blog, thoughts

what was/is

Hello. Welcome to getdador!

This site is focused on the thoughts and ideas and random ramblings of myself, Ron(nie) Dador.

As an introductory post, I’ve chosen to post a letter I wrote to someone (who shall remain anonymous) in 2007-ish. I don’t know the exact date because like a fool, I never dated it, and when I discovered this file recently, I had accidently saved it, thus altering the original file date. Meh.

This letter was never received by the person it was directed to. That person was supposed to return to pick-up their old books, and so I printed this and hidden the leaflets in the books – But they never came back.

Some of you who knew me during this period will probably realize who I am writing to. Please do not contact this person or refer to them of this post on my behalf. Thank you.

Well let’s hop to it. This is who I was in the mid zeros.

La Fleur du Mal,


            Salve. I will keep this date non-consequential – Does it matter? I know not if ever you’ll bother to read this. It’s good practice if anything. I like writing, yet do so little of it – Not unlike a plethora of other talents I may possess (or think I do). Ever so often I go on these “journeys” for self-analysis. Then I usually delete or burn them. Anyhow…

            You’ve asked me how I’ve been? It’s hard to explain in short, concise words given the allotted time we have in company of each other. You are busy and needn’t be bothered by persons non-direct in your life. All too well I understand…  

            Now let’s play.

            As I said, the last “couple days” were very hard for me. On a night prevy, my heart was once again broken. I’ll not go into much detail, but the event was non-direct… Yet so intense I had lost much confidence in myself, much less hope for the companionship I so dearly long for. Love for me is like a worm cut into many pieces and thrown across compost. Through a life burrowing and consuming in darkness I may come across a part of myself, but never to again be whole. A part of me had died.

            That night I danced with the tip of the blade of my gladius across the contours of my face – Little by little adding pressure almost breaking through the top epidermal layer. But I stopped.    

            I didn’t want death – At least not by my own doing. Not now. I only wanted to scar myself. What stopped me was the thought of my Grandfather, whom I love and respect very much.    

            Here is a blog entry in explanation:



1:16 AM – -Virginia-

A woman I’ve known and loved has died.

She was a survivor of the Japanese occupation of the Philippines during which 5 of 11 of her brothers and sisters were killed. She grew to become a model and actress on the Filipino stage and screen. She married a wealthy lawyer and born a son. To what end that marriage had failed and through a chance meeting, she bumped into an Irish American soldier who served in the US Coast Guard and Air Force. 

They soon married and the family moved to the US once the war had ended. Being a military family they were always moving. Eventually they settled in the West Coast in the San Francisco Bay Area where they remained. They lived a long and many time strenuous life. But they were always together.

This last Sunday, April 29, 2007 was an eventful day. It was the old man’s birthday and they’re anniversary – Fifty Four years together. It took place in a care center that she had been inhabiting these last few months due to her failing health. She was more or less confined to her bed, with little strength to move and under constant care and supervision. He, being an aged man could no longer care for his wife on his own power.

That day most of her grandchildren were there. There were many shared laughs, memories, debates. She was in high spirits – Impressed on how the family had grown so largely in just 2-3 generations from her only son. Her smile was never ending. Her strength and will were ever present – All the while knowing that it was to soon be… over.

The day ended with her spirits high.

The next day was her last.

She was Virginia C. D. Connor.

She was my Grandmother.


            So you see, the thought of my grandfather seeing his grandson self destruct is something I couldn’t live with. Methinks I will wait awhile… and when he goes, perhaps so will I.

            That concludes recent events.

Time for a smoke. And while I’m at it I think I’ll move my laptop onto the bed and get comfortable – Throw on my favorite Dead Can Dance album, “Within the Realm of a Dying Sun”. Speaking of music…

 You must be wondering (or not) about my musical endeavors. Sorry to say that it’s been mostly… neutral for the last year or so. Working in a music retail store has more or less given me a bad taste for this business. I really hate the recent (bowel) movement of music in the last few years. Harsh words, I know – But most all of these recent works seem generic, lifeless or without feeling. Ironic words considering who I am, aye?

I blame in part, technological evolution. Technology has made it easier for anyone (non-musical and talentless) with little money and time to produce a very half-assed yet over-produced sounding recording.

As for me, my taste has changed quite a bit, if at all slightly. What retains is my love for anything that expresses a true feeling of empowerment – Much more a true feeling that can bring about a (almost) physical reaction. Most of which happens to be found (in my mind) in incidentals and orchestral pieces. If a story can’t be told by words, then surely it can be felt by music.

Most of my equipment now is fully orchestral or real sounding. Hardly, if any, analog or digital based synthesis remains. Recent electronic(a) music (including most modern industrial / ebm) leaves a bad taste in my mouth. But don’t misunderstand I still do and will always like my “era” of industrial and goth.

My recent influences have been more ethnic, dare I say pseudo new agey. Dead Can Dance and Lisa Gerrard and soundtracks to the Rome television series come immediately to mind. They are on constant play in my room and car(s).

As my Grandfather recently moved in, I had been forced to move my room/studio elsewhere yet again. That alone had put a halt to any musical developments. But trust me, I’ve many a tune in mind that need be developed – Many marches to be based on Roman and/or Greek hoplite battles and various gods. Speaking of Rome… 

The ancients have become a preoccupation of mine as of late – From gods to warfare to everyday life. It’s funny to find how much and yet so little has changed. But this could be a whole other essay in itself.

That “hobby” has brought me to collecting small artifacts such as coins, jewelry and reproductions of armor and weapons. As my interest was strong in things of Feudal Japan in my youth, the same passion has gone into dynastic Egyptian, Greek, Roman and Visigoth etc. Empires. Ever is my soul so anachronistic – Out of quantum touch so it seems.

Not long ago, [anonymous] asked me “Would you want to live in Roman times?” I quickly answered, “Absolutely, but I would sure miss aspirin!”

Another thing that has kept me busy is my enthusiasm for cars and motor sports. As I’ve mentioned before I have 2 cars (right now). My daily is a beige 1.8 liter ’92 Mazda Protégé. It has the same engine you’d find in that generation Miata. Some people consider it race worthy and it even has a SCAA rating of E. 130hp and almost equal torque. Haha! It does have a little kick stock. Definitely the bottom end of current imports, but I kid you not, I beat a newer generation Integra on the top end at 90-110mph. Maybe the other guy didn’t know how to drive. I call this car “Grocery Getter aka the shitmobile” which enthusiasts of this model don’t appreciate. Some of them have done impressive(?) drag and rally car mods and upgrades that can take on STI’s and Lancers… I’d rather spend that money on: 

My real project (headache/love)  – A  white ’95 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. 5.7 liter SBC LT1 (corvette) engine. With bolt-ons and traction/suspension upgrades it’s at about 310hp. I call it “Deus Irae” or the “Wrath of God” – A name which works two ways as it is a very powerful and race worthy car and that it’s driven quite a wrath on my wallet. It has a 6spd tranny so it’s not so bad on gas (if you count $60+ a week not so bad), but that’s why I’ve got a small import as a daily. Deus was my daily for a year, but now I only run 100 octane ($5.10gal.) in it and drive it on weekends. I eventually want to throw a bigger cam into it or maybe a supercharger. My aim is about 450hp to keep up with the new generation Camaro coming out and enough power to not have to replace the stock rear end.

Okay…. As you can see I get very excited about this car. I can go on, but it can get boring – Although I know that you know cars. I will say that before I got the bloody Trans Am, I had known very little about cars. Yet after going through the many problems and performing upgrades myself – I now know a fair bit more. Necessity often plays both a cruel and rewarding joke.

I know what you’re thinking. “Where the bloody hell does he get money to do this shit on a clerks salary?” Well I have another form of income as an (ir)regular seller on eBay selling things from car parts to music gear to rarer video games. It’s amazing to find some of my old dregs to be of some value to someone else.  It is a fun process and the only thing that’s tedious is of course shipping.

Recently I was going about clearing up some of my old belongings in anticipation of my Grandfather’s moving in. Of course in doing so you come across old memories. Upon looking through my bookshelf I came across your copy of The Consumer. I hadn’t thought about you in quite awhile and in doing so I knew the laws of attraction would bring you to me once more. And so came the flood of memories…

Oh, for so long have I truly hated you. A small part of me still burns with the fire of seeing your undoing. It started shortly before your “incident” and departure. How you made me feel so small and insignificant as a friend. Your reliance on psycho-therapeutic medications – How you had your man threaten me. And all because I cared so deeply about you and your well-being. How wrong was I to care, to try to help you – To dissuade you from going back to hurt, only to be betrayed?

The night after that incident your co-workers/friends were distraught and we gathered at the Blank to have a drink and talk about the event. I assure you we all cared and as such we all did feel that betrayal. We were in agreement that your ongoing “show” had grown tiresome for sometime. Yet you need only ask and you would have our support.

Remember the worm story… a piece of me was cut and died that night. I couldn’t sleep for 2 days and I was pain. The physical pain eventually left but the mental anguish plagued me for quite some time. I was lost and alone. I felt I needed you but at the same time I wanted to destroy you.

That is when you became an allegory to my mental being. I saw you weak and crippled inside of me and I wanted to destroy that part of me. So I did. I became a hellion both mentally and physically tougher. Dominus. In control. No longer afraid to fight, nor to die. I would playback the scene with your man threatening me and how I would crush him. I mock my former timidity. I died – This time only to quicken to a different state of thought and being.

Yes! I did finally kill you in my mind – But you never die completely, do you? Ever so often you’ve crept into the store and all those feelings flood right back in. And I can’t stand to be around it/you. Today as I walked back from the warehouse I heard your voice and – Oh, how uneasy did it make me feel. What anger so pure, nurtured and harnessed for so very long!  I walked back into one of the restrooms and drove my fists into the wall. Then I composed myself. I stand looking myself over in the mirror with my anger slowly subsiding to calm. I knew what was to come. I had to confront you.

I clocked out and walked around the back to get to my bag. I saw you talking to [anonymous] for a brief moment. I turned to my corner and clenched my fists and banged them together in anticipation of classic fifteen rounder – Ready to trade blows. Figuratively, of course. I turned around and walked over to you.

Then it happened. Our eyes met. With pure radiance you smiled and then – By goddess… And then you embraced me! Strange, oh so strange… For the moment we touched and then after, I felt no longer the need or want to destroy you. You in my arms seemed a familiar thing – Something that was lost and found anew. It was then I realized the strength of my love for you and how such a feeling could drive such a strong hatred.

No. I did not destroy you. You destroyed me. I am laid to rest. I have come full circle on the oroboros and I thank you for it. Because of you, methinks I’ve grown, dare I say matured in the ways of this… living.

I forgive you… as I forgive myself.

I hope you get a chance to read this so that you may understand what you/I have been through. Whether now your feelings for me be of pure goodness or undeniable hatred – You now know where I stand.

I will always be your friend.

            The rest is silence…



2 thoughts on “what was/is

  1. though it hurts me to know this aspect of your mortal pain, reading this also made me feel closer to parts of you I have been unable to tap. your writing reflects an inner conflict, sacred and sincere, that I am honored to be aware of. I will be waiting for further installments, as I know the man shaped by your life events. my heart pleads the universe to loose the knots of self-doubt. you are somebody singular to me. nice work.

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