A Lobsang Post to Bruce Lee's Wife's second Husband
So I am a member of this club and he is too and he said bad things and I responded. The begining is boring but read the whole thing. It tells some things I have done. You must mean like me. Kidding about it and facing it square in the eye. In fact trying to expedite the process. In fact I could live if I wanted to most likely but I must not intercede. And how did I live? Many ways. Good and bad. Bad side. Former Drug addict. Good side Dedicated doctor. Never charged people in need. Child of the rain forest. Crazy guy flying through mountain passes in horrible weather to render clinics in remote places. Bad side. Former Alcoholic. Selfish night time drunk. Good side. Family man. Dedicated to my brain injured child. Real men don't leave. . Bad side. Compulsive. Good side. Forgiving. Bad side. Clannish. So everyone Tom is a mosaic of many things. Both good and not so good. But the operational question in evaluating how a person lived is in the important things in life. What was their general life policy verses micro-minutia? And what do the people who actually know the person have to say? But people would say that my desire to die is a reflection of one of my bad sides. That is a quitter/procrastinator. So be it. Reality is not solid. Never make judgements without full disclosure. Let me ask you this Tom. Why don;t people in prison get a decent bed and decent food? Why can people live rich when around the corner people are starving? Why is man so non charitable? Yes yes. We like to think we are and are quick to note our donations. But what is charitability and compassion? Well ...It is when we come to the realization that it is wrong to have when others have not. Yes. We all need things to live. But it has to do with indulgence. Excess. Living too far beyond the essentials is sociopathology. Going back to as you brought up. How a person lived. What kind of person were they? Well if I do a quick evaluation of someone my questions revolve around. Do they believe that prisoners should be treated very well? Do they believe that something is wrong with the difference between the life style in Malibu verses Port au Prince? Do they press charges or let things go? And that brings us to Eula. She was the Jehovah's witness that I sprayed with the hose. Now that was funny. I really should not have done that. The poor girl had but one leg. I remember one day in college. I lived in an apartment complex that had four levels. Each level had a long balcony in from of the apartments. I came home from vacation. I noticed that there was a small dog with a yellow bandanna on the third floor balcony. It could barely walk. It looked so forlorn. And then there was Karl. The straight laced Bible wielding apartment manager that would not answer the door if he saw a black person through the keyhole for fear he would have to rent to them. I asked Karl whose dog it was? He replied that he did not know but it had been there for a week. The poor thing had gone up the elevator and was stuck on the third floor. The dog was dying from starvation. Karl had watched this for a week. I spoke to karl like a child telling him to bring me the newspaper. And yes as I expected the ad read "Lost dog with yellow bandanna" The elderly man cried when he saw his dog. He said "He's all I've got". That was in Davenport Iowa. I was the disheveled drunk in the black leather jacket that the police had to come to stop his electric guitar riffs due to all the complaints. Karl is now a rich man. I really should never have sprayed the Jehovah's witnesses with the hose. A one legged woman for God's sakes. Same year. Same place. I was living in this apartment. I had a reputation as a obnoxious, grungy partner who played loud music and when confronted would rant and rave about being entitled to my behavior because of being in the war. Compensating for all the things I had done. I remember when 10 people decided that if one could not confront me they would band together and do it as a group. So there I was in my apartment with my stratocaster and my Marshall Stack Amps which were bigger than my living room. Volume turned up cranking out Black Sabbath War Pigs. I realized someone was pounding on the door. I was so stoned I walked away from the Amp pulling out the cord. I answered the door with with the guitar still on me and a Budweiser beer in the other.(can). This crowed was like the townsfolk in the original Frankenstein. They wanted to drive the monster out! They all started yelling at me. One young man said "what is wrong with you". I relpied. Nothing. "You are the one with the fat wife." The poor girl burst into tears. Now that I am not proud of. That I would apolagize for today if I knew who she was. But after that. A few weeks after that. There was one of the women from the crowd. I came out of the apartment and there were a number of my "enemies" gathered around her. She was on the ground. She had dislocated her knee. She was crying. She had fallen with her baby. I reflexly walked up to the group/ I looked down at the girl and I asked her if she had hit her head. She looked up with trusting eyes and said "No". I said "Do you want me to help you?" She said "Yes". I said"This will hurt for a second". I quickly reduced the dislocation with a large snap. I said "get up" She replied "really?" I said again. I picked her up and put her one her feet. I walked away. The next day there was a different energy in the building. Everyone spoke to me. They waved and smiled. Now they had an image of someone different. A compassionate but disturbed veteran who must have done some terrible things and his mind was traumatized. I never told them I was never in the war. And lastly there was Billy. Billy was an Eagle scout. He had all the badges. Billy took it upon himself to reform me in my teenage years. Reform from what I do not know. But I liked him. So we went on a hike in the forest in the Pocono mountains. As we hiked Billy explained all the tricks of being a back woodsman that he knew as an Eagle Scout. He even had a letter from the president in his room on the wall. Billy explained animal tracks and how to get water from a vine. many different things. Billy was so confident. I was impressed. Well anyway we got lost. And night started to fall. Billy soon realized he had no idea how to get us out. IOt was getting darker and darker. Billy began to panic. Talking about dangerous animals and all kinds of things. He cried. It was interesting but our roles flipped. I became the leader and Billy began to listen to everything I said. I reasoned our way back to the road. I noticed that Billy had wet his pants. I never said anything about it. Billy never talked about the Eagle Scouts again. He is now an anesthesiologist. So Tom. Life is all relative. We are all complex mosaics of many things. I just do not think you can say that a person lived their life this was or that was. It all depends. I have done some very bad things and some very good things. I think we all have. Reality is not solid. Not black and white. Now calling the girl fat was evil. Spraying the Jehovah's witnesses was a bit greedy. Helping the dog and fixing the knee is what I would like to be doing. But we are all made of different things. Everyone is. And in the end If there is a God and a judgement. And I am in front of him and my life is projected on a big screen. I really do not think that the forum is going to be a concern. But calling the girl fat very well may be. And if it is I will use the dog and the knee as my defense. But I fully would expect "going down" to be the verdict. But not for this. For the fat girl.

I will not waste my time reading all that crap BTW, why you are still alive you think you are important, but nobody cares about you

Well the thing is Franco that you are NOT important but only you parents care about you.

his parents are the only ones who know him, as he has never left the house

No he can leave the house but only with his mother. She takes him to the park, store and stuff like that. She takes him to the library for the children's reading hour