Stupid Genius

I have this friend who really pisses me off because he might be a genius, but is also a huge idiot. Not like Rain Man where you can tell that he has a mental disconnect, but is subtly and surprisingly stupid. At first I thought it was a social quirk and it was kind of endearing.

He always wanted to talk about philosophical things and get into deep discussions. It sometimes frustrated me because I felt that he could never really see anything from my perspective. In the spirit of well rounded argument I always try to see things from the vantage point of who I’m talking with, whether it is directly next to me and a few feet higher or if it is on the opposite side of the issue we are staring at. We would get into these discussions and before we had even got to the heart of an issue I would throw up my hands and say, “maybe I just don’t get it then,” because I was so sick of describing that from down here I can see that the beast has gills all the while he is insisting that it is purely a land animal because of the way its nose is shaped. (That may have been a leap but I’m betting you got it.)

Any way, once opposition from my side had dried up he would make up things to talk about. Not even fictional things or shallow things, but ideas that came straight from LSD combined with Tim Burton and found their way into his odd little brain. I laughed at these things at first, not because it was particularly funny, (I generally don’t hold with silliness for the sake of silliness, I believe that silliness should come from a place of genuine joy, other than that it’s just noise.) but because I thought he was trying to relieve some pressure. He wasn’t, he often wanted to carry on these conversations. It was like trying to stand on the top of an oil slicked pyramid.

I realize that it takes all kinds of people to make a world. Like I said, he is my friend and he is probably a genius. He will be a famous writer before I make it out of my 20’s. I won’t tell you how close that is. But I finally figured out why these things frustrated me so much.

He is selfish. To his very core. He would not be able to diagnose this in himself and even if I pointed out every detail of his selfishness to him, he would eventually claim that it was just part of who he is and he shouldn’t try to be any different. Here is how I know he is selfish.

-His own opinion is wildly important to him. He must be heard at all costs and understood before he will even consider really hearing others.

-He doesn’t notice what is going on around him. I was having an intense conversation with a mutual friend of ours the other day and he walked in, sat down and started up a discussion on the grunge movement in the nineties because the tone he heard from the other room reminded him of some obscure opinion he once had in middle school.

Sometimes I cringe when he come into the room because I know that from here on in all discussion will be limited to what he is interested in. Does it make me a bad person that I label this “stupid?”

I know we all have our weaknesses, no one is perfect. But one thing that upsets me more than anything else is someone who isn’t aware that other people exist and have thoughts and feelings. That kind of selfishness must be stopped at a young age. Our world is already falling apart, what if we all stopped listening to one another? What if you couldn’t recognize when someone was hurting? What if you spoke every thought like it was fact?

I don’t know how to tell him. But I’m not doing the world any favors by allowing him to continue in self-centricity, and I’m not doing him any favors by letting his heart grow colder by the day.


The Wrong Bomb

Everyone is all concerned about getting all the things that make them happy, or spending time pursuing things that make them happy.

I guess I’m lucky, I found something that takes me through pain and sorrow down lonely roads and around treacherous obstacles right past happy into something greater. I find myself daily transcending what I want, and what will satisfy in the moment  so that I may take hold of something greater.

This blog is dedicated to Joy. Specifically the joy I gain from writing.

Thick headed, obstinate, in your face, no apologies, JOY.


So, I developed this blog to give myself a little anonymity. I keep a blog that all of my friends and family can see. I wanted this one because I needed an outlet for all the things I’m not allowed to say. And by that, I mean all the things none of us are allowed to say. I plan to be open and vulgar and surprising and shameful. My goal in writing is to shed light on every aspect of humanity, the good and the bad. I don’t always have the opportunity to be as blunt as I would like due to a tremendous disservice we do each other called “polite.”

That said, I spelled my name wrong.

It’s not even a pen name. I purchased a blog in all speed and excitement for my new adventures and I spelled my name wrong!

The title of my blog is Bliss Bomb, but if you want to find it you will have to type in bilssbomb. Loathing and frustration to my internal over excited puppy.

I guess it’s fitting, shame for shame, no mistake or lesson learned will be left uncelebrated.

Happy reading,


God and Santa

Dear God,

I may as well just admit that I don’t get it. It’s all floating around in my head with out purpose and none of it really makes any sense to me. For example; I believe that I am talking to someone, and nothing seems more irrational than that. Something outside of my existence, outside of time, outside of physical anything, and yet in the very deepest places in me I believe that I am speaking to an actual being. Sometimes I don’t believe in you. When I’m livid or inexpressibly sad I don’t believe in you. I guess this means that my extreme emotions crowd out the deeper places in me. Because when I level out I still want to talk to you, I still want to believe that everything I experience is not trapped in my own existence, limited to the capacity of my own understanding. And there is a lot about my life that I don’t understand. Maybe my belief in you is childish. Like children who believe that Santa Clause cares weather they are naughty or nice. Is it childish of me to believe that you hold the understanding that I cannot comprehend? Surely the sufferings of the people in the world cannot be confined within their own soul. Those who would try end up killing themselves. Right?


Love and Hate You

Dear Adam,

I’m writing these things to you, simply because I know you don’t care. Maybe there is something comforting about confessing who I have become and what I have done to someone who has nothing to gain from telling any one. I know you’re smiling at these words because you think I’ve sent this letter because I am still hopelessly in love with you, and that I still hopelessly long for your affections. I know that gives you a wicked satisfaction that I still don’t understand. Well I don’t still love you. I am grateful to you, I am blessed by the affect you have had on my life, and I hate you. I know that’s strong words from someone you consider weak and so I know you don’t read strength here, but again, I don’t care. I’m not going to waste my time trying to gain your interest. I know you’ll read what I have to say simply because you want one answer. You want to know if you were right about me, if you did the right thing by leaving me. Well I can’t answer that for you Adam and truth be told you have already decided that you were right. So no matter how this ends, you will decide that you did the right thing, and that I am exactly as you suspected. As I’ve said, I’m writing these things to you because you don’t care. So I have nothing to lose, and nothing to gain. You cannot validate me or my choices because you don’t have that kind of space in my brain or in my heart any more. You also cannot condemn me because there isn’t a value low enough to quantify the expanse of your compassion. A man without compassion lays judgment on everyone, and it is ineffectual in every sense of the word. In short, Adam, you are the most neutral force I could possibly tell this story too. Please don’t respond, if I get any sense, (and you know how excellent my senses are) that you are beginning to care about all this I will stop writing at once and you will never have your answer from my own mouth.

Love you,



“Mommy look it.” A seven year old toe head boy with deep set, sad brown eyes held a fist up to his mother.

“Could I have that in large bills please?” She didn’t look down at her son.

“Absolutely.” the bank teller eyed the upheld fist with the mild interest of one who is not amused by children and whatever they might have in their fists.

“Mommy look it.”

“It’s been so much more expensive than I thought it would be.” she didn’t even hear him, distracted as she was with the money, and the expensiveness of it.

“Isn’t it always? But I guess that’s what insurance is for.” The teller took the mothers silence as permission to ignore the child.

“Mommy look it!” sad eyes became impatient
“I didn’t think we would get as much as we did, what with all the claims from the storm.” Mommy pulled her wallet from her purse to stow the bills.

“Yeah the insurance companies have been very helpful so far.”

“Mommyyyy look IT!” He bounced next to his mother, the impatience coloring his tone was for the captive in his hand.

“What is it Jack? Oh my, you do have a knack for finding them any where.”

“Lets show ’em” Jack re organized his little treasure between two hands.

“Well alright. He wants to show you.” mommy boosted Jack up on one knee, and the bank teller was forced to affect a friendly smile.

“Oh how very interesting.”

“Why don’t you go set him free outside honey.”

“He will miss the air conditioning by lunchtime, can’t he stay in here with you.” Jack turned his sad eyes to the teller, with an unaffected friendly smile.

“I don’t believe we allow bugs here at the bank.” the teller eyed mommy pointedly willing her to tell her child just what to do with that bug. Jack speculated.

“I don’t think they will like him very well at McDonald’s.”

“Bugs like it outside honey I think he will be fine.”

“Can I at least give him my sucker?” The teller scoffed quietly, certain that mother would be on the same page this time.

“I bet he would like that.” Mommy smiled at Jack and pulled the wrapper off the sucker with more than necessary flourish to hand to her son, who promptly offered it to his bug, who promptly accepted. Jack skipped out side, thrilled to save the lively hood of a little bug.

“Man kids like the weirdest things these days. Does it drive you crazy?” The teller smiled a very grown up smile to Mommy.

“Not at all. My children remind me to enjoy the simple things.”

“Well I guess if you like that kind of reminder.” The teller now affected a laugh that he clearly thought would be mirrored. It wasn’t.

“My I have the receipt?” Mommy smiled politely

“Mommy! LOOK IT!” Jack came running in with two hands full. “Lets show ’em.” And with out asking for a boost this time, Jack dropped a frog on the counter.

Jack bouncing excitedly, teller standing aghast, Mommy laughing hysterically, she scooped purse, frog, child and receipt the way only mommy can, and headed for the door.