Let’s Tell a Story

My name is Julian Nicholas Taylor Born @ Rush Hospital on 7/10/93, Son of Irene Grecz Camargo Dominelli(Lincolnwood, IL) & Jame Russell Taylor(Ontario, Canada)

Mom’s side came from Soviet Russia, grandparents meeting in a displaced person’s camp. Father’s side landing in Canada from 1814 forward as blue-collar farmers. (Larisa Contresevicz Grecz & Nicholas Bamboozal Grecz)

I, Julian Nicholas Taylor am a second-generation American-Canadian with dual citizenship and parents that have never civilly spoken to each other in person, even once…

Beyond that have been and continue to a perpetuating self-motivating force of creating since a very young age. I grew up being a computer nerd (on a basic level) and hype for fast gratified accomplishments, never very interested in school but very intelligent. From baseball on traveling teams state to state to being a top tier first-person shooter, I have found myself excelling at any fundamental element of focus without parental acknowledgment (now seeing past god complex can see that they are products of environments)

So how did I find myself in this group? Very dramatic to say the least.

It was 2012, February something…. I was in AA living in a storefront at 3505 A N Cicero Avenue. working as an iPhone technician at the storefront next to my storefront apartment with the back doors connecting type shit…. it was beautiful, even had a restaurant diner booth in it! I met this fellow named Jesse Rodriguez at an AA meeting and we just clicked. I was a blank slate and was just happy to have my space, work close, and 711 around the corner… KFC across the street! I was 19, it was paradise, other than I was looking to the north star and staying sober…had found a new pal that had a never-ending array of stories about being a native humble park local.

even more than that he had this very interesting perspective on the group of AA that I needed to understand to calibrate my compass of life. he talked about old-school dynamics that manifest in groups that can slip into a toxic state. Him being the victim of a horrific outcast, at this point (2020) have forgotten everything (sorry not sorry Jesse). From that point, I started to take interest in his talks of Igroup… “Like why not?!” I said, I didn’t seem to be intrinsically gaining anything from my meetings, I was in school again toward an associates degree and it just didn’t seem to fit my narrative anymore. fellowship until 1 AM at a diner just wasn’t me. I had to take my moments from 2011 and learn…

Now in 2011, I found myself graduating from Nileswest Highschool on May 13, 2011 :-). That summer I was building momentum towards a bad habit. working up my instinct to challenge was in drinking contests which now disgust me by the very sight. 30 Case Challenges we called the…… we’d each get a 30 case and just solo the make to the face… then split another 30 between the two……………. I’m 17 years old at this point for reference, with a terrible NewYork state fake ID walking into a rinky-dink liquor store saying I just turned 21 when the ID had me just turning 22…. very funny but slick enough to get out of it.

but back to basics…. 2012 Found myself moseying around rob’s Igroup and was significantly impacted by the level of self-awareness within the group. I soon left AA to somewhat regularly accompany Jesse to Rob’s Igroup. late in 2012 I got a car and from then Jesse and I had somewhat parted ways from the daily meet and greets over coffee in the afternoon’s, but always tried to coordinate group as a team ( I didn’t want to press on his territory, ultimately I felt graced to be able to be part of such a group). He joins match.com in late 2012 and from there out then was a civil soldier for this woman named Kim…( I think) In early 2013 he found himself at cook county facing manslaughter charges against a 3-year old that I had met on various occasions and had seen as a very pleasant toddler.

Either way, she died( I can’t remember her name, I could look back through letter’s or search the criminal database to find out but choose to just not even go there and start to investigate any of the data) but he went away and I was blessed to be part of the group, even with his departure I knew that I could be part of something truly transformative.

I quivered and waited until I was 22 years old, the 2015 October Weekend, and leaped. I knew nothing of the weekend other than riddles and metaphors. Showed up late as hell(thanks… don’t be your driver after a weekend rule)….. honestly that shit still sticks because I drove over 35 miles the opposite direction to have Blake take me that + however miles to Wisconsin…. but anyways showed up in the pitch of black darkness, truly the beginning of a hero’s journey setting.

I went through my weekend discovering self-love and continued my quest with a trajectory straight to hell. mostly because of my choice to cheap me on housing and decide to cohabitate with savages. I was also torn from a relationship that ran from fall 2013-spring 2015. I was a mess and reestablishing identity, and flowing fast to the wrong places. taking myself down to the deep unknown dark literally could be “traumatized” from all that + whatever else I could stir up.

Just a sidenote to John Turner… I wasn’t willing to admit PTSD until 2017! It took a medical cannabis doctor consultation to get me to admit to it… not like I’m in denial of experience, just I don’t like to think that It’s PTSD just cuz thinkin’ like that will immerse me in that perspective of experience.

So I took a long run at this 2-year degree that took me 7 years…… but it is what it is, with the hand in the hand life experience of life has left me in a fairly calibrated size-up of the world.

Now it’s 2020, I’m turning 27 in less than a month and I can believe it, What will the rest of 2020 consist of? me looking both ways before crossing the road! with a 3rd look back the direction I whipped my head the first time (the flow of traffic).

After my last math test in the computer lab, the Testing center administrator asked me, “now what are you going to do?”. I simply responded with. “I’m going to finish publishing 3 coloring books before Christmas!” and boy did I!.

My dad thought it would be a good idea to buy me a basic 32 GB iPad to give me some advantages with digital mediums and boy did I. I found myself impulsively making artwork that had nothing to do with coloring books but more a liquid flow style artwork. I had just finished taking mathematical logic (p q p → q) type shit and thought that I might implement exponents and tie-dye folding techniques into a stew of creativity. the original goal was 50 designs with 50 color variations, kind’ a like a van Goh… with the addition of a 50 stack fold of all the above.

all in all, I ended up with 14 designs to submit for copyright, and have developed several coloring books, for all ages, ESL, the whole shebang.

(everything above was written Friday night)

(Everything below written today)

One of the major issues that I find myself facing time and time again is the recurring theme of looking for the world to act as my father and to help me achieve my goals. unfortunately, my father is a discouraged man who is so self-absorbed that he still hasn’t realized the reality of his lack of encouragement for me and my development.

I can graze quickly to come up with example after example of my father failing. Displaced isolation with no attention, when it came to priorities I knew I was low on the list. This was first truly established from my first visit to Canada(court-ordered) at the age of 9, I spent a whole month alone with the housekeeper as my chaperone. What a weird way to feel, homesick and only wanting to see or feel a piece of the USA…. I was desperate and naive; so I found myself in front of a computer in the office basement and went to what I now wish I never searched…. www.Whitehouse.com, which might have been helpful only if I used the sacred .gov instead of the .com I’d have found myself looking at something American, instead found the unsanctified vice of pornography…..

I was stunned, didn’t know what to think, and had allowed my mind to have neuropathways hijacked, love and attention found a replacement and I was fucked.

From there I found myself hopeless and orbiting a dangerous habit that I still have yet to ICE and bury.

This brings me back to the lack of encouragement that my father has shown. Even in 2020, it doesn’t seem like anything I do finds a way to make him interested and engaged. Even when I find myself serving his benefit, accomplishing anything that proves my diversity and strength he rejects.

I had to be the bearer of bad news 2 years ago and inform my father that his “tech/home renovation” guy was incompetent with several problems at the house; ranging from a brand new sink that was leaking, insufficient backyard shed insulation. To losing Account/Password master lists, I would silently clean up this man’s mess and finally had enough.

I confessed the laundry list attempting to help my father realize that he wasn’t getting what he had paid for. at my surprise little did he care, at each turn he’d use a conversational postulate to get me into a conversational corner where several other work tasks would be added to my load without notice or appreciation of what I was trying to do. moreso he thought I was trying to stir up trouble.

Then there’s the housekeeper “Marina” she’s always on the phone while she’s doing…. anything and everything takes showers in the house when we aren’t there and bakes herself 9x13 pans of banana bread in our kitchen for her house without permission. Beyond that she’s just.. not a nice person, she’s snappy and bossy.

Back to my dad though, when I told him I was going to publish a coloring book he told me that it would be better for me to do something else…. something else? what the fuck does that even mean?

I’ve waited my whole life in his office during my visitations, yearning for him to explain what he did for work and how I could help him. unfortunately, he saw me as only worthy of grunt work, call me the copy maker; I didn’t feel valued. beyond that any time I did work for him he’d never incentivize me nor teach me the value of work. How am I suppose to learn how to value myself when my father declines his opportunity to teach.

Who knows but I’ve let myself wait for too long with no results to continue

My father thinks very low of me, He has been running a financial planning sole proprietorship for 35 years and has never taken an afternoon to teach how businesses are formally organized.

the saddest part of everything is for the last 4 months, I’ve been on track to become an IL state licensed Insurance Producer and my dad finds no interest in having a conversation regarding the industry as a whole.

which brings me to the end of my dad’s rant.

Mom’s been great under the circumstances, if I ever need to know I’m capable all I need to do is take a half-second to think back, from school to baseball, soccer, job hunting, friend troubles… She was always there to talk and maybe sometimes fight with me about how amazing I am. I’d tell her I’m not good and can’t and she’d just light a fire and tell me how special I am, how miraculous my birth was for her at 39 years old and the stories of my mom’s side and how much our family went through to come to this country. the trials my grandparents went through meeting each other in west german DP camps and journeying to the USA to clean kennels rural IL. How my grandfather (Nicholas Grecz) escaping POW, to coming to a new country running from Stalin’s bombs. knowing absolutely no English and working so hard that he received a Ph.D. in microbiology and taught classes at IIT as well as went abroad to Saudi Arabia for research. Story’s of Miraculous effort is the cornerstone of my strength.

At one point in time my mother and I wouldn’t speak or talk because she wasn’t pleased with my choices, and for a while, I hated her for her choice to disconnect. My father attempted to weaponize this as he’s still at war with her!

Yes like many ( i am not special) but I am affected by the fact that my parents have never once found a way to act civilly for their child’s joy… We used to before I was 7 but then my father and his sister tried to Coup d’etat my mother and have me taken away by DCFS. After that the division was crystal clear, I’d never get to spend time with my cousin’s again, and I didn’t.

the next time I would see them would be during my spring break, my dad and I flew down to Fort Myers and got a rental car. We went to my Aunt and Uncles place to find out that none of my cousins were on spring break and that the Florida “work season” was in full force but to top it all off my dad was leaving for a conference in Orlando.

This left me feeling like dead weight, out of place, and nowhere near anything familiar to me. I forget the woman’s name but to shorten a lengthy story, was placed into her care as my “babysitter” I was 11 or 12 years old and felt humiliated on so many levels. not only did I not get to spend any time with friends during spring break… but I also spent next to no time with any of my Floridian family, but instead got to go see parts of Florida which all in all are nice and stuff, but wasn’t what I yearned for when I agreed to go on the trip.

I found myself at www.Whitehouse.com again, drowning the pain and sorrow of loneliness with a rush of stimulation that leaves me more fulfilled than the family that failed.

beyond that presence has never been a positive statistic in my father’s domain and never will be. but the buck doesn’t stop there, currently, he expects me to move to Toronto, and be a grunt helper with his affairs. I can now see that I have fallen prey to these insidious thoughts for the last damn near-decade.

Thinking that one day I’d feel the glimmering rays of acceptance that I’ve always wanted from my father. But the true crisis is the archetypal Hydra that many families are.

So I end this here, Moving forward is hard but staying in the same place is insane.

My father wants me to detest my American citizenship and only remain Canadian…. This makes me feel like my upbringing is under attack, disrespected, and looks at as trash.

It’s not and I value that shit.

thanks for the memories, even if they weren’t so great

We Probably need to talk.