Theater of the Soul

I don’t remember how I stumbled upon Rob and Gut Rumbles. But I DO remember my initial reaction after reading a few posts. Wow. Just fucking WOW. Raw, uncensored honesty and a sense of humor to boot. Who IS this guy?

A perfectly fallible human being. That was the Rob I came to know. No topic was off-limits…no subject was danced around. He opened up his heart and mind and LET FLY. I lurked for a long time because I was a little intimidated by much of what I saw there. Finally, one day, after reading a scathing post about his ex-wife, I emailed him. What was the start of a beautiful friendship should have, by all rights, ended right there. I thought that it was completely inappropriate for him to speak of his son’s mother the way he did, and I told him as much. Those of you who knew Rob, can probably guess what I recieved in my Inbox. That email should have been stamped with a “HAZARDOUS CHEMICALS” label. Let me tell you, it was SIZZLING.

He pissed and moaned. I pissed and moaned back, but held my ground. My opinion was, and still IS, that he should have been the bigger person and showed her respect even if he got none in return. And then he made me put myself in his shoes. I realized that no matter what *I* thought, HIS reality was his own to deal with in whatever manner he saw fit. Neither one of us conceded defeat…we simply acknowledged where each other was coming from and moved on to other subjects. We discussed how I came by my nickname and debated over his fascination of womanly toes (I still say feet are the 2nd most disgusting part of the human anatomy after assholes). We talked about our dogs and kids and ex-spouses. Books and food and boiled peanuts. He expressed disappointment when I broke my own NO CATS rule and I giggled evilly when I sent him pictures of nekkid women posed with snakes as I imagined him trying to decide between repulsion or lust.

Over the years, I’ve realized that Rob was many different things to many different people. If you wanted a pissing contest, you usually got more than you bargained for. If you wanted a rational discussion, you usually got one of those too. And boy oh boy, could he stir up some shit when he wanted to. I finally realized after a few months of reading him when he was just stirring and trolling for hits and when he was serious. I admired his honesty and willingness to put it all out there, even when I disagreed with his tactics sometimes. When he learned that I couldn’t be scared away by his blustering and when I learned that this was a man who lived by HIS OWN RULES, a strong friendship was formed. We had many disagreements over the years, but they always just fizzled out and we moved on. I realized that Rob’s reality and demons were his own to deal with and that he didn’t want to be ‘fixed’. I got THAT message loud and clear.

When it came time for the first Georgia blogmeet, I was offered a ticket to attend because money was always an obstacle to overcome back then. Unfortunately, my pride was the bigger obstacle in that case. A short time ago, Cat offered to fly me down too, but for my own reasons, that also wasn’t to be. I regret that now because, even though money is no longer an issue, my own heart won’t allow the first time I meet Rob to be at his own funeral. I will make it down that way at some point with my boys, and make it a point to visit all the places Rob told me about when I can see and eat without tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat.

For now, I’ll buy a bottle of the finest Chablis I can get my hands on and drink a silent toast to that perfectly fallible human being known as Acidman…my friend…and leave you all -his friends- with my favorite Gut Rumbles post:

June 14, 2005
cracked pots

From catfish:

One Cracked Pot

An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole
which she carried across her neck.

One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water. At the end of the long walk from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman bringing home only one and a half pots of water. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made to do.

After 2 years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the woman one day by the stream. “I am ashamed of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house.”

The old woman smiled, “Did you notice that there are flowers on your side of the path, but not on the other pot’s side? That’s because I have always known about your flaw, so I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you water them.” “For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers
to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house.”

Each of us has our own unique flaw. But it’s the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding.

You’ve just got to take each person for what they are and look for the good in them.

To all of my crackpot friends, have a great day and remember to smell the flowers, on your side of the path.

When I read that, I realized that most of my really good friends are cracked pots of some kind or another. But they wouldn’t be so unique if they weren’t cracked. Straight-laced, “sane” people bore me.

Cracked pots are all one-of-a-kind.
Posted by Acidman @ 12:16 PM