Tag Archives: Dann Verner

When Do You Know It Is Time

When do you know that it is time to just throw in the towel?

When is enough enough?

I am tired – physically, mentally & spiritually.

The closest I ever came to be ‘religious’ was a few years back when I was exploring the Nasirim faith. A very old religion dating back before Catholicism. The forbidden Jews.

The main thing I derived from them was one simple word, “Hineni”.

Translated meaning, “I am ready my Lord”.

I am ready. I have no desire left in me to continue going on.

In the past two years, never mind the previous 60, I have had 9 surgeries on my kidneys, bladder, gall bladder (now removed), one third of my liver removed, two diagnosis of cancers, a stroke, an abscess from Hell herself, septicemia and of course the exploded spleen.

I have lost everything – my manhood, my home, my manhood, my loved ones, my manhood, my child, my manhood, my dogs, my manhood and most my income.

Did I mention that I have lost my manhood?

Because that plays a major role in this life I live.

I used to be a contender. The street warrior. So tough I chewed nails and spit out rust.

But, round 13 knocked me out. I am down for the count. With no desire to stand up and get knocked down once again.

I wish I was as tough as others perceive me to be. Perhaps then I would not be sitting in a McDonald’s at 4:36 in the morning trying to hide my tears from the much happier homeless gnomes who spend their nights here, also.

I have no qualms about my coming death. I will smile as I take that walk – be it to Valhalla or to Helheim. I will smile. Because after 62 years of pain and misfortune I will finally be done.

Done as yesterday’s dinner.

And all this is very sad. My life has been a very long and winding road built on tragedy after tragedy. Fueled by my constantly making the wrong choices.

And as my autobiography does show, I made many, many wrong choices in life.

Hence my previous blog which states my firm belief that I am living my Purgatory and my Hell now, here on Terra Firma. Hopefully, I will have satisfied the Creator and he/she will allow me to live eternity in a far better place than I have lived here on Earth.

I have tried so hard to be a good person. I help many people without regret. I can not tell you how many times I have gone hungry because I spent my whole income helping others. Or I have had to walk miles because I gave away my bus fare.

I do not do things like that for fame or glory. I do it because I see someone who needs assistance and I assist them.

Yet, here I am crying in McDonald’s, shamefully and very much embarrassed. My manhood flew out the window long ago. I am not even half the man I once was.

I do not want sympathy. I do not want glory.

All I have ever wanted was to be a father and a loyal husband. I had the Blessing to be both. I will always be grateful for those years.

Everything good I have ever had come into my life has always collapsed into a pool of toxic waste. Poisoned by the evils of man.

I am tired. So very tired.

I have suicidal thoughts often.

I fight them off as having two “terminal” cancers all I must do is wait.

But, nine times since 1999, I have been legally declared dead. And I suspect that the Creator is far from being finished punishing me.

I do pray often for ascension.

I pray often for one measly day whereas I do not shed a tear.

I pray for Death to come invite me home.

But, souls like myself go through life praying prayers that will not be answered.

50 long years I have lived my nomads lifestyle. 50 long years of smiling and joking just to hide my shames, my sadness and my pitiful so-called life.

Hopefully after I have gone on to the next space/time continuum people who really knew me will remember the good side of “Shakie, Dann, Boo Boo, Lighthouse” and all the other “me’s”.

If not, oh well, I will have lived a hard and horrible life just to appease the Gods.

But, when will my body finally say,

“I AM READY MY LORD?”

Because I am ready. True story.

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Am I Finally Broken, Never To Be Repaired?

I am lost.

I am all alone in a crowded world.

A cold world for sure.

It’s not like it was during my youth.

Society has changed. The people haven’t, but their ‘society‘ has.

So, I am left to ask you, the total stranger, am I finally broken, never to be repaired?

I blame most my demise on the era I went through my puberty in.

That sliver of time between the 1950’s and it’s gospel /bluegrass/country & Western musically influenced attitude and the 1960’s Dawning of Aquarius/LSD/Frank Zappa cultural shock era.

I embraced the latter lifestyle tightly. I still do to this day. Peace, Love & Hippie Dope – the artist eccentricity creating chaos in my heart.

My choice to bear the weight being a vagabond twelve year old hippie nomad led me into a world where feelings were real and emotions ran free. Everything was black and white.

It is what it is. Never sugar coat reality.

I was always partaking in one or more exploratory excursions into the expanded conciseness mindset.

The artist within me caused an eccentric side. I loved too honestly. I angered too deep. I was a nonconformist.

I was walking counterclockwise in a clockwise world.

My analytical side over examined all and everything within my realm of life.

The ten years of chasing Her Majesty, The Black Dragon, across her tinfoil highway did not help.

I have lived over six decades so far.

My life, or lives, has/have taken five autobiographical books thus far to enlighten ‘others‘.

I certainly have not lived a ‘normal‘ set of lives.

In a confessional way you could say that I have lived a tragic and chaotic youth.

Yet, from these sixty-one year old clouded eyes, I would confess from my standpoint that I merely ‘lived’ my life.

No one sees their life as it is perceived through the eyes of others.

“What is my greatest regret? you ask.”

LOVING TRULY, MADLY & DEEPLY”, I must answer.

I was a liar, cheat, thief, punk, gangster and killer in ALL aspects of all my lives – EXCEPT WHEN IT CAME TO LOVING SOMEONE.

I can go to Helheim or Valhalla knowing that in the matter of love, I was devoted one hundred percent into staying faithful, loving truly, madly, deeply and I never held back from confessing my love to my beloved.

AND BY DOING SO I HAVE LIVED A LIFE OF TEARS. I HAVE LIVED LOVE LOCKED INTO A FANTASY I PRAYED WAS A REALITY.

A falsehood created by overthinking and over loving.

I only had a few true loves in my life.

All of which I dove heart first into.

My eccentric artist side painted fairytale portraits of family bliss on the canvas of my emotions.

My first true love being my teenage sweetheart of eight years.

She destroyed my heart by giving away my first born son and then cutting her own throat. Causing herself severe, irreversible brain damage, while I sat in the discomfort of Her Majesty’s Super Maximum Penitentiary.

The nerve of me to pay my debt to society!!!

Then there was my first wife.

I paid her mother fifty dollars for her.

True story.

Six weeks later we were legally married.

To each other.

Eight months later we were divorced.

From each other.

My Mother being horrifically murdered was more than her snitty self could handle.

I loved thinking we had been in love.

Number three lasted thirty-two years.

It was true love. No lie.

It became tainted by my rebel ways, my eccentric behavior and my constantly venturing into the Dark side.

This led to our growing apart from our original selves.

Not to say we didn’t have a good run.

We had many, many good years.

In today’s world it takes but one or two bad years to bury thirty good ones.

Unfortunately, my becoming a victim of a tragic industrial crippling accident was the catalyst of a ripple effect that ripped our family apart.

Our love for each other lost in the typhoon of modern life.

Again, the artist within had painted many a lifescape and my hands molded sculptures of everlasting bliss.

This lay cause to becoming greatly damaged emotionally upon the marriage disolution.

Then came my greatest and most cherished love. I am so deeply in love with her that I hurt.

I believe she strongly loves me, also.

But, she cannot express or confess the trueness of her love. She is robbed of enjoying the escasty and bliss of being truly loved. It was stolen by her being the victim of an expert manipulation of a Narcissistic Meth Head.

His brainwashing cut deep wounds across this beautiful soul’s heart.

My artistic eccentricity is causing me to self destruct. I have been living in a self potraited fantasy of living the rest of my life wrapped in the warmth of loving only her.

And she is brainwashed into believing and living in the shadows of fear planted by a sick excuse of a man.

My heart is hers – I call her “Mi Corazon” – for she is my heart. Each beat whispers her name.

I am trapped in my desires to be her man so badly that I cry.

I have to love her one hundred percent.

I am hurting myself loving her.

She is not capable of dropping her past abuses and allowing true love into her life.

A life she would honestly enjoy. If only she were capable of accepting affection.

I have been diagnosed with terminal cancer.

And I cry at the minimum of twelve hours per day.

Not over dying of cancer.

I cry because the kind soul buried deep within me cannot find the resources to show my truest love how to allow herself to be loved truly and faithfully.

I do not wish to die knowing she will live her life afterwards full of unretractable regrets.

She deserves a far better life than she has ever known.

I have earned my chance to finally be a real man and love the way love is portrayed to be.

Am I living a fantasy brought forth by the eccentric hippie attitude within?

Deep Thoughts

Emotions run deep with aging. Things matter more as your aged body reminds your brain that time is slithering down the drainpipe of life.

I find myself experiencing moments that often well my eyes with tears. Be they of joy or of sadness, they appear frequently.

I have become an emotional senior.

A simplistic hug from my grown child, a smile from a grandchild, watching my nephews with their daughters or just sharing a coffee with a friend fills my heart with a warmth like no other.

All my life I was known as a”tough guy” and in many ways I may have well been such.

I can only say that I perceive myself as a mere man who – due to leaving home at a very young age – learned that life is survival of the fittest. So perhaps I inherent acquired “tough guy facades”.

I am extremely tough within myself. Physical pain is my souls equivalent of an Oreo cookie is to my taste buds.

I have the ability to withstand the highest thresholds of physical pain you could imagine.

I fear not pain. I have had far too many surgeries to accept pains tangy bite.

Mental anguish, however, rips me to pieces. Never used to, though.

This is yet another newly acquired curse brought up by the aging of the body and mind. The “Maturity of Self”, if you will.

Aging and I are at ends. I see no friendship developing between us. I find aging to be an ignorant, pushy, son of a bitch. It would be best to step aside and return me my full head of hair.

I like bunnies. They are cute, but can be viscous little creatures. It being Easter, many a bunny will be suffering in a short period. Victims of someone’s idea of a “cute” Easter present.

Cute until either let loose to fend for themselves or orphaned to the nearest Society for the Prevention of Animal Cruelty.

Poor bunnies. I like bunnies.

Don’t like insects. Little frackers make me itch. Big time! Worse than the skin condition I caught off of that East Indian girl in junior high school. But, I do not think we should speak of that any further.

I love loving. It is the one life long “habit” that does not fade away as our facial wrinkles grow deep. Love feels the same or greater with each day.

For it is as real as all the other emotions that form our individual personalities.

The most important of all emotions.

I respect aging. Can’t be stopped. Persistent till the end. You must respect that determination. I will compromise. We will live side by side within the boundaries of my persona.

I am fighting two cancers. I almost lost the first round.

A stroke, an abscess from Hell, septicemia attack, my spleen exploding and resulting in my bleeding almost completely out – – – all the while having two double sessions of radical radiation per day.

I live a very strange life while existing in a strange society.

And I like bunnies and a fiesty woman.

Tumors Are Back With A Vengeance

I received my test results.

It’s confirmed. The cancer is winning.

Big time.

Payout is about two months away.

I won round 1 only to be sucker punched into a Round 2.

I am emotional to say the least.

The bastard got me. Hook, line and sinker. Or so it believes!

I can’t stand up to face Round 2 without a referee. My referee will be my Faith.

If it is to be a clean fight I will need a few well placed right hooks, or we will go down fast.

Cancer doe snot fight a clean fight.

Cancer is a dirty fighter.

I will have to fight as a true Urban Viking and utilize whatever I may to bring this wretched , demonic dease to it’s knees.

I am “The Original Urban Viking” , as such it is up to me to lay the ground rules for future Urban Vikings, who may follow and have to fight for their very lives.

The most important rule to fighting cancer is to not be afraid to cry or laugh.

You will be scared. No one fighting these battles can say they were/are not afraid.

YOU ARE FACING DEATH!!!!

There will be days when you beg your Creator to just take you and end your suffering.

DO NOT GIVE IN TO THIS NEGATIVITY!!!!

There will also be days that you are smiling and ready for whatever is tossed unto your lap.

You will have emotional days where as you feel you have lost all your manhood or womanhood. Days where the mirror becomes your enemy as you realize that you look like a holocaust survivor. Where you do not recognize the poor soul in the mirror.

Just bear in mind that you can recover. It will take time. A long time. But, you will recover.

My recent test results surprised me. I was not expecting such a severe diagnosis. I expected bad, but not horrible.

I committed the biggest mistake in a cancer battle ….

I let my guard down and allowed hope to give me a false feeling of a battle already won.

This leaves me in the uncomfortable position of choosing which remedy best suits my recovery.

Option one:.

Death within 2 months. Not acceptable!

Option 2:

Another round of heavy duty radical radiation. No one else has survived.

On my right shoulder I have a cute white winged Angel telling me to follow them.

Her remedy was to pass the bucket on the left hand side and, thanks to the miracles of modern medicine, ingest large quantities of radiation. With no guarantee other than months of discomfort.

Of which my chance of being cured lay at a measly 7 percent survivor rate.

On my left shoulder stands a drunken mini version of a Keebler Elf with tossed salad in his hair.

His remedy was to allow the Winds of Change and Darkness to take as much time as they need to devour my frontal lobes.

Totally unacceptable.

Which would you choose?

I opted for allowing Nature to attack at her wish.

I will counterattack with all my resources. The human body is an amazing machine and with the right positive attitude is capable of much that modern medicine cannot explain.

My surviving the first round of this battle is living proof of this.

To quote my team of doctors,

Only words to describe my winning so far is ‘Miracle’.”

I have to wait now.

Patiently.

For Ascension.

To put this in “Layman terms”:

I got two cancers. First we thought we were winning. This was a ‘hope’.

I know I am far stronger than most believe. More than I even believe.

I will do what I must to stay alive. The only thing I will absolutely refuse is disfiguring surgeries.

For, I am The Original Urban Viking and Valhalla is not ready for me. Helheim is afraid of me.

I will go down head held high and my axe swinging.

Frack cancer.

I choose life!

Was My Life Hard? I Think Not

I am ‘LightHouse Dann Verner’.

A man who some say has lived many tragic lives.

The first decade of my life I had lived in thirty-two homes. None of which I ever spoke the words, “Mom or Dad“. Only “Mister or Misses”.

I started my ‘Walks‘ at the age of ten fighting the monsters in my head. The demons were winning for many years.

I left my siblings Father’s house at the age of twelve to join a hippie commune and learned how to be a Heroin addict.

I have never slept in my father or mothers house since that day.

That was over fifty years ago…..

Was my life hard?

I think not.

Every life is difficult.

It is our trials and tribulations that define who we become in life.

I have done many things I am ashamed of.

I have done far more that I am proud of.

Never let your past transgressions define your future.

Hold your head high and hold the attitude that you are the best you that you can be today.

For yesterday has ‘passed’.

Tomorrow is always “tomorrow“.

Today is ‘now‘ and only the Creators know what each day will teach you, show you and bring to you.

Never be leary to stand head high.

Always treat each new day as another ‘birth“.

Walk With Dann Collection” tells you of my many trials and tribulations.

Available at:

amazon.com/author/lighthouseverner

How many tears does it take to fill a broken heart?

How many tears does it take to fill a broken heart?

Tears are the measurement of emotional pain.

Love teaches various hurts via the trials and tribulations of a new and advancing relationship

Deeply, madly and truly.

I have been alive 61 years, 6 months and 12 days. I have had my heart demolished and my soul spilt into the gutter more times than any person could withstand.

One of the top priorities in my daily prayer sessions is my six plus decades of begging the Creator for a day, one meager 24 hour time slot, where I do not hurt or cause hurt to someone else.

The two cancer diagnosis,

the stroke,

the abscess from Hell,

the following septicemia battle.

Top that off with an exploded spleen and by the Lords of Donegul I swear you will have a uniquely, traumatic story to tell.

By estimate I can safely say I have cried an Imperial gallon of heartbroken tears in the past 5 months. Or so it seems. Either way it’s suffice to say I cried an enormous quantity of tears.

Of which, ninety-nine percent I have no knowledge why they come.

This causes me to lose a little more of my already drained genetic interpretation of manhood.

I am trapped in the gray brink of Darkness. As I try to get into the Beacon of Light I slide increasingly deeper into the Dark.

I am afraid of THAT darkness. Nothing good can come from within it’s demonic fog.

Definitely not the tears. They are tears of a 61 year old man. One who lived a tragic but full life.

My being raised in the latter 50’s and 60’s gifted me with a learned, but unwanted red neck rampage attitude towards a relationship.

Sprinkle that with the chauvinistic and bigoted attitudes of that era and you will see how it did my young pubescent self no good.

I left my father’s home at the age of 12. I have never slept in my Father’s, nor my Mother’s, home since. This alone should show testimony as to the dancing pool of hormones and rebellions in my mind.

I didn’t cry then.

I never cried.

No.

Not through the beatings.

The tortures.

Nor the loveless foster homes.

I definitely was that boy. The one who WON’T cry.

I am crying now, though. I do not know why.

I am just crying (again).

I was lonely most of my life. The “Stranger in a Strange Land“. The boy who refused to cry. No matter what was hurting him.

To put it in layman’s lingo:

“I have been lonely since October 5th, 1957. I will be even more lonely come October 5th, this year.”

I have been battling personal demons all my live long days. I have never shed as many tears in a few week period as I have shed these past five weeks.

This causes me grief. Greatly.

I developed insomnia – seems to have patterned itself into four days of being wide awake and one day of rest. Leaving my mind to ask,

How many tears does it take to fill a broken heart?”

I am a starving author – (literally)

That calls for a weakened physical state and a mind full of swirling emotions. All of which give the Dark entranceway to the control room of my LightHouse. The demon tries his best to win, but each prayer are bullets of Light.

Especially since I have had to fight the Demon of Suicide 24 hours each day since my beloved spleen exploded and left me crying in the rain.

My last few posts show how I have crawled backwards.

I am trying to bounce back. It’s hard. I am not sure I want to be here.

I fear not Death. Not in the least.

Sad to actually say that.

I would not try suicide. Since my brother committing such I was quickly schooled on being a survivor.

Also, August 22, 2002 I succeeded in killing myself. After a four hour battle in my basement to revive and to stabilize my body, I now sit here before you.

Poring out my inner thoughts and my broken moments. My soul with all it’s hidden secrets would lay before you.

A guess would be that one who cries this many tears is depressed beyond depression. Sad beyond sadness.

Yet, it’s a truth.

I cry still.

I wish I knew the real reason.

I am tired. So very tired.

Physically.

Mentally.

Emotionally I am the sinking of the Bismark.

I am done venting on you.

I am too old to be crying.

Yet …….. I am crying once again and even still shall I cry forever more.

My only regret is I know not THE REAL REASON I have this half full bucket of silent tears.

Perhaps the 2 stage 4 cancers?

Maybe because I am single.

Or maybe my loneliness.

Or because I am realizing that I am not considered as Maria’s “man“. That we aren’t on any channel.

To be officially known as her “man” would be an honor. I would be the happiest man ever.

But, the Darkness has prevented that.

It may very well be that I am dying.

Any how …

I am crying real tears.

Perhaps even the tears of a clown.

The Binds That Tie

I have not been writing much as late.

I have to get back to doing so.

I am overloading my mind with chaos and confused emotions.

The cancer eats at me even when it is laying dormant. “Am I going to die?” or “Will I soon be a husk of my former self?” – these two questions echo to and fro within the confines of my mind.

The tears I have yet to understand. They flow without rhyme or reason. Occasionally I have a warning. Many times I have not. On a crowded bus they leak out my eyes and trickle down my cheeks. I have learned not to be embarrassed. We all cry occasionally.

Why am I crying???

I know not why. Perhaps it is fear of the cancer, or sadness from the condition of my emaciated body, or my feelings of unworthiness.

I know I have worth. I know I have been allowed to live for a greater reason than I have knowledge of.

In a few mere weeks I transitioned from one tough mofo of a streetwise gangster to a 102 pound HUMBLED man. A man who at 61 realizes that honesty, caring and devotion are the key ingredients to being a productive cog in the machine of life.

The cancer, stroke,abscess, septicemia and exploded spleen were just mere bumps in the road. Nudges from the Creator.

Unveiled clues to the meaning of my life. A “reset” of my inner core thought process.

Will I be happy sitting on a chair aging into an old man held hostage by thought in a ghetto apartment? Or, will I rejuvenate my soul’s energy and start the final ‘Walk With Dann’ with a new found love of living?

I chose the latter. I chose a life.

I have now been declared legally dead on 9 occasions. How many people can say this?

I used to wonder why I have been Blessed with returning from Death. I do not wonder now, for I know that I have a purpose yet to be revealed. A calling I will soon discover and understand.

I will not allow my physical ailments nor my psychological turmoil to steer my Walk.

I will leave those steps in the hands of the Creator.

When my calling and purpose births itself, I shall be ready.

It may well be as simple as writing yet another book about life lessons learned, or, it may be a complicated array of lecturing the youth or teaching the elders.

Only the Creator knows for sure what my destiny holds. I look forward to the day I obtain self realization and take the first step onto the path I must “Walk”.

I am but a grain of sand on the beach of life …….

Yet, I hold the power to change the world

Namaste’

The Dark Void

I have been through some heavy predicaments in my life that left me dazed and confused.

Looking back I wonder how I made it through most of them.

Now I have been battling this cancer.

It would not have been so difficult if I hadn’t had a minor stroke the first week of treatment – luckily the nurse was changing my IV bag as it started to happen.

The next week they discovered a huge abscess in my abdomen. Painfully it was dealt with.

Bear in mind I am also having double radiation sessions daily.

T

hen after the abscess I get hit with septicemia and almost die.

A week after that my spleen explodes.

No one knows how I survived that.

There is no way I should have survived.

And I finally graduated from my radiation treatments.

And now, as I wait for the test results to tell me if we got all the cancer, I sit here in a very dark void.

I am scared. It could be extremely bad news on the twenty – eighth or the best news ever.

But, I sit here day after day trying to stay positive and ready as any Urban Viking to go to war against the cancer again if I have to.

But this dark void contains my biggest fears, my greatest wishes, who I love, my family love.

And I am getting scared.

So, I pray and I pray from the heart and soul. I have confessed my sins to my God. I willingly accept all and any penence I may have to serve.

Prayer is what pulls me from this void.

I am scared but ready. Only a fool would state he was not afraid of the battles I have yet to fight.

Namaste’

LOCK THESE GANGSTERS UP!!!!

What the frack is wrong with these modern day, so-called “gangsters”?

Guns solve nothing!!!! Believe me, I know.

Shooting at another low life with ill regard of children or innocent people just makes you all GOOFS.

Banning guns and restricting ammo sales will do SHIT!

Bring a three strike law with an automatic life sentence into play.

Stop passing out bails and “multiple” bails for serious offences.

By needing a “second” bail, have you not violated the “first” bail? Are you not suppose to be keeping the peace and be of good behavior?

Fucking lock all these gang members up, once and for all.

BUT STOP CALLING THEM ORGANIZED GANGS – THEY ARE NOT. THEY ARE JUST A BUNCH OF ILLERTERATE, GREEDY GOOFS THAT THINK THEY ARE ALL THAT AND WATCH TOO MUCH YOUTUBE.

GOOFS

#LighthouseDannVerner #amazonauthorlighthouseverner #TheLastCanadianCosmonaut #TheOriginalUrbanViking #walkingondawescollection

And Still I Cry A Few Times Each and EVERY Day

I’m crying tears for you as I write this Sheena Eve. I will gladly let them flow wherever and whenever they fall. The tears burn tiny streams of pain down my cheeks until they become pools of love and joy in my heart.

They will dry when you walk me across the River into Valhalla and we sit at the round with food and drink.

I fear not my next death for life begins anew … and you will be there.

YET, I MISS YOU MORE THAN ANY OTHER IN MY LIFE WHO HAS ASCENDED.
#LightHouseDannVerner #AmazonAuthorLighthouseVerner #UNKZ #TheLastCanadianCosmonaut