Oh this is hard… Oliver and Nicholas and I went to the Wilson County Fair tonight as I had promised them I would take them. I was tired and cranky and not looking forward to it… 4 hours sleep the night before and not enough to eat. But I wouldn’t dare want to disapoint them. Ela stayed home and took a break.
Nicholas’s bad attitude turned to glee as we actually approached all the lights and sounds and food smells of the fair. I did not anticipate that both he and Oliver would be just so enthralled with it all… I guess we adults take it for granted. The first ride they chose was a spinning revolving swing of a marry-go-round… but the little kid version of the bigger one they also eventually rode. And then they found the miniature roller-coaster, and man that was a hit. And next the Pirate Ship… that simply rocked up and down as if on waves. And that’s when it hit me. I’m not sure if I’ll post this… but I can’t not write about it. They won’t be my little boys much longer. And I could have so easily missed this moment… so easily given in to some sense of obligation to be somewhere else. Their faces as they were in total enjoyment of this moment… a moment in a child’s life that they need not just for the moment, but for their future, so that they know what feelings to aim for in their adult lives. Watching them was a feeling that trumps all others I could ever hope to have. Their joy was so pure… they were totally unaware of the adult world that is so quickly descending upon them. They were not aware of the little girls sitting next to them experimenting already with makeup; they were not aware of the pock-marked and hagard, tired face of the ride operator and his probably hard life; nor the cost of the whole outing which is so beyond the means of so many, nor my own weariness as I try to give them this seed of an experience that can only come now. I tried not to cry, I tried not to stuff it either. And I glanced around to see if any of the other watching parents were experiencing the same thing too, but I couldn’t tell. I really don’t know who needs who more – me or them. I can imagine a World where every day could hold such a moment with them. In some tribal places, it probably exists as a given. I feel so lucky.

I often tell them, “Thank you Oliver/Nicholas for being my son. You could have been born to someone else, but I’m so glad you chose me to be your father.” I relate this in the event someone can apply this to their own life.

The core of a man…
Can be likened to a column of wax:
It is only as strong as it is unflexible,
Thump it with your finger and it feels so solid and heavy,
It is cool to the touch and readily absorbs heat,
If you try to move the column it sticks to the floor and won’t easily budge,
Never transparent, somtimes murky and translucent,
You can easily scratch its surface, but digging deeper takes great effort.
It’s energy is trapped and useless without a wick.
And as Shakti dances around the fire,
she draws her Beloved ever closer to her light and play,
and then it happens,
The column melts, and collapses.

I have been meaning for a long time to write a tribute to Darlene Badal. I hope her friends, remaining family, and her boyfriend of so many years will find this and add to it. I don’t remember his name, but we spoke by phone when I uncannily called on the one year anniversary of her death, after not having known that she was ill or having spoken with her since 1994. Darlene.

I met Darlene at the United States Psychotronics Association Annual Convention in 1990 (I think). I always remember her graceful way of moving, and the orange blouse she wore which went so well with her skin tone. Her chestnut brown hair waved side to side when she walked and she had a way of turning her head sharply, as though not to miss something. And Darlene had these very large deep brown dreamy eyes and long, dark eyelashes. She is easily one of the oldest souls I’ve ever met. I really wondered why she was here still? I have been told that her spirit amongst her friends was wise and giving and many people who would only casually meet her would be struck as I was.

And it is for a very selfish reason, really, that I can never forget Darlene. You see, I have a way of understanding people that I come about naturally, and it takes me comparatively little time to develop a metaphor for a person as they experience themselves. Perhaps Darlene was the same. We were in a group at the USPA after lectures were concluded and the conversation was charged and flowing like high rapids on a river. I found myself speaking to the group… relating a story I think. Darlene blurted something out to me, that I’ll never forget. It was validating something I knew of myself but had never had anyone perceive of me, and yet it would be something I could perceive of someone else. I won’t repeat it here; it isn’t really important now. But, I wondered why was she both able and so quick to perceive this? I can say that Darlene is the only person to have ever understand me, the way I understand other people. She made me a birthday card later that year; she colored it with pastels and it was obvious she was deliberate in its creation. I always looked forward to seeing her at the conference. We tried to get her to go dancing with a group of us a couple of times, both in Milwaukee and in Dayton. I remember her being shy and saying something about being “too old” to go dancing. I thought that odd; she wasn’t too old.

So the Internet hit in 1994, and that was the last year I saw her before going off to Germany. And in 1995, while in Germany, I found her email address at the University. She had no idea her email address was searchable on the ‘net, and she seemed bothered that just anyone could find it. Nevertheless, it was good to “talk” to her when I was so very far away from home.

I became so busy after that year, with 2 babies soon to be born to myself and Ela, that I kept putting-off calling her when I returned from Germany. And I did not go to any more conferences. And then I finally did call… and now I have experienced why it is so important to treat every encounter with someone special as though it could be the last chance you get to create a memory with them. Thank you Darlene, and I hope that the Universe is so constructed that the memories I have of you are not the only ones I will ever have of you.

– Chad

Finally, after 30 years of excuses, I did it:
A special thanks to Jeff and Georgia (in alphabetical order) for the pictures and more importantly for their spiritual presence. 🙂



All romantic love, no matter how strong it may seem, is still made of glass.

It was September 2nd, 1994. This is when I saw the first sky of someplace not America. America: Disneyland of varying intensity. I stepped-out from Berlin Tegel Airport, and in between dragging my luggage and keeping-up with Grit and her family, I looked-up.

I might as well have been looking at the sky from a different planet.

The clouds were low, and it was cool and clammy outside. And it smelled altogether different. But the sky’s color; it was a different shade and mix of white, gray, and pale blue. I heard the line “… we aren’t in Kansas anymore” go through my head. Why couldn’t I have felt welcomed by it, like the way the tall, puffy clouds in Florida make you feel like you are someplace warm and easy? The sky had a caste to it similar to how the skys in Wisconsin are… but still different enough to strike me as totally foreign.

My reaction to seeing the sky was but an ominous, homeopathic dose of what was waiting for me… had I known, I would never have left Nashville. Thank God for un-knowing.

The parking lot was not asphalt. It was something I have only seen in Europe, unfortunately. A smart construction of a concrete honeycomb with grass growing in the empty spaces. It creates a grassy but firm surface. And this paragraph is probably the most boring thing I’ve written in my blog here-to-fore. 🙂

I remember seeing a Police van, with a woman in the back of it… and she was crying. I wondered why, and I think Grit said that she might have had her car stolen, and was filing a report. I don’t know if that was a guess or fact. But I can still vaguely see her face. Little did I know, that I had just witnessed a very rare sight: A German crying in public. I only saw it happen one other time, when a young cashier was fired from the supermarket I frequented. I have seen many people every year in Nashville crying in public, or in their car, and our population is nowhere near as dense. After a couple of years of being in Chemnitz, I began to notice small but significant differences between there and my home.

And after Dietmar, Grit’s father, had heaved and stuffed my box into the back of his mercedes, we were off… and in turning out of the parking lot of the airport, we passed by a large concrete condominium. And I saw this woman.

I saw a woman, whose face still is slightly haunting. Firstly, I was amazed at how tightly packed all the roads and structures were to one another… and as she was opening the door to her car, my gaze caught hers. She was an attractive young woman, of muscular build, and in her work-out leotards. But it was the look on her face that struck me. She looked so serious. So stoned-faced, but intense. And she looked at me for what seemed like a long time, but it couldn’t have been more than a second. And I guess that was the first time I really saw the face of Germany; but it would become my everyday reality. I make it sound dreadful, and awful. Well, it isn’t so bad as that… but there was a void of spirit there that many tried to explain, or to compensate for, but couldn’t because it was so impalpable in nature.

No relationship, no matter how magical and perfect, can prevent you from having those “Relationship Anxieties”. But, the right person will give you the maximum opportunity to know that your fears are nothing to be afraid of… but you have to *allow* them to do this.

If I could travel in time… forward or back, to anytime future or past, it would be easy for me to choose which time.

I would choose to relive one day in the summer when my boys were 3 and 4 years old. We would walk through the cemetary behind our house in Berry Hill… and I would get to listen to their sweet little voices. I can’t begin to express the bittersweet, fleeting precious time it was.
Writing about my boys is absolutely the hardest thing to write about. It is like walking naked and skinless down a busy city street.

I remember Hope having a similar sentiment about her 2 boys.

I wonder how many people have this feeling, too.

– Chad

Ok, I like over-generalizations and overly-definitive statements… so here goes another one:

“The only strength or power, that matters in the end, is
to BE

vulnerable .

I decided there are 2 kinds of compassion, and each sounds like this:
1.) “I see you are hurting, and I feel your pain, and I wish you would stop hurting me.”
2.) “I see you are hurting, and I feel your pain, and I wish you would no longer hurt.”

I thought this today, after having thought about it since last June, when a woman I only spoke with over the phone (from Match.com) said something like, “I feel your pain, and I don’t like it, because you are hurting me”. That started me thinking… I mean, how dare we rain upon someone else’s sunny day with our stuff, right? Especially in the land of “I’m addicted to Sunshine” – California.

I had a female friend in my early 20’s who was eccentric and attractive in a geeky kind of way. I like to sit and listen to her speak in a kind of melodic meditation of what her life was like. And I would rub her feet, so to stay connected with her. And in a few moments, one night, it felt a little bit sexual, but only for a brief instant, and then the sexual component would disappear. Obviously, we weren’t drinking 🙂 So, um, I was both happy for the experience, but aware that I wanted so much more than a “hang out” buddy. It seemed that the only way I could relate to her, and garner her company, was to be this attentive, giving male. But that’s not so bad, is it?

Use me
As a honeybee does a flower
Walk upon my soft petals
with prickly limbs
collecting sweet nectar
along the way.
when you’ve had your fill,
and all you can stand,
while you still can,fly away
go forth,
vivify others

The Gift of Feeling

Why did I wake up, a wise old man, in a young man’s body?
Why am I able to understand a greater variety of things, moreso than anyone I’ve ever met? Or could it be that I simply am overconfident?

Waking up. To be awake. Inevitably, feeling is wakefullness. Feeling… feeling anything… is better than any safety or sanity. Love – circulated between Two, is the greatest feeling, and the greatest safety, at the same time.

Understanding could simply be the ability to gauge the distance between something finite and it’s infinite… with no knowledge of what lies between. Your degree of accuracy, as judged by others… determines whether you are perceived as a bullshit artist, or genius.

As such, I know nothing, but will risk putting anything into some context or frame of reference.

In the past, I’ve not written thoughts unless I perceived them to be of value to someone who might read them. I don’t think the web needs yet more mental masturbation? Tonight, I’m seeing what happens when I care less about what and why I’m writing. We’ll see.

Fate conquers Love, but Love conquers All Else.

I had this thought the other day, but like most things I think and wish to write, I forgot it before I could even begin to consider writing.

It reminds me of “Scissors, Paper, Rock”.

I was trying to express something to Jakota in email, and it came back to me… a person can easily guess why. 🙁

Thank you to DeAnna (talking about her optimistic former husband) for the conversation which inspired this one:

Ladies, never say to a man “I would never have sex with you, ever, no matter what”. Because men just don’t believe you when you say that… they think you are either lying or that you are fooling yourself, and that in actuality you have some other feelings for them that you *must* be suppressing.

A woman can say “I would never have sex with that man, even if he were the last man left on Earth”. But a man, saying something similar, would be aware that he was either angry or just joking, or not particularly horny/drunk in that moment. This is when women think “Why doesn’t he get it??? I just have no interest in him?”

You see, men don’t go around thinking “I would never have sex with that woman”. Maybe in a fit of anger they might think that… but deep-down they know it isn’t true, and they apply the same logic to you. When you say “I’ll never have sex with you” we hear, “She’s confused about just when and where she really wants to have sex with me… she doesn’t quite know where I fit in, but obviously, given the fact she raised the issue, it must be something she’s thinking about, so therefore there’s still a chance!”

Men think not in terms of yes/no with having sex with women, they think in terms of “when” or in which priority. There are some women we’d only do if they were the last of maybe 1000 women left on Earth; but there is no woman, even if she were the last woman on Earth, into whom we wouldn’t gladly insert our penis. Conversely, there might be a woman with whom we would clearly rather have sex, even if we could have sex with any other woman anywhere besides her.

“Have sex have sex have sex” I really get tired of typing this phrase and hearing it in my head. But, on the other hand, there are too many euphamisms lacking beauty or clarity.

“Global Warming”, on the other hand, sounds better the more I say it. Isn’t that ironic?

– Chad

“Any interpretation of the U.S. Constitution would be better than the violations of it we are currently experiencing”

This came into my head after attending an informal gathering, “Nashville Drinking Liberally”, at The Flying Saucer on Thursday nights (6pm). It was great fun… and yes, some politics too, but nothing in bad taste to any party or political leanings.

Interestingly, I have a hard time encountering anyone capable/willing to ask me questions. From all my dates via online personals ads, I can only remember a few where someone asked me anything about myself; it usually happens that the woman will talk so much about herself, and that I will usually be genuinely interested, that they never learn anything about me. I do try, however, to interject myself into the conversations, but if someone isn’t curious about you, you can’t compensate for that. Or if they are curious, but somehow timid, the same result.

The whole reason I’m saying this at this point is to say that I had more genuine curiosity about things I said in 5 minutes than I had in hours and hours of interraction with women from the personals ads. I think Dawn Kirk would laugh if she read this… She’s told me all along that I’m wasting my time with personals ads, and I don’t exactly agree, but I can see why she would think that, since she has had so many clients “try it”. I’m going to leave my ad up there, just to give fate a helping hand, but I’m not as interested in it anymore. I just need to get out, and see what happens. See what happens, yes. The worst that could happen is that I might actually experience the phenomena of “good conversation”.

– Chad

How to undertand someone:

Step 1: Think of what you think you know of that person… take inventory of your understanding of them.

Step 2: Keeping in mind what you think you understand about them… now assume that your understanding is seriously innaccurate.

Step 3: Ask questions of them that attempts to find what it is about your understanding of them that is innaccurate. Be slow. Don’t assume you understand their answers. Check to see that you do.

Step 4: Enjoy feeling less lonely

Additionally, I like to say that you don’t really understand someone until you could explain them to their own children, should that ever be necessary.

I’m seeking information. I want to find some bit of wisdom, or understanding, or knowledge, that is so profound but comprehendable, that I can learn this thing, and teach it to someone else, and it will spread like wildfire, and set people free, and the best of human nature will become dominant. And we’ll all live happily ever after.

I realized in 1980, in the sixth grade, that everyone else around me was having a life that was equally as complex as my own. I wonder at what age most children realize this? I thought it would be earlier than 12. For me, that was when I can remember sitting in my room, and thinking about how (insert some fellow students name here) was feeling at that moment, simultaneously as I sat in my room. And thinking about how everyone, millions and millions of people, were having a life while I was… and this just blew my mind. The sheer volume of human thinking and experience. I tried to tell my father’s friend of my discovery. He praised me for some reason, but I couldn’t gauge where he was at in this idea (did he have the same thoughts?).
This realization led to my wondering, “Why am I Chad May, born to these parents, and not Todd Erickson?” Todd was a friend of mine. “Since everyone is having an equally aware presence, then why is my awareness that of the boy that is Chad May?” And I thought about this, and thought about this, and was totally obsessed with this question for three days. I remember sitting in my classroom and staring at the smooth, painted cinder block walls, and just blanking-out and thinking about this. And after 3 days, while staring at the wall, the answer came to me!
The reason I am Chad May, and not someone elses’ identity, is because… the question is invalid. Because, really, I am Chad May, and I am also everyone else! This hit me like a ton of lead. In a flash, I realized that it is only my body that creates the illusion of separatedness. I was elated and twisted at this moment. And the realization left me in almost the same instant I grasped it. But, frantically, I began again to think; think back through the logic that had taken me 3 days to create… and it took a few hours, and then Bang! I got it again! I could hang-on to the realization a little longer this time… but it went away, and I spent some days – I don’t know how many – recreating this realization. Everytime I got the “a-ha” it convinced me more that what I was experiencing was Truth with a capital “T”. I think, I’m not sure now, but I think I tried telling my Father of my discovery. Poor Dad. He is a patient man. I think it was soon after that I became aware that I was “reading the minds” of a few people in my class. Or so it seemed. Certainly, some mental barrier had been penetrated that Spring. I took to talking to Susy ??? as though she could hear my thoughts… and of course she was not conscious of this, and it spooked her. I didn’t realize at the time that I was upsetting her. And then when I did, I didn’t realize that she was not thrilled at the idea of talking about perceptions in real time. I’m not doing a very good job of describing this at the moment, even though I have clear memories of how it felt. She became very scared of me… and I felt horribly guilty when the teacher told me that somehow I was saying things upsetting to her. So I stopped talking to her. And I tried for years to make-up for it, but it seemed that the more I tried to show her that “I’m ok, you’re ok” that it only made things worse. Even in the Eighth grade, she still was spooked by me. Ouch. It is uncomfortable to even write about this. It sounds very stalker-esque, doesn’t it? Ok, I was only in the 6th grade, and coping with a very unusual incarnation. Yes, incarnation. I think this is the best way to put it. I had already decided that I must have lived before, because that’s how I felt. I told my mother about this… she was actually accepting.
So, really, the whole point of writing this is to document how it came to be that I experienced myself as being everyone and me at the same time… from a standpoint of logic, not just emotion. I don’t think I’ve told more than 4 people this story in my whole life.
“But wait, there’s more!” I think most of my writing this is because I fear that all these experiences could be forgotten. And I believe them to be too important for simple vanishing into history. Maybe my boys, and their children, will be glad to know where they came from?

– Chad May March 15, 2006 Age 37

is like chemotherapy. It isn’t something you would ever wish upon anyone. And it is kinda a last resort, in how you relate to your fellow humans. Funny, my therapist keeps extolling its healing qualities. Does that mean I have cancer?

Celibacy is like chemotherapy because although it can make you feel very, very ill, it can also be the only thing within reach to heal you. It makes you feel like your dieing, but you hope to be reborn. I’ve never had chemotherapy, but I’ve had lots of celibacy. And I hope I haven’t offended anyone who has had chemotherapy?

I believe that sex, with another human, is truly a need. But so is water, except when you have internal injuries (or so it seems in the movies). I recently heard that a study was done that shows men have elevated testosterone after having sex with a woman, but not after masturbating. I knew it! Hah!

So not having sex is bad for you. And having sex with someone, under certain circumstances, is bad for you. Somehow, I think there are indigenous tribes where they just don’t have these problems. What went wrong?

Maybe there is much more wisdom to this question in the works of Wilhelm Reich. Since I’m not likely to read his books anytime soon, I’ll have to absorb his ideas by proxy when I meet someone who read and understood him.
Kate Bush dedicated an album to Wilhelm Reich – “Cloudbusting”.

Can’t we all just get along? Naked? 🙂

– Chad

What is it with the mixing of sexual passion and violence?

I posit the following:
I think that men have an instinct to hurt their lover, physically, during sex, because it is a hold-over from our animal instincts.
By copulating forcefully enough, a male can assure that the female will be too hurt to copulate with another male. This makes his sperm the last ones in, and the more likely to actually fertilize the egg.

Monkeys use the technique of trying to be the last to ejaculate. They cue in line, and as soon as they ejaculate, they get back in line. The last to ejaculate is most likely to be the father! So the quicker he ejaculates, the quicker he can get back in line! Poor little female monkeys, right??? I can hear some woman thinking to herself, “So it wasn’t a man I was sleeping with, it was really a monkey!” Now now!

Ok, why am I even thinking about this? Well, I hate to be the one to tell everyone, but I have come to the conclusion that men have an instinct that is violent in sex. Some are more in touch with it than others… and of course it is more a symbolic expression than real, unless some mental illness prevails. But still, I can’t help but be aware that sex has this element to it… the “Fuck Me Baby Effect”. But why? What purpose, in terms of animal evolution, could it serve? I think I denied it when I was younger. The older I get, and the more honest I am about my sexuality, the more I realize this. And in talking to other Men, I think I spot it in them too. If you are a “nice guy” and you are fairly self-observant, you can’t help but feel this passionate, wild, driving force when you are with a woman. Yes, while you are consumating the most intimate and tender and spiritual aspects of your Union… maybe with someone you would rather die for than see harmed… it is such dichotomy. And no one talks about it, except maybe the BDSM folks; and they are probably adding another dimension to it.
So is a woman, when she submits to a man’s vigorous thrusting, essentialling saying, “You are the One” ; “I want to bear your children” ; “Take me, I am yours” Reminds me of the finality of mutual suicide, when 2 people ensure that they will be each other’s last mortal experience. I hope I’m not creeping you out with this? It is curiosity here, not some fetish of mine.
To prove that sex is intertwined with violence, consider this:
Both men and women are capable of climaxing without anything rigorous or even that physically strenuous. How does that sound to you? Kinda boring, huh? See my point?
I’ve been wanting to write about this for a while, and couldn’t find the right time. I’m not at my “writing best” at the moment, so I might revise this sometime when I’m feeling more articulate. I invite your comments and ideas.

Me from December 2004
This is me from December of 2004. No, my hair doesn’t always look like this.

Again, in 1993, I think Amy Holte was the inspiration for this one:

Avoid my chaos and fuck me not!
For with many contradictions I am fraught…
Whatever you give,
You will certainly lose,
Pity me so,
I love while I use.

I think this is my own harshest internal criticism in writing. Or at least I hope that’s all it is/was. I knew that I was needy. But what to do? You can’t make yourself unneedy. And just like “not drinking” doesn’t cure the alcoholic… abstinance from affection doesn’t… well, you know.

– Chad

There is a discussion group on Tribe.net called “Give Icke the Mic”, and I posted this in response to someone asking if David Icke is “reptillian”:

Re: Is David Icke a Lizzy??? Complexity of motivations:

By the very fact that we all are here, is a testament to the idea that we share something in our soul so common, that we overlook the fact that we share it. We have a common motivation… most mammals. We have a basic instinct as we live, to be “good little mammals”. And we are very mammalian-centric in our understanding of the motives of other life-forms.
What I’m saying, is, that it will be difficult for us to understand the motivations of other races, and that we *can’t* understand their motivations, until we find what we have in common with alien/ets/othe races. And what we have in common may be things we don’t yet know how to describe, even within ourselves. It’s a little like asking a fish to describe water, and then asking said fish to expound on what he thinks other creatures swim in… when we know that not all creatures even swim, and some even fly.
I think that when we finally do have contact with our reptilian counterparts, we fill ascribe very simple, mammalian-centric motives to them…. and be confused when our understandings don’t predict their actions.
So, David Icke could be a very benevolant reptile… or something like that. He could be very benevolant, but still he might have motivations that would give us the heebee-jeebees. All sharks are benevolant… until they bite your leg off… and what if it was a leg that had bone cancer, and he did you a favor?
I think, from the standpoint of causality, that at the top of the pyramid of motivations of races and individuals, is the idea that a soul’s “orientation” filters through its physical body’s neurobiological disposition. By orientation, I mean that all souls recognizable by us can be said to be more or less either self-serving, or trying to “help his fellow man”. I’m not the first to say this… I read this in “The Law of One” (a channelled piece by RA. I don’t make a habit of referencing channeled material, but I must say it makes a lot of sense in this case).
Reptiles would certainly have a different take on how to help your fellow man, versus a mammal, because we have very different brains. It could become very complicated from there… reptiles whose brains had evolved to be very mammalian… Mammals with over-active medula-oblongotas…
You guys still with me here on this????
I’ll eventually get around to telling you the stories behind my ideas, and that will be more useful than my conclusions.
Time for me to go and be a good little mammal now…

– Chad May

Hope Against All Odds

It is within the unexplained that we are most likely to find solutions for the unsolvable. Such is but one of the values of Humanity pursuing the exploration and understanding of phenomena.
Sometimes, I begin to become negative about the future of Earth and Its Humans. But I tell myself to have hope. Don’t give up on the idea of Utopia. It’s always coldest before the dawn, right? Either way, it doesn’t help to be fatalistic. But it does help to be realistic.

Actually, it was a haiku.

I was in the sixth grade. My teacher (wish I could remember her name) gave us an assignment: Write a haiku.

So, I searched my soul. I was being a rather melancholic little kid at that time. I think this was after I had finally successfully shot something with my pellet rifle. Please understand, that I shot many things with my pellet rifle. And I never hit anything, until a little bird fell into the water, lifeless and dead. I went to pick him up, then realized that he was actually d-e-a-d. And I started to cry, and felt awful about what I had done. I held him in my stiff gloves, and carried his limp body back to the shore, and left it there. I realized my mistake.

So, I wrote:
Be a meadowlark
ever so humble
then, die
your soul to crumble

I remember the perplexed look my teacher had. She showed the poem to my mother, to see if “everything was alright” back at home. Well, it wasn’t. But dead birds were the least of our problems.
In 1979, at Scales Elementary in Brentwood TN, there weren’t any precocious kids other than myself.

– Chad

I am putty in the hands of a sensuous woman…
And how do I know this?
Because I’ve filled-in the crack,
between the window and the wall,
That separates someone’s insides,
from their outsides.

This I wrote in 1993, while trying to be honest with myself about the way Nora affected me. Nora Farmer. Hi Nora, if you ever read this.
She is a Scorpio, too. And a very beautiful, exotic, sexy one at that.

– Chad

Exobiologically Egocentric.

If you make a long enough, latin-sounding word of an idea, does it automatically gain more credibility?
I hope someone comes-up with some better name for what I’m about to say:

Yesterday, November 24, 2005, I was cruising the ‘Net for comments for and against George Green (He is famous for his interraction with Billy Meiers and for speaking of the NWO).

I came across a long treatise that was a synopsis of many individual’s input on the diversity and number of ET’s that presently interract with Earth.

And that’s when I found “The LaCerta Files”. This has been an epiphany for me, even if the LaCerta files are a hoax. By the way, Google LaCerta and it means “Lizard” .

Basically, a Swedish Earth woman is given the opportunity to “interview” a reptillian/mammalian humanoid creature, who explains that she is interested in seeing what the long-term effects will be of her coming-forward and giving information to said Swedish woman. The story has a few elements which I think make it likely to be a hoax, but I can honestly say that I would like to believe the story. Even if a hoax, it made me “see” things differently, about human origins and our place both on this Earth and in the Universe.

LaCerta tells the woman that Humans are not the indigenous people of Earth, nor are they the rightful owners… so what, you say?

The important shift in thinking here is subtle yet profound. Before, I had an automatic belief that Humans were somehow the darling species of our planet… that our planet tolerates us, as do other ET’s, because we are somehow the Earth’s “children”. Children who are genetically manipulated, exploited, confused, etc, but somehow part of the original design of Earth. But I’ve changed that view for now.

How about this instead:
Earth is a planet that was intended to produce a reptilian humanoid first, with mammalian humanoids as an afterthought. Reptilian humanoids, regardless of what we think of them, were the first and are still the rightful “children” of the planet, destined to be an extension of the Planet itself… Earth’s zygotes. Humans, as we are today, are like a litter of kittens thrown on the doorstep, diseased and orphaned.

The reptilian humanoid body is a more likely one. It would be a more efficient design, biologically, and a single large brain would become intellectual more quickly than the mammalian “double-hemisphere” design. Mammals are a funny bunch, because our fragile nature and divided brain make us both more complex and more given to behaviors outside of the realm of survival and harmony, and evolution. But, with that said, mammals are lots of fun! We do the craziest things, and we probably make great entertainment. Anywho…
So we human mutants (keep in mind it is our physical form I’m being critical of, not the intrensic value of our souls) are a bunch that no one knows what to do with. We don’t belong anywhere. Too cute to kill, to deadly to take inside, so to say. But, definately loveable, if not by most, than at least by some of the other races. And, we provide a convenient place to send the souls currently screwing-up the more peaceful places in the Universe.

You see, other planets have figured-out that if you simply kill a “bad seed”, that you haven’t destroyed the energy of that individual. It will re-manifest somehow somewhere. So, they send these souls who keep stirring-up trouble to Earth. Penal colony of sorts. On Earth, there are plenty of other misfits, and saints in disguise to assist them in experimenting with ideas of harmony. I see people’s past lifes, and I see some pretty raunchy characters among us. But I digress.

I think that we, as Humans, tend to act as though we *belong* here and that the planet owes us something as its rightful offspring. Unfortunately, I think that is probably not true. The reptiles are to the planet, what we think we are. And the reptiles are tolerated, by other et’s, as we wish that we would be. The reptiles get to say, “It’s my planet”. When humans say this, the One’s who know snicker a bit, I think. Do et’s snicker? Let’s hope they have a twisted sense of humor, when you think of the plans to militarize space by Humans.

I’ve said a lot, and still I have said nothing at all. But, I have a new paradigm by which to feel my way through this world. I know nothing, suspect much, and am ever questioning.
In the end, wisdom is greater than all the knowledge ever attainable. Wisdom is transportable, knowledge is fixed.
Comments, anyone?

– Chad May

Those horrible codependent feelings. You know, the ones you have with someone. Or at least had.

Let me validate you a little bit.
The fact that we, as humans, can love broken people… and keep on loving them… and love them more, even when we almost kill ourselves in the process…
I think we are admired thoughout the Universe for this. Can you imagine what we would be like if everyone was somehow “too smart” to try to love a broken person? So, then, who’s to say how much – or how far you should go – to love a broken person? Is there something so much more valuable and lasting for us to do as humans with our time and energy?
Of course, eventually, you get enough of it, and you make the decision to cut that person off. And there is no right or wrong time to do it. You must be happy with how hard you tried, because you will wonder if you tried hard enough. The chances are low… very low… that your love will help the person heal. But it does happen. Rarely. But it does.
Perhaps seeing your love for someone be the rare case of helping such a person, actually makes you think your success might somehow be repeatable. Oops! Kinda like playing the lottery, isn’t it?

Never love a broken person in hopes of having them in your life… not because it isn’t possible for them to become whole. But, because when they do become whole, they will be a different person than the one you fell in love with. Broken – they are someone from their past life, and maybe that is why you feel so strongly for them. Whole – and they become the person they shoud have been all-along, and usually not someone matched to you.

You know, there is a paradox of sorts: Broken people will never heal until they both want to, and someone helps them. But, broken people will never want to heal until they have hurt some number of people who love them. So, we love broken people, and hope that we will be the one in whose time they choose to heal. And of course, some never heal. I can say that the only *real* reason why people heal, is not to be happier or more serene, but to be able to benefit others. Broken people are so amused and entertained by their own drama, that they won’t remove themselves from their drama unless somewhere, deep down inside themselves, they get a bigger kick out of helping other people. That’s my take on the subject.

– Chad

Writing poetry was a big breakthrough for me. Somehow, it was healing. During the months when I did most of my writing, and I’ve not written much, I felt like I finally accepted who I am, via my ability to *say* who I am.

And, hey, it is a little like mental masturbation. Writing is. Being hip and cool is.

During this summer of 1993, I was struggling just to feel ok with being alone. I was 24 years old, and too sensitive for my own good.

One night, I was sitting at Bongo Java, and I thought to myself I would feel better if I could write something poetic. “Mary” was serving coffee. She didn’t look happy *at all*. And I felt myself energetically probing her, and both wanting her attention and wanting to cheer her up. She wouldn’t budge. With that in mind and heart, I sat down and wrote:

Humming, drumming, restless mind fumbling….
What to think?
“Please go to sleep!”
Could I want, something to eat?
Who broke the clock, dropped on the floor?
Who left the sock, not in the drawer?
Plastic spoons!
Pink bassoons????
Thoughts so random, flowing so fast….
Rest my love, and sleep, at last.

This was about how your mind comes-up with the craziest of random thoughts, right as you drift off to sleep. I was so pleased with myself that I had written this… and I copied it onto a slip of paper, and handed it to Mary, with my phone number.
She barely looked at me, and glanced at the piece of paper, and slipped it into her pocket. I saw her only a few times thereafter, and she never noticed me. She was probably in her late 20’s. Oh well. But I had the poetry, anyway.

– Chad

I posted this to “Jules” on Myspace.com . A thread in her blog kinda got me going on this.

Ok, just thought I might add my 2 cents to this convo.

Alot of this is straight from Robert Bly/Iron John, and some of it is a Chadism:
Most American men are just too nice… or is it really nice that they are? No, we are scared to anger or disapoint women. And women will seek men whom they think are more accurate “sounding boards” for their own feelings. A very feminine women doesn’t need any more femininity. And certainly not from her mate. If she lets herself get too close to a man who doesn’t show an ability to act out of (the oppsosite of) pure emotion… she fears not surviving, on some instinctive level. She seeks a man who will let her emote, and be pure emotion, and she will let herself totally go… trusting that he will prevent her from going too far… but we “nice guys” were taught to “be nice” to women, instead of respectfully being their opposites. Sometimes, being a man means being an unpopular person with women. Yes, they will hate you for telling them that you aren’t willing to enable their co-dependent relationship… but will thank you soon for your strength.
I was a nice guy, too, once upon a time. And a good woman friend told me that no matter how much it hurts a woman, always tell her the truth. She needs the truth as you see it, from your male-species point of view. In America especially, you find men apologizing for being male, and they do this out of genuine shame, and the Mommy attention it gives them from other women.
I find that the more intensely a man allows himself to *HATE* women, then the more intensely he will also love and be kind to women. Wow, I can feel the heat. I mean hate in a symbolic way… not in the uneducated, slovenly way. OK, maybe hate is a bad choice of terms. But it shakes the reader up into thinking differently. Put differently, if men suppress their animal anxiety for women, and their emotional and intellectual fear of them, they will only manifest it in being distant and/or passive aggressive. Women are more articulate than men, and it is something we fear. Don’t take advantage of that, ladies. Women are very flexible in their gender roles, and we aren’t, and this causes us anxiety. Men who are willing to try and bend with the woman only dissatisfy her need to feel like their is a boundary somewhere. If this is sounding chauvinistic, please keep in mind that I’m talking about role play here, not religious duty. Gender anything, no matter how we divide it, is just role play.

There is something about Capitalism and the West that makes men wusses. And America is the land of the Wusses. Sorry, I include myself in that, to some degree. We are raised by women, and our fathers are weak figures. We are still trying to please Mommy when we should be tangoing, emotionally, with our lovers. We are well intentioned, but still afraid of the lonely dark.

There is no such thing as a nice man. There are only men who are behaving nicely. But all men sit atop a wild, hairy beast, that comes out at certain times. And for every man it is a different timing.

All men are cheaters, some just don’t get around to it as often as others. And some have thoughts contrary to cheating.

All men are afraid of losing their masculinity to a woman, some are amused by it, and some are beaters and homophobes.
It helps to keep in mind that we are spirits experiencing the feedback of an animal body.
And, then there is the Alpha Male stuff…
Please pardon my blanket statements and outright over-generalizations… hey, gotta make a point somehow.

I can spew a mighty sentence or two about this, but just as soon as I do, I begin to shoot it all full of holes, with no help from anyone else. But hey, you’ve got to start somewhere.
I hope my little rant is appreciated in some small way. I would write more, but one of my gal-pals has a crisis, and I need to go help her ’cause her ex didn’t pay child support…. 🙂 (Just kidding)

– Chad May (nice guy Version 2.1)

Jealousy is the most frivolous emotion. Most emotions have a purpose, or they are part of some responsibility to act and learn; they are connected to consequence. Jealousy, on the other hand, is purely for fun, if you don’t panic from its powerful grip. Jealousy needs no action, no knowledge gained. You can experience it – its power, and know that nothing bad will happen if you do nothing but try to experience it. You can feel it so intensely that your body seems to burst, but be assured that it doesn’t mean that anything is wrong. In fact, everything could be very right, despite its uncomfortable presence.
If you can learn to stop panicing at its grip, at its rush in your blood, then you will have triumphed over the most powerful of all our animalistic emotions.

When I was a (sick) vegetarian, I was very sensitive to Kundalini energy. But, being a pasty, sickly, frail fliver of a man as I was, rare would be the woman wanting to have a piece of that. So to say. So, what to do with that energy? I mean, besides the obvious?
Great horny-toads Batman, write about it! And in the summer of 1993, I often went to a dance club where I would really get wound-up. I could feel this intoxicating energy flow like a reverse waterfall up my spine, and spiral out my head and limbs.
And then there was kissing Amy. We were both stoned, and I think that was the most inspiration for what follows:

Caduceus kissing,
Reptilian twisting,
Tongues upon themselves turning round.
Heavy breathing, kundalini seathing,
Up your spine spiralling down.
Self control lost,
Individuality the cost,
Lovers synchronistically found.

Chaos in kissing,
Tongues barely missing,
Circling and stopping, I lick your lips,
Teasing… taunting… in random dips.
If this keeps going,
By darkness’s end,
Will we have merged,
Or simply sinned?

– Chad May

I see reptiles. In humans. Or, like a celluloid overlay of a reptilian form, super-imposed in my minds eye over/in the image I have of certain people.

There, I said it.

I also have an uncanny ability to spot pedophiles. Could these two abilities be related?

And I also see peoples’ past lives. Or, what seem to be their past lives. That gets into the idea that all existences are essentially simultaneous, but can be experienced “chronologically”.

I suppose this would best be explained if I were to start at the beginning, in a sort of “how it came to be” fashion.

So, I was 18 when I had my first past life recall. This seems to have made me more sensitive to the whole imagery in my mind of these sorts of surreal things.

About 6 months after my first past life recall, I was going to see Phyllis Molleen with my sweetheart, Lyn, when I had my first experience of seeing someone else’s past life. I was walking up Phyllis’s sidewalk, and in front of me walked a peculiar man, short in stature. I said hello to him, or somehow acknowledged his presence. And in that instant, I “saw” an image in my mind’s eye, like an overlay, of him as a small, large-eyed, bulb-headed alien. You know, the popular image of aliens (or what may easily be only one type). I was astounded. I had not seen many things in this visual way. And, then, to see such a sight, and wonder where the sense of knowing about it’s origin emanates. I was so shocked, that I just blurted out to him, “I just saw your past life, and you were one of those grey aliens.” He looked at me, rather unemotionally, and simply said, “oh, yes, I know. I’ve had many lifetimes on other planets.” Now, Phyllis had a very diverse clientele. I don’t care if he had been Sting, I still would have said what I said.

I thought a lot about the imagery, and what it felt like to have it, in the coming months. That kind of seeing things in my mind’s eye happened more and more, like a muscle becoming stronger through exercise. At first, I was just happy to use this new found toy. I didn’t really think about ignoring anything I perceived. Hey, it was all very interesting.

Then, there came the day I spotted a pedophile, in my mind’s eye, so to say. It was a politician, of sorts. Upon meeting him, I had this funny feeling/image of him. And, later found out about some trouble he had gotten into overseas, in Asia, with very young boys paid for homosexual favors. And then something clicked in my head, and I began to “see” pedophiles. On at least 5 different occasions, I have had my suspicions confirmed, either by the person or someone they tried to seduce.

And then one day, I happened to meet a woman suffering from schizophrenia. Among many of her beliefs, was one that a group of reptilian humanoids followed her around, and experimented upon her cruelly. You know, if you made me bet money on whether or not she had any accuracy, despite her mental illness, I would bet that she really was being bugged by some sort of reptilian bunch of baddies. Can’t someone be driven to insanity, if they experience something as bizarre as what she was claiming? How sane would any of us sound, if we were actually being used as guinea pigs by some alligator-like humanoids with a cruel sense of humor (as she reported).
While she was speaking to me, I had a flash where I saw her as a reptile-like humanoid form, and she was with a group of her own kind, traveling about, victimizing other people. It seemed as if she was reaping something she formally sowed. Oh, she is a whole ‘nuther story. But, I did see her in a past life, but as a non-human form. A “reptoid” if you will.

I have seen so many different past lives in people… I could write for hours about it. Some human, some not, and some I don’t know what the hell. But the reptilians are the most interesting to me. Some seem to be reptilian in their genetics. And some seem to be reptilian in their soul. And some seem to be both.

Now, this may just be some sort of visual cue that leads me to “visualize” people as such. I can and have thought of many normal theories to explain it. But, I must say, that my image of someone as being “reptilian” does serve a useful purpose.

When I see someone as a “reptile”, it seems to be a very accurate indicator that this person will be more egocentric and / or selfish than the average person. They are the antithesis of you common “Bubba” or more native type of individual. Incidentally, I *almost* never see an African (black) reptile. It seems to really favor us whiteys.

I can and will write more observations I have on this, but that will come later.

– Chad

So Irwin Schiff has been found guilty of income tax evasion.
I have read much and heard much about whether or not the U.S. income tax was ever properly added to the Federal Government. I still don’t know what to believe.

But more importantly, I believe that the U.S. gov is headed for a similar fate as the USSR. The States will have to take-over when the Fed implodes. Maybe it will be the Deficit. I don’t know.

But about Irwin Schiff:
You see, income tax protestors are sort of like the inflammation surrounding an infection. The Fed is like the bacteria/virus/fungus. The whole income tax debate acts like an early warning symbol that something is terribly wrong with the Fed. Maybe the Protestors act for erroneous reasons… but when they are squashed, the dissent they represent will become like a capped volcano. Their energy will begin to seethe… and I think Irwin Schiff’s case was the last possible “tipping point” for a slow deflation of the Fed. Now that he has lost, the Fed will continue to meet a destructive demise. Yes, I fear a revolution of sorts in America. I doubt that it will be anything remotely resembling anything else that has ever happened. But it will be the beginning of the end of the Fed as we currently know it… and when it is replaced, it will be replaced by a much more concisely limited Fed by a much more specific U.S. Constitution. One which more clearly attempts to thwart any slow buildup of what we presently have. I think I will get to say “I told you so” by about 2010 to 2011. Nashville, however, I believe will always be a place of calmness within the storm.
But, hey, I also used to think that Vegetarian was the only way to eat. Man, was I wrong. Dead, sick, very wrong. So, maybe I will be just as wrong about all the above.

So, Irwin Schiff, thanks for the effort to end the carte blanche cancer of the Fed. You were a peaceful, lawful attempt at governmental self-correction. History is taking a different fork in the road. And it is the road more painfully travelled.

– Chad

By the time I create the category, and log-in to my blog, I seem to lose the energy to write what I was intending to write. I think I’ll just post the little blurb I wrote to a fellow Coast to Coast listener (you know, Art Bell / George Noory):
To Laurie, “Yep, them reptiles. Or, whatever they are. They are like a
“different” species of human, hiding amongst us… they don’t even
know who they are. Just, they aren’t happy unless they are exercising
power over someone’s life other than their own. The low-intelligence
ones are really kinda funny, in a dark humor sort of way. But, I

So, I think you could divide the world into 2 categories:
1.) Those who are content just to manage their own lives
2.) Those who are predisposed to control the lives of others

I think there is a genetic link somewhere to this. I think most indigenous people have a low occurence of the power freaks. Maybe they were killed-off and their gene dominance subsided (Tribes are known to kill those who seem destructive to the tribe, or at least they don’t get much nookie) Someday, I will have this conversation with an anthropologist who can really knows about the differences between native and western cultures.
I feel so stupid writing about this. I feel like I’m trying to paint a masterpiece with an oily rag dipped in watercolors. Maybe more later. Maybe.
– Chad, 10-27-05

“The Death of Nurturing”

By Chad May

In the time when Mother Earth was being neglected by her children,
and yet the Earth has yet to kill her own… the time when
nurturing became analyzed like so many natural resource
commodities traded among Man. Nurturing became equated with a
weak inability to stand on ones’ own two feet. More analyzed than
appreciated; more rare than any precious metal. So widely
desired, yet unattainable, despite its potential presence.
Profoundly human, profoundly animal, but divinity in essence.
Nurturing. It can’t be metered, can’t be weighed, nor assessed.
Only felt, and in no sense of quantity, valued only in its

Nurturing. You might not ever get it. You might die trying to
have it. You might give all of it you ever wish to have had given to
you. Without doubt, though, it is worth dieing for, as life
without it is not truly living. Fuck modern psychology. To hell
with therapy. Did an African bush woman ever become concerned
about giving too much, in the time before Coke came to her
village? Capitalism is all about profiting, ownership, and
ecology of resources, tit-for-tat-plus-10%interest – all of which is the antithesis of
nurturing. Nurturing is about giving, and yet more giving.
Giving with out thought to why, how much, or how long, or how much
more is left. I would rather die due to complications of nurturing, than to stick
around and die of the results of capitalism.

Nurturing is unconditional love in action, with just a hint of the
sparkle of Creations Eye. It takes two for one to feel it. When
it flows from you, it feels just as good as the one to whom it

Perhaps as the Earth slowly dies, so too will the spirit of
nurturing in her star-seeds; the only animals capable of leaving
the planet on Her behalf.

A tadpole turned into a frog one day, and nearly drowned trying to
reach dry land… only to learn that his destiny was to live in
the water, from which he had just escaped. Similarly, a
dysfunctional human learned how not to kill himself, in an attempt
to feel loved, only to learn that he could not do more than simply
exist without flirting with the self-destruction he had just
barely escaped. Spoken like a true Fuser.

To the therapist who wanted me to see my lack of boundaries, I
bet she is successfully wrapped-up with someone as I type this,
but wishing he would reach out and break her boundaries.

It is more a statement of
our times. And, yes, it will be
hard to remain nurturing in the face of the smart love-ecology of our modern


I originally wrote this in 2003, as a result of my frustration to express myself to Jakota. It wasn’t written about her, but we had a conversation on “smart love”.

I went to a poetry reading… once, and a few times even. I went to read, but of course listened, too. It was mostly guys like myself wooing unseen victims with non-rhyming words of love-n-humpin’. Damn, is that how I am, too? Maybe I was hoping that some beautiful woman would hear my heart, my words, and snatch me away from my stinging loneliness. Um, that didn’t happen, and that was in 1993.

I can only conclude that poetry should be defined as “Man’s first attempt at non-violent seduction”.

I have a theory, and as far as I know, it is unigue.
Maybe all animals are as fully conscious as you and I (you are, aren’t you? 🙂 ) by default… and think in sentence structures like ours… but are either unable to vocalize, or simply not interested.
I was listening to Coast to Coast AM (again) in 2003 and a guest was a man who had a fully conversational parrot named Victor. This got me to thinking.
If you want to really listen to something way cool, check-out budgieresearch.com
I hypothesize that animals who show the most communication tendencies could actually be the ones with abnormal brains, the autistics.
Animals could understand us more, but really just don’t give a damn… we are so different that they (I’m running out of will to continue writing this, I’ll need to continue and refine this later)