

Combined Factors of Pouring Light

I suppose there cannot be true recovery and progress without gratitude for what have happened outside of one’s personal efforts. Changes roll along the horizon and the wind of difference blows in many ways that are sometimes in alignment of what we hope for, and sometimes not.

I was lucky. When I came to an AA meeting 16 years back, I had no idea what to expect, and yet the wind did blow in alignment to what my tortured mind and spirit were calling for. I kept revisiting the meeting and kept listening and sharing. The social factor united with the spiritual worked wonders for my recovery. Combination of all the right things, even though sometimes looking scary and not something I wanted to do the work in, brought me to the places where I felt and home and had support I never hoped for.

I still look back once in a while and think “Hell, I haven’t really did much, have I?” The Steps work was not like a coal mine work. It was a cozy time with a book and a conversation with a person who walked in my shoes. But it was still hard at times, because I had to look deep inside at things I said and did, things that were not nice, things I wasn’t proud of, and some that I was ashamed of. Strength with which I addressed those issues and confusions paid for success in continued abstinence and more joyful living, enjoying sobriety.

How? I had poured those efforts and hopes into the recovery that I believed in, and what came out, as reflected light, with the support of the AA community and the spirit of healing was a light of ten-fold strength. That thought kind of lived with me for years, but I’ve never put into words until recently I looked up yet again at the Pink Floyd poster in my room and realized that the “Dark Side of the Moon” cover art reflected those thoughts exactly. The Promises of AA worked for me so greatly. I’ve received in sobriety so much more than I’ve put in.

Thank you again, Dave T., fellow in recovery, who gifted me that poster and thank you to those that supported me all these years. It is my thinking of you and I, that keeps me together. May we all last joyous and free in mind, body, and spirit!


the image was copied from and sand-blasted by me. there is also some interesting info on that page how the artwork came about. thank ya!

Allowing the Learning

I know the Force may be with me, but I think it is important to let it be with me. In other words, I need to allow myself to accept change, just as allowing myself to learn of it, or the lessons that come my way.

Over 15 years ago, I saw the signs that there were negative events happening in my life regarding alcohol consumption, and yet I’ve chosen to disregard them until they stared me right in the face.

I had to make myself teachable in order to learn. I could’ve been taught by the most brilliant minds, and still receive nothing. So often when been talked to as a kid and youth, I blocked it all, staring into the space of the floor. Why? Perhaps I knew not how to react, how to say what I was really thinking. Perhaps there was pride involved. Perhaps I didn’t understand why I wouldn’t be just left alone in serenity of my own devices. The point is, I blocked what was said, and made the people who were trying to break out to me disgruntled.

Disgruntlement kept blooming where I went from there on, and sometimes I had no idea I’ve caused it. Also very important, I wasn’t learning, be it from school classes, or people, or environment. Thus, naturally, I kept making mistakes, usually the same ones.

It took dire circumstance such as realization of being enslaved by alcoholism and asking strangers of AA for help to allow myself to learn. I had to recognize personal mental deterioration to invite positive change. I had to allow myself to learn to get better, because, again, no success of recovery could be instilled if I refused accepting help.

From the day of my allowing myself to accept change, my life started to spring in positive direction. So far it has been 16 years of it, and many things were accomplished, mostly because learning from the initial experience of acceptance, I’ve practiced embracing openness to change on a daily basis, whether I liked it or not. When you ask the cosmos for assistance or somewhat re-assurance, you recognize personal vulnerability and become open to suggestion. Among other things, it’s called a prayer. I prayed a lot in the last decade and a half, simply because there were so many things out of my control, and because by then time I knew of my powerlessness AND accepted that vulnerability was not always being a negative thing.

Let the Force be with you. Allow it.

the image was copied from thank you.

inevitable wounds, lucky scars

Most of us

Are lucky

To have scars

Form over wounds.

We may forget,

Or not even know

That there are some

In their hemophilic body and spirit

That keeps bleeding.

I’d rather have

Actual scars in my skin

Than scabs of old carnage

Over my soul.

Reality whispers into my ear

That doesn’t work like that.

People’s energy keeps being bled

And the wise ones call it


Sometimes I wonder

If I can pass that knowledge

For, clearly,

I wouldn’t need it

Like some subjects

I wasted years on in school.

But I guess

Some crap still manages

To fly into your life

Even if you shut the windows well.

The fortunate ones live with scars

And over time

They become a part of our skin

To the point

We often don’t notice them

For what they are,

Or remember

What they represented.

We live on and care for our skin.

With creams and oils.

I do remember what they came from, though

That’s why I am still here –

My scars became part of my body

In a healthy way

Because my pain

From obtaining those wounds

Made me stronger.

I remember what I cannot do

And why.

Experience is no longer

Such a negative word

In my vocabulary.

the image was copied from Funny enough, this video demonstrates how to removes scars with the use of Photoshop program.