Friday, July 31, 2009


I asked the Universe for Trust in her infinite magical abundance.
And she gave me a rent increase and a blown head gasket.

I asked the Universe for Courage to let go of attachment.
And she gave the "it's not you it's me" talk from my tango mate.

I asked the Universe for Joy to overflow from my heart.
And she transitioned my brother over to the other side.

I asked the Universe for Strength to own my light.
And she gave me the chance to dim it with judgment.

I asked the Universe for Grace as I dance with Spirit.
And she brought a road filled with potential potholes.

I celebrate getting what I asked for, grateful for the inner peace.
Filled with Love, knowing each perfect moment unfolds as it is meant to be.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Bitter Spiritualist has gone Bitter Capitalist

Hello Loyal Masses -

As you may have noticed there's been a few changes to my meanderings. As I've already posted we have taken the The out of our title. It makes for easier listening and more comic stylings.

The second change is in our ever expanding acquisition of wealth without actually getting a real job, we have monetized our website. I signed up months ago to make the change and hemmed and hawed as to whether we should or shouldn't go corporate. Well the coffers are light and the staff was bitching about another week gone by and no paycheck, so we pulled the trigger.

It is my understanding that the more times people click on ads on our site the more opportunity we have to get a few duckets for my words. And we are professionals here, and a professional is someone who gets paid for what they do. We have been called up to The Show and are in the big leagues now.

Am I being a shill? Selling out? Quite possibly, that is what the aforementioned hemming and hawing was about. Yet I am putting in a little time to this blog, making attempts to entertain and inform. Fuck, why not get paid for it? People do far less and get paid far more.

In my ever expanding empire I want you to be a partner in this experiment. No not an equal shareholder, hell I do most of the work so I am going to reap the cash benefits. But I will be letting you know how much we are making. I like the idea of transparency in business.

To date - by which I mean today - we have received (after some advanced algorithms and such) exactly zero dollars. So if you are feeling so inclined, click on to one of our sponsors and it will be registered with the good people at Google.

So click once, click twice, click and win. As always, no pressure, but remember it's for the children. Remember the children.

With pockets full of change, and a song in my heart, I remain, full of it.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

My Dad

My father was a fantastic Dad. A man I strive to be like each day. A fighter til the end. I was blessed to spend the last months of his life helping care for him as cancer took his body, but never his humor or his Spirit. My Mom asked me to write something to commemorate the July 10th anniversary of his transition to the other side. A limerick came to me so I thought I'd share it with you, the Bitter Spiritualists' loyal masses.

A man of many titles, husband, father, friend.
Fisherman, footballer, vacationer, gardener to the end.
Hard to believe, gone three years to the day.
Beautiful memories hold the heart ache at bay.

Your humor there to light up the room.
Your laugh, your wisdom chasing away the gloom.
Your generosity legendary, always there in a rush.
Your colorful language could make a sailor blush.

Today we remember not what is gone.
Rather we celebrate you, and how you live on.
Each that knew you, a better person for it.
Our hearts soar knowing the eternal garden you sit.

July 10, a day like any, you bring us a smile.
A tear may be shed, but not for a long while.
You'd want us to laugh, to share in a joke.
Husband, Father, Friend, you were a brilliant bloke.

I miss you Dad, not a day goes by I don't think of you. I love you.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Goodbye Capital T, you've been, well, capital.

Dear Capital T,

This is Goodbye. Don't cry, we are still going to be great friends.

Big T you've been with The Bitter Spiritualist since the beginning. You and me, The Bitter Spiritualist, sharing a laugh, a thought or two, my rabid insecurities; boy we had some fun together. You were right there when I came up with this new idea and moniker and there when I decided to share my words with the world. A fucking thrill a minute joy ride, and now the ride is coming to an end.

I, The Bitter Spiritualist, am feeling a bit sad and would be remiss if I didn't highlight a few great Capital T's in my life, so you and I know everything will be okay. Two T's to make the pain a bit more bearable.

First and foremost, Mr. T, who put the Capital T in T. I met him while watching ABC's World's Greatest Bouncers, breaking through doors and ringing bells, apparently bouncing requirements. Then as Clubber Lang in Rocky. Can't remember if I knew his real name Capital T, but then in seventh grade "The A-Team" (two of you present in the title) premiered and he became Mr. T, and to a lesser degree B.A. Barachus. I'd not heard from him in quite some time until 2002 when some newly minted friends read excerpts from his autobiography. Mr. T was right, no ghost writer needed, Mr. T was back on my map. It might have something to do with the three great friends who reintroduced me to Mr. T, yet he did jump out his bedroom window clad in his skivvies firing pistol shots at two guys who may, or may not, have messed with his Daddy sitting on the stoop. It's a must read, an even better listen in your best Mr. T voice, as it was presented to me at The T Club Mexico in Santa Monica. A fantastic two Capital T pub. A place to laugh, cry, hoot, holler, hear a madman read aloud from "Mr. T: The Man With The Gold", and watch Boston sports. Now, as you know, it has morphed to The T Ranch, another great two Capital T pub, with regrettably readings less frequent.

At The T Club Mexico said friends introduced me to a fellow who I am now happy to call friend. Possibly crazier and more colorful than Mr. T, but smaller, more Italian and, as far as I know, without an autobiography. I have witnessed his genius in action, a small sampling until the autobiography is written and/or published - Came up with the slogan "It's a velour suit, get on Bitch." on the same day he showed us all how to laugh and be repelled with his patented Kung Fu grip; Full disclosure - The Bitter Spiritualist pinched the name The Avid Outdoorsman from one of his lies told to a lady. As The Bitter Spiritualist doesn't name names, I will leave this T's official Capital T nickname untyped to protect his identity.Clearly a modern day Prophet.

The Bitter Spiritualist came along years later. As he and I got to know each other, I realized he wasn't so formal, that The Bitter Spiritualist wanted to be known as the Bitter Spiritualist, or Bitter Spiritualist, or BS. He doesn't need you big "T" to open any doors for him. We appreciate all you've done, being a part of our start and our original title, but I am officially dropping you big T. As you read, there are cool people and establishments caring the Capital T torch.

Not to worry "T" I will use you in many other places; my highly paid creative writing projects; love letter to Mr. T; notes on neighbors cars like, "Your title is now The World's Biggest Parking Prick." And in sentences posted on the Bitter Spiritualist like "The Bitter Spiritualist in now the Bitter Spiritualist. The Bitter Spiritualist realizes the majority of you don't give a fuck and know that the BS is full of BS, but not about the BS name change."

So you'll be used extensively, just not formally on this site or any of the BS writings. And yes BS is so much easier and funnier than The BS.

So Capital T, I thank you. I needed you for a little while, but it's easier this way. I leave you in the capable hands of a Illinois bred gun toting preacher known to have rocked a small Italians world on film, and a Massachusetts reared, Balboa-esque, original Avid Outdoorsman.

Sincerely, I begin being,
Bitter Spiritualist

PS: Forgive the typos, I wanted to get this posted to you from 37,000 feet. Yes my first Airpost to you Capital T.