March 3

March 3: So when I got the call that Dave died, I was in my office on my computer. I don’t remember what I was doing but if was Friday after work and probably writing and listening to tunes— my usual after work activity. Dawn had called. Dave’s dead. Shock. How? I don’t know yet. He was just discovered a half hour before by Pappas who tried to wake him up. He never responded. The authorities were called and upon arrival declared him dead. This is when Dawn called. Shit. Fuck. I texted Rich and Dano. Rich called back and while I was on the phone I started to cry and hung up. I regained my composure.

A little later, I decided to go to Dawn’s and hang out. Rich and Dano would join me. Some of Dawn’s friends were there already. I picked up my dad. Now this is the point. When I picked up dad, Dave’s body was still upstairs in his room. Police were there doing whatever they had to do. Dawn asked if I was going to go in and see him. I said no. Not out of any kind of bitterness or anger. I didn’t want my last memory of him slumped over, a dead carcass, my brother, only 45 and dead. I didn’t want to remember that image. When my mother died in 2007, I saw her on the hospital bed— arms and legs twisted and draped over the bed as if there were some struggle before she died. It was a horrible image and I had to leave the room immediately and hid in the bathroom until I could compose myself. I did not want that type of image burned into my memory of my brother. To this day, that image of my mother still haunts me.

So in a perfect world it would have been nice to see his younger self as the last send off but the reality of the situation was Dave was falling back into fat habits. After a nice two year period of recuperation, he began going downhill. He was eating badly. He wasn’t exercising at all, rarely coming downstairs other than to eat or shit. There was suspicion he was using pills again. I could see it coming but just kind of ignored it, I mean; I couldn’t do anything, or Dawn or dad or his friends. It was all up to him. I think he knew it. He cheated death twice before— once he had a stroke in... like 2008 and then in 2012, his coma; maybe he thought he could survive his lifestyle yet again. Maybe he just gave up. The state stopped sending him social security checks, claiming he was eligible to work (I think that is a yes/no assessment by the state). He had no money. Maybe this created a stress that simmered just beneath the surface. He was in the middle of an appeal.

Anyway, the last time I saw him was that Wednesday. I stopped by the house to give Dave Uncle Bobby’s 400.00 monthly rent, to give to my sister and also to drop off Bobby’s weekly smokes and beer. I remember noticing how large Dave had become, pale, eyes kind of kooky and white hair a bird’s nest. But that was Dave at the end. He really just didn’t care about a better life for himself. There was something that haunted him and I will never know. Or it was just a tragic flaw of character. Anyway, I’d rather have that final image to remember than well, you know. That is all for now. The writing never stops.

Going to start keeping my little journal/notebook on me again

Going to start keeping my little journal/notebook on me again, just to have available. Like today. I was on a job in Seekonk Ma... residential remodel and as I passed through the backyard, the combination of spring-like air, the birds whistling from bare tree-tops and the 10 Mile River that ran parallel to the back yard, through rocky tree congested bank and down to the river, itself in Rhode Island, well, it was a good moment, despite being at work, the moment offered promise of better days ahead. That is all.

feb 26

Today February 26^th… seems February’s are always filled with comings and goings; this one is no exception in the goings. For the record, In January, an old friend of mine from Watertown died suddenly and in all that revelation, I found out his younger brother died a few years before. Then a few days later, our cat, 14 Simba died. Fucking weird times. I remember my brother saying, “Wow, Ricky Dore. That’s fucked.” On February 5^th, my brother died in his sleep (as of this writing I have still not seen the coroner’s report). Saw it played out on Facebook. I went crazy posting old pictures of him and it helped me deal with it. Still it was all very surreal. I couldn’t believe how many people he touched— even recently. His service went well and both rooms were filled to capacity… and I’m just a little burned out on it… my writing muse, my desire to write has kind of gone underground. I’m indifferent to life right now. Emotionally spent. One of these days I will break out of this membrane. I will get a plan. I will execute it.

journal entry 2016

By February 2008, my weight had ballooned up to 265, the highest ever in my life. My sister finally convinced me to join Weight Watchers Online for Men… I was laid off from Foley Electric as the economy was bottoming out and collected unemployment. By spring and into the summer I was working with Scott and Gary again (under the table so I could still reap the unemployment checks) installing central air and/or troubleshooting and service calls. June 10 Mathew was born. We were still living in Weymouth beside Tile World. In October the house at 83 Joseph Road was complete and we moved in, just in time for Halloween.

By mid-February 2009, my unemployment would run out and I was in need of a job, any job. Electric companies weren’t hiring, Scott’s AC work generally stops during the winter regardless of the economy. My brother’s friend Hen had just quit a job as an overnight security guard in downtown Boston.  Another of my brother’s gang, JT, the Accounts Manager, did the hiring and firing for the security company and if I wanted the position I should go in and apply. I got the job. Also, still doing the WW’s I was down to 195, an ideal weight for my height and age— not quite what I was in my prime but I felt much healthier and confident; although I was now a security guard, way down on the work force ladder and I was embarrassed. I was embarrassed because it was a high school kid’s job or college student, a retiree or second job. When people asked me what I did, I said electrician/AC work, technically not a lie but definitely far from the truth too and hoped people didn’t get too specific in their questions. The saving grace for me was that by doing the overnight shift, I avoided contact with people, for the most part and was off the clock just as the work force came storming into the building. I told myself in the beginning, I’m getting paid to work on my writing and watch movies. And besides, my thinking continued, I won’t be there longer than three months….

journal piece 2000

Stream-along-consciousness hour. A table and some paper and a pen. Pretty cool. And the Resident Evil. No keyboard. No slumping over. No icons. No email. Let’s check again— nope— let’s be sure, still nothing. Email. Worthless correspondence and an emotionally detached kind of form. A greeting. An invitation. An M-Peg file. A file teaching to be funnier than before— forward it on to someone else to judge. Slaves to computers. I sit and try to remember moments before my introduction into Avi and Mp3 files and email and programs and internet and games. I bought this computer to write my book. I do everything else but that on this computer. Funny. Email? Nope. Nothing. No new messages. Just dead cyberspace where messages are not sent. Delete. Abort. Phew….

Fall, beautiful chilly fall with some scattered Indian summer days slipping into the moment. My new writing seat, the dark meat, the pumpkin heat— generalizations, images and thoughts are freed up from deep beneath the eye.  No monitors. No look-ups. No surfing the files on my hard drive. The porch. The oak trees that stand naked and empty. A strong wind entangles the branches. It’s not about what you write sometimes, it’s just that you do. Like taking pictures, not every photograph is a success— 20 of 24 will be garbage but it’s the act that gets you where you want to be, that makes you better like polished marble. Like polished marble of great canyons in Death Valley or the quarries right here in western Mass.

I don’t know. It slips away, especially when I’m unaware of it. Be aware and use it to my advantage. Old lessons relearned in moments of realization. 1994 through present, 2000. Whew. What a jump. Six years. I could write a book about my life from those years but what’s the point other than nostalgia? I already have a book I’m writing, in the early makings, in mind, in cyberspace— I don’t even know how to approach that monster now though I still think it’s a good story and worth developing, worth being told to an audience of strangers— 1994, only yesterday it seems and I was living the party of my life. But parties end. The lights come on and I have to finish my drink, finish that last game of pool. And I leave. And now I don’t know what I’ll do the next day.

Next night:

Ahh, the open page. A two month old kitten shoots around the room like a pinball, deflecting in all directions… tired tonight… fighting sleep for a little peaceful Jim Beam buzz— listening to tunes and writing, just like the old days. Saw Bonescrew tonight, a good show— a little off in places but it was their first public appearance… let it be… I’m really tired and sapped of any emotional strength and physical too… but to pursue a buzz, the pursuit that I love. Why? I don’t know… relief, that’s it. Zorro is winding down now and getting sleepy. I just put him in bed with Robin…

You know, email has killed mail. I don’t write letters anymore. I used to write them all the time. I still have two friends who live far away— Anna and Jamie. I email Anna now. Jamie’s physical address changes fast and he doesn’t have a computer to email. I’m still faster at hand writing than I am typing… maybe letter today… children verbalizing, quite simple and quite amazing--

ah, yes… a little free form. Impossible to do on a computer… is there a way to escape the computer? Have weened it down quite a bit but I’m still slave to videos, music and email. Maybe get a second desk for the writing room. No more CD’s, just video— but not all at once, make a video when it’s time, write. Do you remember what it’s like to come home, looking forward to sitting down to write? No? Right, I don’t.

I've come to realize after 15 years that Fat Habits should not be the title to my first novel.....

Muse at Boston Garden January 25th 2016

When I found out Muse was playing I knew I wanted to go, no, had to go. I had missed about three concerts going back to the summer of 2015 because of work. This time I was going and that was that. Paul and Lou had bought tickets back when they went on sale in the fall and I kind of just forgot until our Christmas night on the Common. Then I forgot again until a week before the show and that’s when I hit the ticket agencies. I didn’t care where I sat— floor, loge or balcony, as long as I could hear them cleanly. I almost bought a ticket from vendors due to my impatience but these days I have a hard time, on principle mind you, handing over an extra twenty bucks for transaction fees. So I went to Craigslist. Most people were selling pairs but I was going solo. Rich had wanted to go but backed out the preceding week. I didn’t put great effort into rustling up company— half ass threw it out on Facebook but met little response. Finally I found a guy in Brookline who was selling one ticket for 75 bucks. That Saturday, during the initial flurries of the snowstorm, I drove in, met him, thanked him and was gone.

Anytime I see a show in Boston I usually park at the old garage for free at 125 High Street. None of the heads are there after 6:00 and trust me, Security doesn’t know the difference between who is parked in the garage or not. I know this from my time as a security officer there. I can even get passed the doors by pulling up to the garage door where the buzzer, speaker and camera is located. I say in my best nonchalant voice, “firehouse,” and they buzz me in. That’s how the firehouse people and their friends get into the building. They have their own free parking area. Besides, I got my nephew on Robin’s side, also named Kyle, a job there as a security officer, about a year ago. They love him and he has influence so if I need to fall back on him to park, I can. 

Anyway. Good night for a walk through Boston, 20 minutes to the Garden on a not so cold winter night. The overhead Christmas lights that line the Fanuel Hall plaza were still up, blinking wonderfully. Inside the Garden, my seats were balcony, first row (no one in front of me) and perfect for taking some video. Pretty much aligned with center stage, just a hair to the left. Perfect filming conditions actually. I generally film with my camera if I have a good vantage point, which I did. If I don’t have good spot , I either abandon the idea or just take a clip or two. This night I captured 5 songs. I created a montage of them that I put on Facebook. I don’t like to bombard the Facebook feed with a lot of stuff so I just sampled the five files into one. I thought if there were any Muse fans out there that they might enjoy it but no one commented on it so… that was a waste of time... oh well. Here are the tunes I captured, for the most part in their entirety.

I had to water down these videos from high quality to low quality so they would make the 100 megabyte size restriction per file. Also, though I love the video quality of my camera, the zoom sucks-- it doesn't have a fluid motion. When I zoom in or out, it does so a frame at a time which looks choppy and unprofessional. Generally I try not to use zoom on it unless I know that I will be editing out the zooms later.

The second to last clip is the montage file I posted on Facebook. The last clip, a 45 second clip was taken with my cell phone so I could text it to Rich and Dano so they could see and feel the atmosphere of the show.