A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
What are your two favorite things to wear?
I’ve never really paid attention to the things I wear once I became an adult. I’ve found I’m most comfortable in pair of Dickies pants, a good boot, and a ball cap. Yeah, this prompt doesn’t require a lot of thought.
What is your favorite place to go in your city?
As a child, I developed a fondness for spending time in the parks. I would ride my bike to the different parks in my hometown. Each time I relocate, I drive around the new location to find the parks in the area. I search the surrounding areas for national parks, wildlife refuges, or reserves. I loved spending time in nature. It helps me to clear my head. I’ve written some of my best story ideas in these places. One of the reasons I love my iPad.
So, I take my trusty Nikon and cell as a backup to capture the glimpses of the world that usually only reside in our memories that fade over time. From time to time, they appear in fragments that invoke smiles whose warmth melts away the grime.
I love to combine challenges, so I took the opportunity to participate in a challenge I came across earlier this month. Here is my entry for XingfuMama’s Pull Up a Seat Challenge
I’m unsure if you have noticed, but I haven’t been posting a lot over the last week or so. It wasn’t due to the holidays, but I wish it had been. Despite all the progress I’ve made regarding my health, I developed a new issue. If I’m being honest, it’s that sporadically appeared over the years I just ignored. However, now it can’t be ignored. So, like a good little boy, I’m addressing the issue and taking it seriously. In case you were wondering, I’m also eating all my vegetables and stuff.
Despite my current challenges, I’ve been reading and attempting to develop new content for the blog. Yes, I’m aware some of you are waiting for me to finish several projects that currently exist on the blog. I assure you I have every intention to finish them, but I’m a bit scattered brain at the moment. My senior editor would say being scattered brain is normal for me, but even she had to admit the other day that my current state is a bit peculiar.
“Hush, and go to bed,” I believe were her words, but I have to admit there is a possibility they could have been harsher. She gets testy when it comes to my health. It’s weird. Yet, the writers among us, there are hardly many things worse than a testy editor.
Yet, I wonder if I continue being a good boy, will my lady pat me on the head and give me a treat?
I’m brilliant on most days and an idiot on others. However, there are special moments when I’m both. Life balance, I know, crazy, right? However, what makes today one of those special moments is that I failed to consider the depth of concern others had for me. What I just said doesn’t make sense, but work with me for a moment.
I knew they were concerned, but I hadn’t realized it had approached the fear level. As we know, some people get mean when they are afraid. They can’t allow anyone to see them vulnerable. I can’t blame them; society has indoctrinated us into believing fear is evil and should be eradicated at all costs. So, I get it.
I certainly didn’t intend to worry anyone, but it happened. Now, I wonder how to fix it or make things better. I suppose the answer is simple. Take care of yourself and listen for once. For I would like to point out for the record, I am an amazing listener; I just do all the things I hear.
Once, I mistakenly made my wife aware of my superpower of being able to repeat verbatim what she’d said. In my mind, this was the move to shut this nonsense down. What was to follow can only be described as a teachable moment.
1. Do not under any circumstances let your wife know you can remember everything she says. STOP! I DO NOT CARE! We have an acceptable preprogrammed excuse in play. Learn to roll with it. By all means, keep your mouth shut. I know this is difficult. Especially, when you are troubled by responses you made to her during the conversation she had with you in her head.
Acceptable exceptions for the display of your superpower. The sweet, cute, thoughtful, and aww-evoking moments in life. Use your powers during these moments and all life will be infinitely better. Let me be clear at this point. There can be no good to come from pointing out flaws in their logic just for the sake of doing so.
I learned this lesson from a friend, an old-school cat daddy, who took me under his wing and started dropping jewels. He had one eye gone, and the other looked as if it had seen better days, but they were fearful. So, I figured he might have something important to say.
“Youngblood, hey, Youngblood,” he said motioning for me to join him. I stood there momentarily considering what he could possibly want.
“I know you see me, get over here, before I got to get up.” He threatened. Dante’ Mays had done time in at least three different states on multiple occasions. The chances of him making good on his threat were good.
For the next 45 minutes, he explained his version of life lessons. This happened some time ago and I still find myself referring back to the conversation that day. I had seen his wife, she was the sweetest woman you would ever want to meet, but she had this gaze. I wondered if she might have been the reason he lost his eye.
Pay attention to lesson one. Learn it, Know it, Live it.
Always listen to the whispers of the dark. They just might save you.
What will your life be like in three years?
If I’ve learned anything as of late, it is life is the uncertainty of life. However, if things go as planned, I will be retired in decent health. Decent health because good health left a few years back. It didn’t even leave a note. I think I feel some sort of way about the whole affair. Often, I wonder what I will do with myself during retirement. The short answer is … Whatever I want.
First, I will buy a support truck filled with motorcycle parts. I will be the last to retire, and we plan to drive the historic Route 66 on motorcycles. My job at this point is to drive the support vehicle to handle any maintenance issues that may arise. All of us are former mechanics, so no worries about being able to handle any issues that may occur.
Next, I will ensure all camera equipment is ready to document the trip. This list includes video camera, DSLR, dash cam, and spares of all the accessories. I will bring plenty of notebooks to record my rants. It’s sacrilege to have a good rant go undocumented. I will also include an iPad and laptop for those lazy days. Well, that’s the plan anyway.
However, who knows?
How do you manage screen time for yourself?
The first time I noticed my iPad notifying me about my screen time usage was disturbing. I didn’t know it was a thing until that point. I wondered why it tracked this information and what it would do with it. So, instantly, I pulled out my journal and started hashing out theories about what “The Man” would do with this information. Tracking my screen time, what? They better get out of here with that mess.
Of course, I was in a full PTSD episode, and my paranoia was out of control. Despite this, I took steps to limit my screen time. I still use most of them.
I manage my screen time the old fashion way. I pick up a book. I have no problem getting lost in a story of another design. However, if I’m working on a story or an idea for an article, I write down things down in a journal. I practice stream of consciousness writing. This exercise frees me from the confides of my mind. It allows me to forget about time and distractions. I usually have a audiobook playing in the background. Interesting enough, research suggests that visual reading and audiobooks stimulate the same region of the brain. Crazy, I know.
Listening to audiobooks for me took some getting used to. I found myself getting distracted. However, over time I use as an exercise in active listening. Well that’s it. That’s all of it.
As many of you know, I like to combine challenges. So, today we are combining Six Word Story and #WRITEPHOTO – Tour. Let’s get to it, shall we?
I don’t care, not riding that!
What was your favorite subject in school?
I could lie here, but I won’t. I could spin a fantastic but believable yarn about something that has nothing to do with the question. I’m a fiction writer; it’s what I do. You know, it’s my jam. One might even say it was my birthright. There are several writers in my family and all. I love learning. But school? I needed that like I needed another hole in my head. So, like any other flagrantly bored kid, I became a miscreant. A chatterbox, class clown, or any other thing I could think of that keeps me entertained. I considered my antics to be my responsibility to keep things lively. Until one day, my actions had reached their limit.
My mother tried to call my father, his secretary, a battle-axe of the highest order, my father’s description, not mine. I was too young to know what battle-axe meant and refused to disturb dear ole’ pop. So, my mother hung up the phone. By her expression, trouble was afoot. When my father came home, I was dismissed from the room. My mother started in on my father before he read his newspaper, a cardinal sin. Ticking off my mother, however, was a deadly sin. As I listened through the vent, I heard my mother go into lurid detail about her dissatisfaction.
Allow me to provide a snippet …
Mother: GGGGRRRRRRRRR!!!!
There might have been flames. I couldn’t be sure. Once, during a bedtime story, Mother confessed to being part dragon.
Father: But…But … But … I can explain.
By the sound of his voice, it was apparent my father was miserable. I remember being scolded by my mother, and it wasn’t anywhere close to the level of what I heard. I felt miserable.
Afterward, Father came into my room and gave me the look. You know, the one parents give their children that lets the child know whatever reason they are showing that look stops now. Then he followed it with the look that only evolves in the following.
Action One: The head immediately drops down and avoids eye contact.
Action Two: Shoulders droop with the execution of a defeated sigh. There is a slight hesitation between the droop and the sigh. Timing is everything.
This is the most crucial of the actions. Execution is paramount. One could have nailed the first two actions, but bugger the third. It’s over. Here are a few suggestions I have witnessed and used in the past.
Now, my father stood there looking at me strangely. I knew my execution was flawless. Yet, I wondered why he hadn’t left the room. I had to resist the temptation to speak. It might ruin the effectiveness of my performance. Finally, he said.
“You know,” he started. We are aware that nothing good comes from sentences starting off like that. I attempted to settle as I thought, “Oh Boy!”
“When I was young, I always wanted a knucklehead son and look a knucklehead!” he said, gesturing towards me. He turned and headed out of the room.
“You know,” he said. There’s that phrase again.
“The apology was good. Very good, if I’m being honest. I almost bought it. Your timing was off. You’ll have to step up your game to fool your mother.” he finished and walked the room.
I never did fool my mother. I think my father derived a bit of pleasure from watching me try. In the present, I can say that English was my favorite subject. I used it to become a decent storyteller. I enjoy putting words together like a puzzle.
I’d like to thank Cyranny’s Cove for doing us the courtesy of providing inspiring words that shaped this story. If you haven’t checked out the site, get over there.
I hope you enjoyed today’s story. Trying to make the words fit the story in my head was hard. But I had a blast.
What’s the coolest thing you’ve ever found (and kept)?
As a child, I could be classified as strange or weird. I spent a great deal of time alone riding my bike or sitting by the lake staring at nothing. One day, I noticed a radio on bench. I waited all day for someone to come back for it. It was nice and fancy radio. I was sure someone would return for it. However, no one ever did. I took the radio home, but my mother made me return it. We waited until dark and no one came back. So she let me keep it. I played that radio every day until one day it just stopped.
I learned how to repair radios after that. I’ve built them out of spare parts. I’ve listened to radio broadcasts from around the world.
A few years later, my mother made me change schools. I wasn’t a problem child or anything so I couldn’t understand I had to leave all my friends. It seemed like the end of the world, but it wasn’t. I swore I didn’t belong there and would never make any friends. However, one kid took upon himself to be my friend. While everyone else treated me like a pariah. This kid did his best to make me feel welcome. I don’t think I ever thanked him for that.
One day, we found a rabbit’s foot by the school we so excited. About what I can’t remember why, but none of that matters. What matters is at that moment we made a lasting memory. Something I didn’t know until decades later. Well my friend has kept that rabbit foot all these years. When he told me he still had the rabbit’s foot I couldn’t believe it.
It’s cool finding a radio would change my life. The coolest things I’ve found are a shortwave radio and rabbit’s foot
Today, I going to combine a couple challenges.
The photo is from K.L. Caley’s #WRITEPHOTO PROMPT.
Name the most expensive personal item you’ve ever purchased (not your home or car).
For most things, I’m a tightwad, even described as squeezing a penny so tight you can see the booger in Lincoln’s nose. There’s truth in that statement, with one exception. When it comes to my tech, I Typically spare no expense.
I don’t run out buying tech all willy-nilly. There will be none of that nonsense. Each piece of equipment must be researched again and again before purchase. Despite this rule, I keep equipment long after it should be replaced or upgraded.
Examples of this devotion to all things frugal: I shoot most of my photos with a secondhand Nikon D3200 and process video on a MacBook Pro. The MacBook Pro was ridiculously priced but is worth the coin. I’ve worn out three Windows boxes since I purchased my Mac.
My Sony FS5 was by far the most expensive equipment I own. She is old but gets the job done. I’m looking for a new camera body to possibly replace my Nikon. It’s going to cost an arm and leg, but what am I going to do? I have no choice, you know? Men and their toys and all.
What is good about having a pet?
I know there are people in this world who don’t entertain the idea of having a pet. I get it. They can be messy, expensive, and a lot of work. They even of the nerve at times to look at you as if you have done something inappropriate.
Let’s not mention, talking to them and they completely ignore or disregard what your saying to them.
Seven years, I been dealing with this fella. Not so much as peep. You’d think if you dig holes in a guys years for that long, you could be at least friendly.
Sophie was a rescue and we have been together for two years now. I truly believe we rescued each other. I have bad days sometimes and she seems to understand when I’m having a hard time and comes to me. It’s quite amazing if you think about it.
Now, I going to provide some general information about ESA’s and their benefits.
Emotional support animals play a crucial role in providing comfort and emotional stability to their owners. These animals are not just pets; they are certified to provide specific assistance to individuals with mental health disorders. ESAs can help alleviate symptoms of anxiety, depression, PTSD, and other emotional conditions. They offer unconditional love, companionship, and a sense of security, which can greatly improve the overall well-being of their owners.
There are numerous benefits of having an emotional support animal. Firstly, the presence of an ESA can help reduce feelings of loneliness and isolation. Many individuals with mental health conditions often struggle with social interactions, but having a loyal companion by their side can provide a sense of belonging and comfort. ESAs can also help regulate emotions by providing a source of calmness and stability during times of distress.
Moreover, emotional support animals can help individuals cope with stress and anxiety. The simple act of petting or cuddling with an ESA has been proven to release endorphins, which are known as “feel-good” chemicals. This natural boost in mood can help reduce anxiety levels and promote relaxation. Additionally, the responsibility of taking care of an ESA can provide a sense of purpose and routine, which is particularly beneficial for individuals struggling with depression.
It is essential to understand the legal rights surrounding emotional support animals. In many countries, including the United States, ESAs are protected under the law. This means that individuals with valid ESA certifications can have their animals accompany them in housing that otherwise has a “no pets” policy. They are also allowed to travel on airplanes with their emotional support animals without having to pay additional fees.
However, it is important to note that emotional support animals are not the same as service animals. Service animals undergo extensive training to perform specific tasks for individuals with disabilities, while emotional support animals provide emotional comfort. Understanding the distinction between the two is crucial to ensure the appropriate rights and accommodations.
I’ve said on this blog that we have two families in life. The one we are born with and the one we choose. This concept has always been more than words for me. It’s been the way I was raised, and I live still. Today, Veteran’s Day, I going to take a moment and showcase my brothers.
The above picture is one of the few times we were together. Our lives are hectic, but we made it happen that day. The gentleman flashing the peace sign is the oldest. He was in the Marine Corps and whipped my skinny butt into shape before Army basic training. On the opposite side, he was in the Army Signal Corps and taught me what it meant to be a member of the Signal Corps. Their guidance and toughness laid the cornerstone of who I am.
Each of these men also served in the military; the top three were in the Navy, and my cousin was in the Army. These men helped me put the pieces back together again after my wife died. They reminded me who I was and what I stood for. I’m indebted to them for life.
As veterans, service and duty aren’t things we are born to; it’s what we learn. In many ways, we are the better for it. In others, that is a cost. Some more than others, but a cost, just the same. During the time we wore the uniform, we did our thang. Nothing or no one can take that away from us. It’s an honor to be among you all.
There is a silence in the room
No words spoken, emotions so thick one could smother
Fighting back the tears, as you look back at her face.
She’s sitting on the steps, glowing in the sun.
Your bag is packed, yet you search for a reason not to leave.
Standing the final stance before departure…knowing too well it is time
Feeling the tenderness of her touch
Followed by the warmth of her lips.
Exhaling in the moment, the next is unknown
Walking out the door, never turning around
Not wanting your tears to show.
The ride to post was longer today than any others
Your brothers and sisters in arms have the same upon their faces
Equipment and manifest checks … moments away from destiny
Chatter fills the room, but no one speaks of why we are here
As if you speak its name, you give it power.
To speak its name, the illusion would be over
We muster on the flight line, trying to stay strong
We look through the crowd, watching your brethren summoning the courage
Moments away from fighting an unknown cause
Fighting with undying zeal and without pause
The plane is loaded, and slumber takes over
Getting all we can get while we can
Waken by the plane’s descent, our nerves on fire
Knowing that the illusion is over and dues need to be paid
We flick the switch ….
Boom boom….boom boom ….boom boom
Can you hear it?
Boom boom…boom boom ….boom boom
War drums sound off
Boom boom…boom boom ….boom boom
Our soul screams!!!!
YEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!
Now we embrace our beast and let them out
Fighting relentlessly ….
Stained with essence ….
Innocence shattered ….
Desperately searching for the next thing that is keeping you away
Through bloodshot eyes, we see all the enemies have vanished
No one else to fight … no more orphans caused
At least no more today
We flick off the switch ….
Leaning in the doorway, standing there looking
Looking at the most breathtaking thing that these eyes have seen
In what seems to be a lifetime
I see you ….
Glowing in the sun
Here’s my response to Pensitivity101’s Share Your World
This week on her is a lovely tribute. It is in the memories of others that we truly achieve immortality. May we all become immortal.
Do you ever feel more excited about getting the package in the mail, rather than the item that’s in it? Yes, there have many times I received a package and wondered what goodies am I about to receive. I’ve been let down too many times, to be specific.
What is the difference between your ideal self and your real self? (i.e. what attribute or physical feature would allow you feel the ideal ‘you’?) I wish I saw myself as something else. I wonder who I would become? What would be the ideal version of myself? Would I be suave? Charismatic? Perhaps I would live on a mountain in an unknown region, communing with the birds. Wouldn’t it be cool to learn a bird language? In this ideal version of myself, would I still be a writer?
However, I’m not that fortunate. I am just a simple man living my life as best I can. I embrace my faults and learn from them. Some lessons are costly, and others not so much. Yet, no matter the cost, each is full of wisdom. I need the patience to listen. Who I am may not work for some, but it’s good enough for me. Everyone else is already taken. This includes any fantasy version of myself. I’m a writer, so I can make myself pretty sweet. However, The Madre has always urged me to use my powers for good. If I’m nothing else, I strived to be a good son.
If you found $2,000 on the ground and there were no witnesses, what would you do with it? I would turn it to the local authorities. Some folks are looking at this answer and saying, “Yeah, right, you would turn it in.” But I would. I’ve lost money before, and someone turned it in. I’m very thankful for that honest person. So why not pay it forward?
Are you ever morally obliged to take action? Under what circumstances? Yes, whenever I can assist people in need. As long as it doesn’t interfere with my responsibilities to my family. When this occurs, it usually affects how much I can assist. My code doesn’t allow me to say no.
What are your favorite websites?
There are far too many quality websites to call one my favorite. However, there are a few I visit regularly. I understand this might be the time to publicly admit. [Clearing my throat] My name is Mangus, and I’m a bookworm and shopaholic. Because of this compulsion, I spend a considerable amount of time on Amazon. I just can’t help myself. I have one of those Kindle Fire things, so I buy books all the time. To make matters worse, I acquire most of my provisions from there as well. Not to mention office supplies, electronics, and ridiculous whatnot that one buys on a wimp.
Until recently, I spent a great of time on Goodreads. A social media site for bookworms. I admit the idea is exciting. However, I have purposely been weening myself from Goodreads in hopes of somehow curving my book buying. Then there’s Abe.com; where can you believe this madness; people post books for sale. There are first editions and the lot waiting for me to enter my credit card information. Thriftbooks.com has reasonably priced books and a points system so you can get some discounts. So not fair.
Wish me luck in my pursuit of curving my addictions. I’m running out of space for bookshelves and my Kindle is almost full.
I always enjoy discovering new ways of pushing myself as a writer. Every sentence is an opportunity to redefine my limits. Often, I find myself struggling with who I’m becoming in the wake of my existence. There was a time when I felt certain who I was and my purpose. Now, with age and health issues, I wonder…
What kind of man are you?
PROSE
The beginning of my psychosis … sighs!
When I was young, I approached life without fear
With hopes as bright as the sun
When it came to worries, I had none
I’d never thought I’d end up here
Sitting here remembering what I saw in the mirror
Realizing what I had become
All the things I had done
My soul and eyes fill with tears
At me, I look
Just one look
And all my dreams
Are scattered
My head hangs low
Despair has begun taking its toll
I have no place left to go
For it holding me here
At me, I look
Just one look
And all my hope
Is shattered
Thunderous dreams on whispering wings
That no one can hear
These pages are soaked from the tears I cry
I hope to survive this pain. I scribe
As I scream
AAAAAAAAAAA HHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
At you, I look
Just one look
For I have lost
The thing that matters
Here, in the chambers of my madness, I am showered by my decadence. The weight of my arrogance bears heavily on my soul, dropping me to my knees, beaten and shallow.
The eyes of my damnation have opened. From its lips, a howl is released that cringes the wicked.
In a fleeting moment….
I believed someone wanted to hear what I had to say.
Believing I had something worthy of saying.
For a moment….
I believed my words could inspire and ignite,
Yet they are daunt and douse.
I believed my words could teleport you from drab and mundane,
to the majestic and climatic
For a moment….
I believed I was good enough to defend the faith, which gives us breath
I believed I was that breath, filling the lungs of the passionate.
For a moment…
I believed the faces of the slain would fade,
Yet I drift deeper into a sea of their weeping souls.
Believing I was strong enough to let go of the things that bind me.
Though I await sadness to draw life that remains….leaving me hollow.
Bound by lunacy’s chains, I am danging in its web, screaming…
Liberating my sanity as I stare into the fright and pain.
Knowing I can’t let go of the hope … of grace.
For my fortitude must be unwavering.
If I’m lucky, my courage will be limitless
Yet, I must be careful, for I hope for….
For it might destroy it all.
Yes, I must be careful …
For it might destroy me.
In the twilight of this revelation, I slump, weakened…
for I am dying.
From my lifeless lips, I speak Passion’s name
Breaking the chains, I rise untouched by the flames of Madness.
holding on to the dream that I’m powerful enough
Powerful enough to scribe in lines of the destined.
Wise enough to scribe the words that will bring us home.
Strong enough to wield the words that will bind our drifting souls.
Bringing us to a place we all belong, united and strong
A place where our words cast out the darkness that sometimes fills our hearts.
Yet, I must be careful about what I long for….
Careful for what I yearn for ….
I might get things I don’t want
Yet, I pray hear you my plea
Just before the dawn of this …
Epiphany of Madness
Here are this week’s questions (which are nothing to do with Halloween):
I’ve never done one of these before, but I enjoy them. I think it has something to do with the brevity of it. The power of less is more. So, true to fashion I will combine a few challenges. Let’s see if I get any of them right.
The picture is courtesy of the Melissa Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge
Love, devotion, sacrifice by any means
You have three magic genie wishes, what are you asking for?
Dealing with a Djinn is like bucking the tiger odds. The odds are in favor of the house. This is because we speak in generalities. we are specific about what we want or need. Sometimes, we actually think we know exactly what we need only to find out it isn’t what we needed at all.
If I remember my scripture, Solomon was the wisest man in the world and there wouldn’t be another as wise as him. If he couldn’t get it right, then I suppose we are good.
I don’t need three wishes. I just need one.
Share Your World – 16th October.
Here are this week’s questions:
Describe a family member.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, not even a little bit. Somewhere along the way, the little bastard got to me. Maybe it was his eyes full of innocence that looked up at me as he gripped my finger when I met him. He stole his grandmother’s heart at the first coo. I wasn’t falling for that cute shit. He’s a male. He must be raised hard, tough, and ready. No pansies are allowed in my clan. No sir. No way.
However, from the start, I saw he going to be different. I saw something in him I wasn’t used to seeing. There was a kindness to him, not the kind that makes you soft. But the kind that makes people want to be around. The kind that’s the foundation of becoming a good man. My grandson is also a very thoughtful young man. I’m pretty sure he got these traits from his grandmother.
I have also noticed he has a bit of a mean streak, something he definitely got from my side of the family. However, I seldom see this side. All in all, he is a cool kid. You can’t tell him; he might think I’m getting soft.
I feel like writing today. There have been so many days where I didn’t feel it, but wrote anyway. I can’t explain or put my finger on the difference. I’m unsure if I need to or if it’s all that important. What’s important to me right now is that I’m feeling it. Today, I not going to fight it.
Perhaps, it’s because
I saw the Moon in a clear blue sky.
So close I could touch it.
It has magical powers, they say
I believe them.
Perhaps it’s because
I saw the clouds glow when they were touched by the Sun.
A bird chirped as it flew by
A stray cat rubbed against my leg
I had a meeting with a friend that didn’t suck
I don’t know why today feels this way, but strap in.
What is your favorite form of physical exercise?
There was a time when running was everything to me. I’ve literally have run hundreds if not thousands of miles in my life. It’s something about the struggle between your mind and body. The two of them trying to find synchronicity. The feeling is difficult to put into words.
Pushing past the pain, the burn in your lungs, the ache from your muscles, and the satisfaction once you have completed. Brings back memories. Depending on the weather, each run presents a difficult challenge. I always secretly loved running in the rain. Especially, a storm. I’d run straight into in an act of defiance. Knowing I should be inside, but no!
The battle between my will and Mother Nature had begun. Of course, I wasn’t going to win, but I would not be taken lightly. I would not cower inside like a good boy and wait. Yeah, that’s where was at, right there. Recalling it, brings back the emotions. My heart rate elevates, my breathing deepens, and my focus is on target.
I sometimes forget how I developed my love for running. How I built up my endurance, stamina, and intestinal fortitude. Oddly, it was from walking. I can’t to do the miles and rage war against the elements anymore by running. However, I can still go on a walk. I love it.
Let me explain why walking is so important to me. In earlier post, I babbled about a bionic kid wanting to a gymnast. It was attempt to be humorous, but missed the mark. Some of you might remember the story. For those who don’t remember or don’t have the foggiest idea what I’m about. Here is a link to the story
What I didn’t tell you about was after that fiasco I had to learn to walk again. I broke my hip in several places and lived in a body cast for a period of time. This marked the end of the adorable years. All my adorable chubbiness, which attracted women from the corners of the Earth just for the pleasure of pinching my cheek.
I never been a fan of cheek pinching, but it usually resulted in candy. So, I swallowed my disdain for the sake of candy. Once, I lost the chubbiness, the candy connection was over. Then, I met with healthy snacks, like apples, applesauce, and random raw vegetables from my grandmother garden. Of course, I suddenly wished I hadn’t broke my hip.
My journey of learning to walk again was challenging. I still don’t think I walk without a slight, but hitch in my step. It seemed I was going to be on crutches forever. I wasn’t before long, I was walking. Then I could run. Boy was I fast.
I walked everywhere. All across town, the different neighborhoods, the different stores, and all the different parks in town. I remember being told certain parks were only for the people who lived in the area. I paid that mess no attention. I kept walking.
Walking has always seem to be the activity where I can clear my mind. The activity where I can the peace that often escapes during the routines of the day. I can gauge myself while walking. Too much pain, tells me I’m not where I need to be physically. Or at least a good indication of my physical status.
Essays and stories have bloomed from my walks. My walks have also been the thread that has sworn together the story fragments that sometimes aimlessly linger in the corners of our minds. There not tucked too deep so we can forget, but they poke their heads out from time to time.
I close my eyes to the darkness
Inhaling the essence of you
Without you, I write nothing
Without you, I don’t know what to do
Living life amongst the shadows
Watching you depart, my heart just sank
Plunging deep into sadness
Imaging a world where you’re not there
Missing you…
Something I didn’t have a clue
Missing you …
How strange I didn’t have a clue
Writers come alive slowly
Writer’s heart is their home
They put their souls on paper
Each lines a heartbeat
Missing you….
How strange … I never knew
How much would you pay to go to the moon?
I look at this prompt with a certain measure of disbelief. Why would I pay anything to go to the moon? Let’s examine the question. Let me go at the possible advantages of going to the moon, let alone paying to go. From what I understand, the Moon is cold. I’ve been cold in my lifetime, and I don’t want to be cold. The winter season here on Earth is more than enough. I’ve spent winters in several different regions. I’m quite familiar with cold weather.
Now, how many science fiction stories have you read where anything good happens with living on the moon? I haven’t read any. If there are any that you know, please let me know. Here’s something interesting to consider. I’m a writer, so if I want to go to the Moon, all I have to do is write about it. Yep, all I have to do is sit in front of my laptop and devise a beautiful tale about a lunar adventure. Or I could pull out a stack of 28lbs paper and start writing.
So you see, there is no need to pay to go to the Moon when you are a writer. Pay to go to the Moon. Are you kidding me right now?
Share Your World 2nd October Response.
Here are this week’s questions:
1. When you were a child, did you have your friends round for tea even if it wasn’t your birthday? Were you invited to stay for tea at a friend’s house? I was raised in America, so the only we had was Sun Tea. Which consisted of placing Lipton tea bags in a large jar and sitting it on the porch. I forgot about sweet tea. We love our sweet tea and lemonade. The closest thing to what this question asked is my friends and I would scrouge change and go down to the filling station to buy RC Cola and a Moon Pie. We’d sit on the curb eating our pie and drinking our pop, like kings of the four blocks that comprised our neighborhood.
2. What was your first job in adult life? I joined the military right out of high school. There is nothing more to say about that.
3. Do you enjoy shopping (food, clothes, gifts etc)? I hate shopping for the most part. I mainly purchase books and electronics. Used bookstores are my happy place. I must remain calm when I find a treasure I have been looking for months. Weirdly, people stare at you like you’re a lunatic when you get all excited about a book find. As a child, they would shake their heads with looks of pity on their faces. I would overhear them saying, “Don’t stare! I told you about staring at God’s special people. That poor child.” For a while, I didn’t know they were talking about me. When I did discover it, I whooped a little louder.
4. What was the best bargain you ever got? I’m not sure if this is considered a bargain or not. Since the word bargain is a bit subjective. It really depends on the person and the item. I walked into a pawn shop once and saw a stack of LP’s on the shelf for sale. The stack was riddled with no name band in the last twenty years, but as I reached the bottom of the pile, I struck gold. I found an original pressing of Howlin Wolf’s London Sessions. Quickly, I took it to the counter to purchase. Turns out the owner of the store was an old friend from back when we both had hair, and our eyes hadn’t seen all the things we had. In a way, back when we were both innocent.
What’s something most people don’t know about you?
I had several different responses to this prompt. I actually made very detailed notes on something else. However, I was at my brother’s motorcycle shop. I took several photos of his projects. I can’t disclose any of the works in progress. However, there is one I’m sure he won’t mind.
Over the last decade, I’ve gone on about my desire of wanting to ride a motorcycle. We have talked extensively during that time about owning one. Once, I went so far as to discuss the design of a bike. My brother graciously entertained my thoughts. However, I know nothing about designing or building a bike. He could have taken the opportunity to berate me. He didn’t, but he did something else instead.
One day, he tells me he will build me a bike. Now, I did my best not to be all giddy and lose my shit. I don’t think I pulled it off. I thought he joking around, but I went around the shop and took pictures of my future bike.
Now, some may feel my baby is in rough shape. I assure you it’s in better shape than I am. Thanks to my brother’s I now have an opportunity to fulfill a lifelong dream. Riding on the open road with the wind in my face and all that. Yes, I know it sounds cheesy, but don’t judge me!
Here is my response to the Share Your World challenge
Along the coast of the isle, I await
I’m awaiting the one who is heard but rarely seen.
His guidance, his vision, is what soothes me.
Thundering huffs of his steed surround me
Through the mist, I catch a glimpse of his armor
My heart pounds in anticipation of asking the question
Opening my eyes, I am within the halls of my study
An empty room with barren shelves, once full
No remnants of its former purpose
Except…
An inkwell on my table
Whispering …
You’re the one I belong to…
My soul began to shiver
As it transformed into a mesmerizing beauty
With enchanting eyes that spoke to me.
I could barely take it
My head was spinning around and around
I didn’t know what to do
As those eyes kept asking me
Can you be the writer?
That writes too silly to the profound
Are you that writer?
It is just a question to answer.
The inkwell on my table…
Was the caressing wind
Of the blossoming trees
Everything between hell and heaven
Now I’m back along the coast
In the presence of the rider
As I looked at the face behind the visor
I realized the answers
I am the writer of the silly, perhaps the profound
Yes, I have my answer
I am the Muse
What major historical events do you remember?
The longer you live the more things you remember. There are many historical events that stand out in my mind. It’s hard to choose which ones to talk about. So, I’ve decided to discuss a few that impacted my life. These events made me stop and think about the world around me. Sometimes, I find myself a little taken back by the level of carnage some members of humanity are willing to unleash.
I wish this quote by Joseph Conrad had no relevance in today’s society. Sadly, it is just as relevant today as when he wrote it.
On June 12, 2016, a horrific event in Orlando, Florida, shook the nation. Omar Mateen, a 29-year-old man, carried out a mass shooting at Pulse, a gay nightclub, resulting in the loss of 49 innocent lives and leaving 53 others wounded. The impact of this senseless act of violence reverberated far beyond the walls of the nightclub, leaving a deep scar on the LGBTQ+ community and the nation as a whole.
The Orlando nightclub shooting was not just an act of violence but a targeted attack on a specific community. It attacked love, acceptance, and the freedom to be oneself. The LGBTQ+ community has long fought for equality and acceptance, and this tragic event served as a painful reminder that there are still those who seek to harm and oppress individuals based on their sexual orientation.
In the aftermath of the shooting, the nation came together to mourn the loss of innocent lives and support the LGBTQ+ community. Vigils were held across the country, with people from all walks of life coming together to stand in solidarity. It was a powerful display of unity and a testament to the resilience and strength of the human spirit.
As time passes, we mustn’t forget the Orlando nightclub shooting. We must remember the lives that were lost and the pain that was inflicted on the LGBTQ+ community. We honor the victims and their families by remembering and keeping their memories alive. Through this place, we can continue to fight for a world where everyone is accepted and loved for who they are.
Furthermore, the Orlando nightclub shooting serves as a reminder of the work that still needs to be done to prevent such acts of violence in the future. It highlights the need for better gun control measures to prevent individuals with harmful intentions from obtaining weapons. It also emphasizes creating a society that celebrates diversity and fosters acceptance.
I remember being outraged by this event. I wondered what was wrong with the young man. What was happening underneath the rhetoric? Of course, I will never know the answer to this question. However, this event didn’t hit me in the gut until a close friend shared her thoughts. Then finally exclaimed:
“They’re killing us, Mangus. They’re killing us!”
I had no idea what to do or how, if anything, I could comfort her. I still don’t. The event was senseless and cruel.
On January 6, 2021, some Americans lost their damn minds and stormed the Capital Building in Washington, D.C. This event should have never happened, but it did. Nearly three years later, I still question the point of the entire affair. I can remember staring at my boss like she had lost her mind. I heard her words, but they didn’t make sense.
The barrage of questions continued for a few minutes until I accepted that our Capital was under siege. I was furious. I felt helpless. I couldn’t do anything to right this wrong. It was no longer my job.
To attempt to overturn a presidential election by force is wrong on so many levels. I’m doing my best here to go into full mode.
Deep breaths…Mangus: Deep breaths … filth and foul and filth foul …deep breaths, use your words.
Civil disobedience is one of the things that made America what it is. However, in my opinion, the actions of that day went against the spirit of the country. That day was not our finest hour. We are better than this madness. It would behoove us to remember that.
Here is a link to the timeline of that day’s events provided by the BBC.
In the aftermath of the Capitol riots, the nation grappled with the deep divisions that had been exposed. It was a stark reminder that democracy is fragile and requires constant vigilance. But in the face of this unprecedented attack on our democracy, there were glimmers of hope and unity.
Leaders from both sides of the political spectrum condemned the violence and called for accountability. The swift impeachment of the then-president and the subsequent investigations into the events of that day signaled a commitment to upholding the rule of law.
Furthermore, the resilience of the Capitol staff and law enforcement officers who worked tirelessly to protect the building and its occupants should be recognized and commended. Their bravery in the face of danger serves as a reminder of the dedication and sacrifice that public servants make every day.
The events of January 6, 2021, serve as a wake-up call for the nation. They highlight the urgent need to address the underlying issues that led to such a violent insurrection. We must examine the root causes of the division and discontent that fueled this attack on our democracy.
Moreover, the Capitol riots underscore the importance of education and critical thinking in a democratic society. We must invest in civic education and media literacy to ensure that citizens have the tools to discern fact from fiction and to engage in constructive dialogue rather than resorting to violence.
As we reflect on the Capitol riots of 2021, let us remember the lessons learned and work towards healing the wounds that continue to divide our nation. Only through unity, understanding, and a commitment to the principles of democracy can we build a brighter future for all Americans.
On October 1, 2017, the world was shocked as a horrific event unfolded in Las Vegas, Nevada. A lone gunman, identified as Stephen Paddock, opened fire on a crowd of concertgoers attending the Route 91 Harvest music festival. The attack resulted in the loss of 58 innocent lives and hundreds injured. This tragic incident is one of the deadliest mass shootings in modern American history.
The impact of the 2017 Las Vegas shooting was felt by the victims, their families, and the entire nation. As news of the attack spread, a wave of grief and disbelief washed over the country. The concert, meant to celebrate music and unity, quickly turned into chaos and terror. Survivors and witnesses were left traumatized, forever scarred by that fateful night’s horrifying images and sounds.
The Las Vegas shooting also reignited the ongoing debate around gun control in the United States. The ease with which the shooter acquired a vast arsenal of weapons and ammunition raised severe concerns about the accessibility and regulation of firearms. Many called for stricter gun laws and comprehensive background checks to prevent similar tragedies from occurring in the future.
In the face of such tragedy, the Las Vegas community displayed remarkable resilience and strength. Strangers came together to help the wounded, offering comfort and support amidst the chaos. First responders and medical professionals worked tirelessly to save lives and provide essential care to the injured. The city of Las Vegas rallied around the victims and their families, offering financial assistance, counseling services, and a collective shoulder to lean on.
The aftermath of the Las Vegas shooting also highlighted the importance of mental health support. Survivors and witnesses experienced profound emotional trauma that required professional intervention and support. Mental health organizations and counselors played a crucial role in helping individuals cope with the aftermath of the tragedy, emphasizing the need to prioritize mental well-being in the wake of such devastating events.
The 2017 Las Vegas shooting was an immense tragedy that deeply impacted the nation. The loss of innocent lives and the profound effects on the survivors and their families cannot be overstated. It serves as a somber reminder of the urgent need for stricter gun control measures and comprehensive mental health support in our society. This horrific event should compel us to reflect on the lives that were tragically cut short and the resilience displayed by the Las Vegas community. Moving forward, we must strive for a future where such senseless acts of violence are prevented, and where every individual feels safe and secure. Achieving this requires collective action and a steadfast commitment to change, as we honor the victims and work towards building a more peaceful and compassionate society.
The Capitol riots of 2021 will forever be etched into the annals of American history as a dark moment. It was a stark reminder of the fragility of democracy and the crucial importance of safeguarding our institutions. This shocking event shook the nation to its core, but it also sparked hope for healing and growth. As a nation, we can move forward by addressing the underlying issues that led to this unrest, fostering unity among our citizens, and prioritizing education to prevent such incidents from happening again. It is through these actions that we can strive for a better and more inclusive future, where the principles of democracy are upheld and respected.
The Orlando nightclub shooting was a tragic event that deeply impacted not only the LGBTQ+ community but also the entire nation. It served as a stark reminder of the ongoing presence of hatred and discrimination in our society. However, amidst the darkness, it also brought people together, showcasing the power of unity and love. As we remember the victims and their families, it is crucial that we continue to work towards creating a world where everyone feels safe, accepted, and valued. This means actively combating prejudice, fostering inclusivity, and promoting understanding. By doing so, we can honor the memory of those affected by this tragedy and strive for a society where diversity is celebrated and bigotry has no place.
What’s the biggest risk you’d like to take — but haven’t been able to?
It’s interesting how something just pops up. As if the universe has something to tell you.
“Psst, come here, buddy. I won’t bite.”
In such cases, the universe represents that crush you never dared to speak to more than a few seconds at a time. For some reason, you believed talking to them would ruin the perfect relationship you had developed in your mind. In your mind, her voice caressed your inner ear, her smile melted away any doubt, and you weren’t an awkward guy who would write his thoughts in a notebook.
Then, sometime in the distant future, time folds back on itself because that’s what it always does. It comes around, so you face the moment you avoided all those years ago. It comes whether you are ready for it or not. Most likely not, but that’s the enchantment of time isn’t. You learned some time back not to question the universe because it will do whatever it wants. So it goes …
This time, in the grind of time, I decided to revitalize the blog I started over a decade ago. I did so without any faith in my writing. Truthfully, I didn’t have any faith in myself. Eight months in today, my doubt has begun to fade. Yet, I ask myself whether or not my doubt is over? Despite this, every night right before bed, I rant by the light of an LED lamp.
I don’t rant for fame or glory; I write for sanity. I expose my scars and whisper my secrets. Once, I held them close to my heart. Like that was the move to make. As if sanity resided neath the scars because I could trust myself and no one else. No one would understand my demons; I didn’t understand them myself. This is what I told myself. It was belief, nay, my conviction. This is how depression is; this is how it pulls you in.
I thought I could be a conduit for someone else pain, grief, and anguish. In reality, I’m confessing my sins of war. The war within myself. My biggest risk is releasing the insomniac rants to the public. Yet, I have been doing it, you say? I have a few short story collections and a few novels I’ve been holding back. I hear the senior editor’s voice in my head, “What are you waiting on?”
Well, darling, baby steps!
I’m Mangus Khan
and these are my memoirs
Memoirs of Madness
Insomnia is back. It was harder than usual this time as if she had something to prove. Like I had been two-timing her that slut Slumber, her word, not mine. The truth is Slumber has been good as of late. Her tender caresses lulled me into a much needed state. My body has been enduring a special kind of hell brought on by my devotion to Insomnia. In the wee hours of the morning, I lay there staring at the ceiling as if some cosmic truth would be revealed at any moment. The answer to an unasked existential question would materialize from the shadows. My notebook lay open at my desk. My Parker lay next to it.
“Psst…Psst.” I heard the Parker whisper.
I refused to surrender to temptation. I stayed strong. I am committed to the cause of what I don’t know. I’m so tired I don’t care.
Dawn’s arrived; her light caressed my body and whispered my name, “Mangus! Mangus!” Each time, a little louder in her honey voice. I raise my head, but Slumber pulls me back. I felt her warm breath across my ear, and then I felt a flick of her tongue on my ear lobe. I resist and sit on the edge of the bed. I look back at her. Her gaze is majestic, her touch serene.
“Go, I’ll be here when you get back,” she whispered.
I yawn and head out the door.
I never thought I had what it takes to be a father. I felt I wasn’t caring enough. You know, those guys on television and movies make it so easy. They always knew exactly what to say at the proper moment. I’m not those guys. Constantly, I’m saying the wrong things all the time. Damn, an appropriate moment. If there is saying the wrong thing I’m good at, it is sticking my foot in my mouth. Shell-toe Adidas tastes decent, but I prefer Chuck’s. The more worn, the better.
So, I bet you are wondering if I’m a complete screw-up at being a father; how could it be the thing I’m the most proud of. It’s simple, I had to bust my ass to earn the title. I’ve put more energy into being a father than anything else. So, any accomplishments I’ve made were hard fought ones. So this makes their reward sweeter. However, I can’t rest on the fruits of my labor. Fatherhood continues to be challenging well into their adulthood. Their problems are bigger for some reason. What happened to the days of hair disasters, outfit malfunctions, and broken hearts.
I wish I had been around more for them. My occupation prevented the deep connections fathers sometimes have with their children. There are so many I couldn’t discuss with my family. So, I was an idiot and didn’t talk at all. That was a definite moment of brilliance (eye-roll). So, I provided them useless facts they couldn’t apply to most things due to the fact they didn’t live in the kind of world where knowledge of this sort was required. I ensured they didn’t have to deal with the madness I had as a child.
While raising my children, I suffered from PTSD. I thought I was tough enough to deal with the condition alone. Yeah, I was that jackass. Despite this, I’ve maintained a relationship with the children and the grandchildren. With the missed bedtime stories, Christmases, birthdays, and all the other things I missed I was trying to make the world better for them. I’m a lucky and blessed S.O.B., my sacrifices could have cost me the very thing I was trying to keep safe.
A page I’m developing for the blog will contain a series of articles covering various subjects not dealing with the current subjects on the blog.
That’s all I have right now. Of course, I have several unnamed projects, but I have learned recently I need to prioritize my project to ensure completion.
As always,
Today, I realized I don’t have the mindset to have a lazy day and relax. I grew up believing you worked hard throughout the week and did chores around the house on the weekends. Saturday was the primary day of work. Sunday, I finished things up and prepared for the upcoming week. This logic has been the way, and I find no fault in its structure.
It’s strange how life can change your perspective on things whether you like it or not. I’ve mentioned my recent illness, which has caused me to change my lifestyle. Well, I am attempting to change it. Old habits are hard to break. I require much more rest than usual. I’m napping frequently and not getting a damn thing done. WTF, I appear to be getting soft. I can’t be having that. However, I must be honest with myself.
Honestly, I view my lack of progress in my chores around the house as unproductive, but in reality, getting a proper rest is very productive. I just need to be patient with myself.
It’s been a long week; I wasn’t sure I would make it. Work wasn’t particularly stressful, but I struggled mentally to get through it. I had a photoshoot yesterday, and I’d forgotten how physically taxing photoshoots can be. It was an open area shoot of a fantastic community event. I felt alive until the end of the day. My shoulders ached, and my legs felt like rubber. I fell asleep trying to process the photos from the shoot.
Despite the struggle, I got some beautiful shots I wish I could share but can’t. I didn’t have the opportunity to shoot any artistic shots. I was too busy, and I still haven’t regained all the strength from my recent illness. So today, I’m worn out. However, it’s through strife that we gain strength of character. Also, each day is a blessing and not a curse. Stay strong and keep fighting.
What do you enjoy most about writing?
I can’t remember why I started this. I can’t see where it was supposed to go. I know there was reason, a pretty good I’m sure. I probably crafted some clever dialogue to explain my actions if someone were to ask. No one did. I must remember I didn’t start writing to post on a blog. Hell, I didn’t start writing to be read. I wrote as a means to understand the stirring voices in my head.
Yes, I understand how that sounds. I concede you might have gone mental. I assure you I haven’t. I’m a writer who is attempting to write honestly about a topic. You guys would sense me being full of crap in a heartbeat. Throughout the years, I tried to force the things I wanted to write. I fell pray to the …
“Hey, this seems interesting.” or
“I got a great response to this piece; let’s write more about this, you think?” Or
“This is my signature piece.”
Yeah, limiting myself, like it is the thing to do. I didn’t have to worry about being put in a box or labeled. I did it myself. Constantly, I waged war against myself about the things that ended up on the page. Instead of WRITING SHIT LIKE YOU MEAN IT! I wrote these quaint pieces trying to find the formula that works.
“Sometimes in writing we stumble into a story …other times we trip and fall over what we intended to write.
Mangus Khan – 2015
I truly enjoy the ability to create something out of nothing. Well, not really nothing, but more precisely, use everything to create a believable story. I’ve used a portion of overheard conversations, witnessed events, or conjured a scene from the splinters of my mind. Whichever the source, the joy is finding a way to string them together into something meaningful… I hope.
I’ve lectured about writers being time travelers of a sort. No one ever gets where I’m coming from when I make this statement. My point is simple, actually. We have the power to rewrite history to suit ourselves. As long as we make the story compelling. When we are making up stuff, it doesn’t have to necessarily be believable. Some of the most ridiculous stories are compelling. We laugh out loud or shake our heads as we finish the story.
I used to worry about what the reader would think about what I had to say. This is important to a degree. I used to worry about so much I would actually get stuck and stop writing. Or even worse, the idea would never see the page. I’ve told my writing team hundreds of ideas but never written. It was as if I whispered into the wind, hoping another writer in an unknown destination or time would hear it and write it down.
All this was before I began to believe in myself and the writing process. I stop trying to force my will onto the subject matter. I learned to let go and trip and fall into it.
Most importantly, I’ve learned to enjoy the entire process. For example, this very post I started writing it back in August. Of course, I had a lot to say about what I enjoy about writing. Oh yeah, let me tell you all about that about it. Let’s not. I’m good. Aren’t you?
This blog wasn’t supposed to be what it has become. I was ready to quit before I wrote the first post. However, I’ve kept going; believe me, this year has been incredible. I couldn’t imagine the success I’ve had here. You guys have taught me so much about writing as well as assisted me in realizing things about myself. Then, I wonder about stuff like this …
Will it matter how many doors opened, portals gazed through, or notebooks filled? Will we truly say all that we hear in the silence? Only you can answer these questions in the words you write. I wish words of kindness and love would replace the hatred lurking in the soul of man. I wish the tears that drench these pages were of joy instead of sorrow. I hope for a better tomorrow.
I wish what we find in our darkest hour, we embrace its truth. We have hid too long from who we really are. I wish that truth flourishes, providing the wisdom necessary as we bare our souls. It will be liberating to walk from behind the veil of another person’s ideal. I wish this unveiled soul speaks with passion and dignity, knowing by doing so, the words will be spoken with honor. I wish we could free ourselves and honestly speak soulfully.
“The essential thing is that you write about something you really care about. Identifying that something, however, is not always easy. Are surrounded by received opinion, a constant barrage of information, drama, ideas, and judgements offended us live, printed, and electronic. It is so much easier to know what we ought to think and feel then what we actually do. “
Janet Burroway Writing Fiction
With that being said, I often find it difficult to find subjects I would like to write about. It’s challenging to make interesting content. However, I feel it’s critical to be honest with yourself as a writer. My favorite portion of writing is creating phrases. When I’m editing, I just want it to be over. However, I realize a properly edited piece can turn good writing into excellent writing. I didn’t always feel this way. Just ask my senior editor. I’m sure there were several moments when if she could have got her hands on me. It would not have been good for me. Sometimes writing is like …
The night whispers have faded as dawn stretches with one eye open and the other squinted. Caffeine burns through my bloodstream as I roll myself a cigarette in the early morning strain. Lately, my words don’t seem like mine; they are flat and lifeless as if my pen has lost its courage. The words tease as they linger on the tip of my tongue. Though submerged in this state of bewilderment, my face distorts into a smile. I realize that I have been preparing for this conversation for years. It became clear the difficulties never change. One minute, you stare blankly into the nothingness, and the next, you find yourself face down on your desk with slobber-drenched hair and coffee-stained lips. The result is a story about you, which is nothing more than a reflection about me, pulsing happily on a word processor.
While trying to remember, every word, sentence, or paragraph is another attempt for writers to learn to fly.
The other day, I was talking to a close friend, telling her I can’t expect many views because I’m not selling a product. Therefore, the SEO strategy should be different. She looked at me momentarily as if waiting for me to say something.
“The product you are selling is you. So, in this case, you have cornered the market; you are unique and exclusive.”
Ain’t that some shit!
I look at this question and laugh. I know it isn’t intended to be funny, but it is. I don’t have a clue how to answer this question. Perhaps if I approach it in reverse. I know what makes a bad neighbor. I’ve had a few of those over the years. The kind of people who complain about the length of your grass. The polite suggestion of adding a coat of paint to your house.
However, I have neighbors bring baked goods to welcome my family to the neighborhood. I never trusted the sentiment. Perhaps, it’s my inability to understand the merits of strangers knocking on my door with a casserole. If you want to win me over, let’s start with a chocolate cake, a minimum of two layers. My wife asked once, “What kind of cave were you brought up in?” I looked at her before speaking. This time, I actually considered my response.
“It was quite nice. Quiet, low light, and no neighbors bringing random casserole. Honey, you know I don’t do random casserole.”
She looked at me momentarily with a smile slowly creeping to the corners of her face. She did her best not to laugh. There was even a flash of annoyance, but it didn’t hold. She walked away, muttering something about, “How crazy I can I be?”
I replied, “Challenge accepted.”
As Always
What could you try for the first time?
As a kid, I spent hours watching a TV show, “The Man from Atlantis,” starring Patrick Duffy. This show was before he rose to fame as “Bobby Ewing” on the iconic drama Dallas. It was a horrible television show I barely remember. However, do remember spending time at the local swimming pool trying to mimic his swimming style. Now, I didn’t have much success in this endeavor. A fact I chalked up to me not being an Atlantean. I went to my mother and explained my plight. “Boy, you are crazy,” she replied as she shrugged on her coat, heading off to work.
Here’s a clip from the Man from Atlantis
I decided to give my explanation another try with my grandmother. She didn’t even respond. Well, not in a way I was accustomed. She sat me down for what would become one of the few shows we enjoyed together. I didn’t understand most of the show, but I thought it was cool. Swimming around underwater and whatnot is precisely what I will do when I grow up. Who needs superpowers or any of that stuff. Deep sea exploration was where it was at.
Here is Mimi’s show we shared together.
I hadn’t thought about any of this stuff for years. I’m almost ashamed when I think about how I jumped from career to career. But that’s what we do when we are young. We try out different opportunities before settling on a career that will last us a lifetime. Provide us fulfillment and joy. A career that, when we retire, we know our efforts made a difference.
Wow! I’m sorry, I have no idea where that bullshit came from. I guess since I was feeling nostalgic, it opened a portal to memories of people feeding me that line as they clearly wanted to be someplace else. I didn’t have the snark to call it on them then. It’s okay if I ever finish the time machine in my basement. I have enough snark now to handle the situation appropriately. Yep, I wanted to be a deep sea explorer and have all the cool toys. I would try it now if I was healthy enough and had a shot. Why the hell not!
As always,
Sometimes, the day just sucks. That’s how it is. No amount of positive affirmations can wipe away the stench of the day. Politics instead of actually doing something that matters. We can’t actually help some one. We play the role of helping and wait for the smiles of gratitude for your faux assistance. You drown in a vat of your own contempt.
A woman walking the halls we like she owns the place. Not because she is being rude or commanding, but because we are willing to give here whatever she needs. You don’t have an option, its just the right thing to do. I watch the plastic people trip over themselves and I continue watching, wondering …What I have to do?
I’ve always felt that people who do things as a matter of principle are full of crap. Typically, I’ve found they will remain steadfast with whatever the principal absence of any logical evidence. I don’t think they mean to do this intentionally, at least not right off. Sometimes, I feel they get caught up in the need to be right. Perhaps it is the fear of being wrong. Whichever the case, I find the result illogical to the point of insanity at times.
Most of us live by a set of rules, standards, or codes established based on a series of events that have occurred in our lifetime. Everyone has different standards because we process things differently. The crazy thing is that the standards we set change over time. Some things no longer have the Importance they once had. In these circumstances, we sometimes have difficulty accepting the changes. Honestly, accepting the changes is a demon most people face in various situations. Nobody is expecting you to admit this, not at all. Because denial is our next favorite thing.
Some common principles that people live by include:
These are only a few examples of the types of principles we use to define ourselves. I use a combination of some of these principles in varying degrees. I think it is crucial for me to do my best to be true to the person I strive to be.
What’s your #1 priority tomorrow?
Sometimes, it’s difficult to decide what things have the greatest priority. Everyone has so many things going on in their lives the only thing we can seem to do is breathe. Sometimes, we can only take quick and shallow breaths. Despite my daily tasks, my primary priority must always be doing all it takes to make a difference. I concede this priority is challenging, and perhaps I should choose a smaller task. One easier to complete, but this isn’t how I roll. It never has been.
When I wrote full-time, my writing team constantly accused me of procrastinating. We created several blogs, writing workshops, and countless other writing-related things during this time. Due to this, I wondered why they would say such a thing. I admit I might have been a little wounded. Just a tad. Then, one day, my senior editor had a conversation with me. If I’m being honest, it was more scolding. I felt like a child in the corner, sucking my thumb. Ready to blurt out, “I’m sorry, and I will never do it again,” at the proper moment. You know, timing is everything when it comes to apologies.
It wasn’t about everything we had accomplished; it was a single question about one thing. I hadn’t done. She wanted to know why I hadn’t finished my novels. She had every right to question me; I was writing a novel when we met. I couldn’t answer her then, nor can I answer her now. Worst of all, I have no answers for myself. Oh, I’ve several excuses for not finishing. However, none of them had any iron. It was like there were empty promises we tell ourselves in the moments of doubt. Despite this, since my reemergence, I have continued to write. My progress has been slow, as each sentence brings me closer to finding my way.
Recently, she expressed her delight in my bringing new light to some old stories in the archives. So, she hasn’t been giving me a hard time lately. I’m incredibly grateful to my imagination and Ursula, my muse, for assisting. She can be a pain in the ass when she doesn’t get her words. It’s a whole story by itself. I don’t have a reason why I have finished writing my novels, but I’m writing again. Right now, that must be enough. What I do know, it feels good to be writing again. I feel stronger than I have in some time.
Some of my close friends may say I’ve never grown up. It’s almost like I’m clowning around all the time. Then, a group of my closest friends entertain the thought I was born old. A small faction questions whether or not I was born fully grown. I must admit there is a lack of any photographic evidence proving my suspected childhood.
I contend I have an old soul. Yes, let’s go with that phrase. I fondly remember several elders in my childhood using it, referring to me. With this, I conclude that I must have routinely conducted myself well beyond my years. As such, I can’t put together a confirmed time when I first felt like a grown-up. I say it wasn’t the time I kissed a girl or anything. In fact, I don’t even consider when I first entered the military as an adult. I certainly do adult things, but whether I was a grown-up, nah!
However, I was in the military when the haunting moment of adulthood crept into my psyche. Something about facing your mortality tends to snap the child right out of you. It wasn’t the first time, but several events happening in 12 months did the trick. So, there I was, living in another part of the world, trying my best not to take anything seriously. Then, BOOM! It happened I was a grown-up.
As always,
The leaves on the trees rustled as the squirrels playfully chased each other limb to limb. In the forest, there was a clearing. A woman reading from a book sat in this clearing next to some fallen branches. The woman dressed in a habit, and the book was small in size but limitless in wisdom and Grace. These two things served as a beacon rescuing her from herself. She was on a path to Perdition’s Cathedral because she had lost hope. It was the fallen oak branch to her right that she first saw him. He was lost in the confines of the world painted inside bounded papyrus. He sat there so serenely as he brushed his from his face. She instantly knew that she loved him.
It seemed like one of those fairy tale moments you read about or see at a picture show. A moment when it’s clear you could love someone for an eternity and be the better for it. Grace smiled as she remembered plopping down on the branch beside him. She was so nervous but summoned the courage to ask his name. From the look in his eyes, they were the deepest brown; Grace could tell that he felt the same way. She remembered being overwhelmed and delighted like nothing before. They talked until the settling of the sun. Together, they walked hand in hand in silence, taking in sunset wonders from the edge of the ridge.
Exhaling in contentment, they parted ways to return home. Over the next several months, they continued their talks. They took turns reading from the book and discussing what each passage meant. After several months, they expressed their silent feelings for one another. It was the heavens danced in praise. The birds sang the sweetest ballad, and the sun brightened. It became clear to them that destiny had spoken. It became that they were to be together forever.
One day, the gloomiest it had been since they met. Her soul mate sat on a log, clearly troubled. He broke the news to her that he was to leave her. Her heart sank into a fathomless abyss. He explained he had to fight for truth, justice, and freedom. These were necessary for love to be the strongest in the world. None of this eased the pain of her wounded heart. None of this comforted her tormented soul. They kissed and hugged each other tight. They never wanted to let go of each other. Watching him walk away that day was like watching her soul walk away.
Grace had no idea she would never see him again after that day. At least, she had no idea she’d ever admit openly. It is something about when you are about to lose someone you truly love. You just know it. Nothing can truly explain this except the one who walked this path. They are the people who have stood there waiting for a glance to quiet their screaming fears. They stand praying for just one more chance to see them. Unfortunately, it is a chance that sometimes never comes.
Now, the woman has devoted her life to the service of the Father. Now, she has faith in something more substantial than her pain. Each day is different than the last. Each moment, she learns to ease her pain through his Grace. Somehow, through the misery, the deceit, and the pain, she looks for the good in the world. She must pray for guidance to help the less fortunate. Each day, in each moment of prayer, she hopes through corridors of pain that she can help another on the path to Perdition’s Cathedral.
The wooden rocking chair creaks against the porch in perfect time with the living clock on the wall: Tick, tick, tick. Carol Oxford sat on her porch, looking at the sky, lost in her thoughts about what she had seen in her lifetime. The memories of everything she had lived through. It had been such a wonderful life long from being over if she had anything to say about it.
In seven years, just seven years, she would have witnessed a century come and go. Seven years go so quickly, but so many things could happen. In the past seven years, she had buried over thirty of her friends and loved ones. And now, Roger? She had built her entire world with Roger. He called home to the Father. A smile came across her face as she wondered why the Father didn’t let him get those orchids planted this year. He would have loved to get the orchids before he left. His shovel and pail still sat where he left them as if she was waiting to return and finish the planting.
Sassy still runs out every morning to see if he returned. Then, she comes to the porch and sits on the step as if waiting for him to leave the barn. The woman understands her dog’s action because she still makes the coffee at dawn and pours two cups. As she drinks her coffee, she often wonders why the Father left her here. Why didn’t he take her at the same time or shortly after? Then she would smile as she remembered what her husband would say about that,
“Honey, there are things certain in life, Death and change. You may not like the change, but you can’t control it. No more than you are in control of the life’s ticking clock. So Honey, the best thing to do is be the best person you can, as long as you can.”
Manu Jenkins and Maury Lawrance faced off back in the 1950s. This face-off changed how things were at The Paradise drive-in. Manu Jenkins, “Jinxy” people called him, and Maury weren’t gang members, just guys who couldn’t back down. Only to find themselves in a situation that lasted a lifetime. This face-off leads to the development of the neutral zone. The neutral zone is no gang activity at the drive-in. Anyone caught fighting at the Paradise was banned for life. That was the law of the land for as long as anyone could remember.
According to Jinxy, “The Paradise” was the only place in town where you could walk around without anyone beating you senseless. Old Lonnie Lawrence, Maury’s father, had everything: swings, slides, cotton candy, and make-out spots. Jinxy nudged me with his elbow, smiling. “That’s where I met my sweet Pearl.” He said, staring off as if trapped inside a memory. Then, finally, he leaned back and smiled. I wondered if he was watching the movie from that night. Praline Madsen “Pearl” was his wife of forty years before going home to glory. Jinxy didn’t make it to the following fall. Jinxy and Pearl, PaPa and Nanna, seemed to me to be a love story, exactly like one that played at “The Paradise.”
Forty years later, My little brother, Trey, wanted to see a double feature playing there this weekend. Bruce Lee’s Chinese Connection and The Game of Death. I was 17, and hanging out with your 12-year-old little brother when you were supposed to be chasing tail wasn’t ideal, but I loved Bruce Lee just as much as he did. To get to the “Paradise,” we had to cross enemy territory. The Paradise may have been the neutral zone, but the surrounding neighborhood wasn’t. I knew the 6th Ave boys owed me a few beatings for jumping a couple of them when they got caught in my neighborhood. Trey didn’t know anything about my part in the beating, but he had witnessed a few as they happened.
“Moe?”
“Yeah, Trey.”
“Why are they beating that man? What did he do?”
“Nothing, Trey … Just in the wrong place; wrong time…you know?”
“No, I don’t….make them stop, Moe!”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“It’s the world we know.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
What’s a topic or issue about which you’ve changed your mind?
It isn’t easy to change a person’s mind once it’s been set. It’s a matter of principle, I suppose. Some may call it stubbornness. These words are thrown about when we have questions like these. I was brought to believe I mustn’t be afraid of anything. There is no way you should be scared. Especially if you’re a man. Men must be fearless. We are celebrated for bravery and courage. As a man, we know there will be times when we may experience fear, but we mustn’t allow it to consume us.
Throughout my life, I witnessed several men plunge into danger for the sake of the appearance of bravery and courage. These situations diminish with age. Yet, what I come to discuss today isn’t the outward expression of bravery and courage, but I want to talk about when we need to internalize those traits to battle the most brutal enemy we will ever face: ourselves.
As a man of a certain age, we were taught to be tough. For me, this meant I swallowed my emotions. I mustn’t express any feeling that wasn’t acceptable. I did this rather well. At least, I believed this until the things I buried began to rear their ugly heads. I’ve made several posts where I mentioned battling demons or my monster. It’s easy to believe I have something inside of me that I can fight and possibly defeat one day. The tricky thing is to admit these demons and monsters are a part of me. It’s even harder to admit I’m a part of them.
In the aftermath of the unintended consequences of my errors in judgment. I realize and believe it’s okay to be afraid.
I sighed heavily as I sat down to partake in a meal scarcely worth the coin. This meal is just another example of something we have little control over. I was eating because you’re supposed to, not because I was hungry. We are creatures of habit, products of routine, drones of a cosmic age. Moments ago, the sun was beating on the back of my neck, warming my entire being, As I sat alone in silence, lost in thought, waiting. Unsure what was to come. Yet, I sat waiting. I open my notebook.
It’s incredible what one hears in the silence. In this world, there isn’t any silence, not really. The noise is deafening, televisions blaring, but no one is listening. Humanity seems lost in the world of tiny screens and wrapped in the lives of make-believe. We are judging reality with contempt for having the nerve to be unfilling. We are having conversations that we aren’t paying attention to. Only to become offended for being misunderstood. We are spending our time poking fun at the unfortunate. Secretly, thankful we aren’t them.
It’s funny how one can never control when the words come or what they truly mean. We write and write until the movement has passed. Now, the once empty page; full. Turning the page, waiting for the next word to appear from the nothingness. Waiting for magic!
Throughout most of my life, I have been a detail-oriented person. I suppose I been this way due to a fear of making a mistake. I’m unsure if I realized that fact before I sat down to write this post. However, if success is to had by examing the merits of today’s prompt; honesty is paramount.
What I find peculiar about this whole affair is that I usually don’t miss a thing. All my bases are covered. My backup plans are worked out and in place. I habitually have a contingency for most situations I find myself involved in. So typically, the answer to questions like these is “I’ve squared away.” However, being squared away today is the furthest from the truth than it has been in a very long time.
I’ve mentioned in several posts I have been experiencing some health issues. With this comes a series of lifestyle changes. I’m not exactly pleased by this development and tend to demonstrate the “fuck it” attitude. However, my circles of friends, or better yet, the family I have chosen, have made abundantly clear they are seconds from kicking my butt if I don’t start taking things seriously. I’ve been on this earth long enough to recognize when the threat is real.
So what does all this actually mean? I need to make the appropriate changes to my lifestyle. I need to use my ability to sweat the details to ensure I doing it the right way. I do this for myself and no one else. Well, that’s the right thing to say, yet there is truth and iron in these words. However, it isn’t lost on me that, My family and friends would appreciate my presence as long as possible. There’s nothing better than love felt from your people. Plus, I’m getting a little too old to take a beating.
What skill would you like to learn?
When considering today’s prompt I think about all the things I cram into my head regularly. I’m passionate about learning new things that interest me. I believe I have always been this way or at least, as far back as I can remember.
My mother called me a “curious little fella.” She had these eyes that summed you up in a glance. So, there was no use lying to her. Just, tell it straight. It was better for anybody in the end. She brought a bunch of those Curious George books. Wow, do you remember those things? I read them a couple of times.
Then came the dictionaries and then the encyclopedias. I spent hours reading and scribbling in my spiral notebooks. Here is the funny thing I can remember a single thing I learned from reading those books. I must learned a great deal, obviously. Yet, I can’t remember a moment reading them where the light bulb in my mind lighted up.
My ability to absorb information and apply information has served well in over the years. However, this ability comes with a cost. Sometimes heavier than others, but a cost none the less. My obsessive nature for learning, causes stress and anxiety. To look at me, I display no outwards signs, I assure you I’m emotionally compromised.
This attitude of mine has taking its toll on my mind, body, and spirit. With all this, the skill I need to learn: is the ability to relax. I know that sounds easy enough, but its not.
I will leave you with this classic…
Daylight slipped into the darkness. The streets have begun to empty. People have started to enter the safety of their homes. A mother is sipping a cup of tea after a hard day’s work. A father making dinner for his children and a sister reading a story to her brother before bedtime.
Hoyt Curtis sits in the dark, staring at nothing in particular. A disassembled .45 ACP on a table in front of him. He and his .45 never met a problem they couldn’t solve. At least, that’s what he would tell himself every time it pointed at its target. However, the truth is it caused far more problems than it ever solved. A picture of his family lay on the window sill. A family that walked away from him 10 years ago. That’s when his wife had reached her limit. The man she loved and became someone else.
Hoyt couldn’t blame her. It was true. The safest thing was for her children to leave. His demons were taking over. They had taken up residence in the front room of his mind. The bastards had the nerve to put their feet on his hand-carved Italian coffee table. He believed his family was better off without him. It was his job to keep them safe, even if it was from him.
It’s foggy outside, but I’ve never been clearer
I’ve failed you in the worst possible way
I became something other than what I needed to be
I felt I needed to be something other than who I am
If the failure to you isn’t bad enough,
the greatest failure of all is to myself .
Which topics would you like to be more informed about?
I’m always studying something. Constantly scribbling in my notebooks about whatever strikes my fancy. I scribble so much that I spend an enormous amount of money on quality notebooks. No way, I lower myself to use a regular notebook. So what do I do? I discovered how to make my own notebooks. Yay, for me and my ridiculous obsessions.
However, in light of my current health status, I believe I don’t have a choice but to research my conditions. So, let’s take a look.
I’m looking to discover the wonders within these topics. I have already written two articles concerning sleep disorders.
Will you remember me when your famous?
It is so lovely for you to say so, but I know that you wont.
To be honest, I would probably forget me too.
So experience, conquer, and live shamelessly.
You see I know that I am nothing more than….
A whisper of a stranger
A smile from a fond memory
We all know that memories wither and fade
So I add another log onto the fire of life
Every so often I poke it
To see the spark, hear the pop, and feel the warmth
While I sit in admiration and silence …
POETRY – iNTROSPECTION
Cradled within a chair,
For I am soothed and warmed by life’s mystical treasures.
As I turn the pages of time’s forgiving grace.
Name the professional athletes you respect the most and why.
Regarding professional athletes, we as a society tend to look at them singularly. I never understood why that is, but only to say primarily, I wasn’t any different. However, I’ve read articles telling the exploits of some of these athletes. I cannot name all things done, but I can highlight a few things that have caught my eye.
In the above photo, we have NFL legend Jim Brown. He’s featured with Fred Williamson, Jim Kelly, and Richard Roundtree. In their own right, each of these gentlemen justifies the use of the word legend. Probably, they were photographed together because of the film One Down, Two to Go (1982), in which they starred. Let’s take a moment to discuss these men.
Jim Brown (1936 – 2023) was an NFL legend who played from (1957 – 1965). Brown is considered one of the best running backs of all time. My introduction to Jim Brown is through his movies. I remember watching his films, but I was unaware he was an athlete then. My uncle sat me down for a long talk about “black heroes” in America. The only thing you can do during one of those talks is keep your mouth shut and nod at the appropriate times. It took a few years to get my timing down, but I eventually got it down cold. I could talk forever about Jim Brown, but this is one last thing I want to point out. Jim Brown had a love scene with Raquel Welch. RESPECT.
Fred Williamson was a former professional football player from (1960 – 1967). I discovered him in a B-Movie martial arts film with Cynthia Rockroth. He was the definition of confidence for me at the time. He was just cool. Later, I found he starred in the Blaxploitation films of the seventies. I remember watching many of those films with my aunt. Where I had to sit there in complete silence under the threat of banishment if I opened my inquisitive mouth. A tradition I passed along to my children. I’m happy to see they continued the tradition.
Jim Kelly to me was the ultimate martial artist. Perhaps because I could identify with him. To have a serious set of skills in the arts, but ridiculously cool. Earlier, this year, I wrote a post called Bruce Lee Saved my Life where I mention Mr. Kelly and he influenced my studies in martial arts, which ultimately assisted in shaping my life. I didn’t have the opportunity to grow an afro like he had, but I embraced the improvisation approach to martial arts. Well, at least I tried. My sensai wasn’t having none of that.
Richard Roundtree is the only one pictured who isn’t a professional athlete. Mr. Roundtree became the titular character of the 1971 screen adaptation of Ernest Tidyman’s Shaft. His portrayal of John Shaft has lasted over fifty years. There were 5 films and a short-lived television series. There were seven episodes. Mr. Roundtree was the epitome of cool among my friends. Leather jackets, turtlenecks, and afro were a fashion staple. Thank goodness sideburns were out of fashion before I could grow them.
Muhammad Ali (1942-2016)
As a child, I grew up watching Muhammad Ali destroy his opponents. He talked so much trash. I remember some people used him as an example of arrogance and conceit. I told some of the older gentlemen playing checkers in the park. They responded, “Yeah, and he can back it up.” Though I always had profound respect for his athletic prowess, I realized I didn’t know much about the man. If I’m being honest, I still don’t. However, I read an essay discussing a moment in Ali’s life. I found a different sort of respect. I began to respect the man as well as the athlete.
Kareem Abdul-Jabber Earlier this year, I wrote a review about an essay Kareem Abdul Jabber wrote. This essay has a story about an event involving him, Bill Russell, Jim Brown, and Muhammad Ali. Here is a link to the early post: The Knucklehead Report #5. As a basketball player and the shortest center in the game, I watched much of Kareem’s style of play. Mostly, he had court poise, which I was seriously lacking.
I hear your laughter as I write this. I hear the sound your disdain makes as it oozes from your lips. Who I am isn’t enough to satisfy you. Who I am is nothing more than a source of laughter. Certainly, nothing to be respected or loved. I knew who I was when we met. Somewhere along the way, I began believing I was more than I am. If you think about it, the notion is rather pathetic. I realize and accept dealing with me was something done in desperation, something done as a last resort.
I don’t have to guess why this occurred. There is a preponderance of evidence. Yet, my denial is commodious. Foolishly, I opened my heart, knowing I had nothing to offer. I’m a destroyer of love on so many levels; what right do I have to be loved. I suppose, in a way, I’m a selfish jerk who forgot what they had done. Do you believe in fate? Do I have the strength to pull the trigger? Do I have the courage to accept the truth as it stares right in my face?
Standing listening to the whispering darkness as they perforate the perpetual silence. I taste the blood of the wounds neath my scars. I bathe in the memories of the delusion of us I created. I remember your smile, and for one second, I’m hopeful. I wish I could write away the pain of truth. But I have never been that good.
Your silence speaks the truth…
Yet I believe in the lie, it’s safe. Its warmth is soothing like only a lie can do. I wanted to be there for you. I wanted to be someone you could count on. However, your expression speaks the unspeakable. Still, I sit letting the thoughts free flow. I swallow the tears of beautiful lies. I’m praying somewhere in between delusion and reality there is something there. Something telling me I haven’t been lying to myself all this time.
Whatever it is; I’m accountable. I must be strong despite myself. I used to be afraid of the light and noise. Now I must embrace …
The Whispers of the Dark
It’s ridicolous to ask a writer to choose their favorite word. I’m sure many of us have one, but to call us out. Is that even cool?
Of course, it isn’t. So, I’m going to pretend you didn’t even pose such an absurd query. What’s that now? Let’s not waste time with such foolishness.
It was the sixties, I made my entrance with a bang, if I so myself. We listened to peculiar jiggles that were designed to attach themselves to whatever portion of the brain that allow you to forget it. I wish I knew the name of it, perhaps, I wouldn’t have forgotten her name.
Somewhere along the way, words become essential. Yeah, of course, words are important. They are how we communicate. Perhaps the word I’m looking for to explain better the intensity I’m trying to convey. Should I pull out my dictionary and thesaurus?
It’s hard to concentrate because there aso many wonderful words to choose from. I guess I need to speak plainly. I became obsessed with words. I badgered my mother into purchasing a dictionary larger than my head. She finally relented and brought the dictionary with my first journal.
I hadn’t heard of a thesaurus when I started my quest to learn every word. A student teacher, whose name I forgotten, began to explain about the dictionariers mythical companion. She smiled with her eyes and her eyes were the kindest I can remember seeing. She also discussed Schoolhouse Rock with me.
Looking back, I don’t she was very old. At the very least she was still in touch with her inner child. Her guidance helped shaped the writer I eventually became. I just wish I could remember her name.
Write about your most epic baking or cooking fail.
I’ve been cooking ever since I was about eight years old. I’m not a chef, but I can hold my own in the kitchen. I often find myself complaining about the local cuisine. So much, my lady questions me every time I get takeout. Plus, there have been some mishaps concerning my dietary restrictions. So, she believes to resolve these issues is to cook at home.
Now, did I ever tell you about when I tried to add MRE’s dishes to my menu?
Meals Ready to Eat (MRE) has been a source of rations for the military for a number of years. I and several others have learned to make these meals taste a little better than how they come out of the package. If you look online, I’m sure you find thousands of recipes. When I started eating these, there was a different package, and I don’t remember there being a heater. There may have been one, but I honestly can’t remember.
We learned to eat a lot of meals cold. My unit was on the move, and cold meals became the standard. When we were able to stay stationary, we heated things up. However, this wasn’t very often.
So, I got married, had kids, and all that. The kids wanted to know what I ate while I was away. So I brought a few home and told them about them.
Over time, you learn which meals contain the different sides. Apple vs. grape jelly, peanut butter or cheese spread, things like that. Obtaining the ingredients and getting the portions correct can be a delicate process. We had all the ingredients. Then, we started putting everything together when my pager went off. I hurriedly gave my middle daughter the instructions, grabbed my go-bag, and headed out the door. As I walked out, she repeated everything to me, and I assured her she had it down. She did, except for one thing. Heat.
I returned a month later, but I never did get the full story of what happened. I was summarily banned from the kitchen. It took decades before I was granted access to the kitchen on a provisional basis. I thought the whole affair comical; being blamed for something, and I wasn’t even there. Honestly, I think me leaving in the middle of fun time with the kids with the problem.
What brings a tear of joy to your eye?
PROSE – RANDOM THOUGHTS
I beleive its important to point out I’m some pansy running boo-hooing. However, acknowledging the presence of tenderness or innocence displays reserves of strength that can’t be adequately described in words. I know I been trying for years. Yet, I suppose one of you may have come up with something by now.
When I close my eyes thinking of innocence, I have a moment of return. I was child running through the snow. On my way to no place in particular. The idea of freedom after the storm was enough. Soon, I’d run into a friend and another random child exploring freedom.
We’d play until our fingers were numb. Because everybody knows waiting any further, you know, waiting until they start to ache. It was bad enough to sit from the oven with your fingers stretched out. They ache, hell that wicked pain. The kind of pain that brought tears to your eyes. There’s no shame in it. We weren’t old enough to understand that kind of foolishness.
Some day, not long from then, we were introduced to foolishness. We stopped expressing our feelings. We swallowed them like they were a plate full of double cheeseburgers. We just shovel them down one after another. I suppose that’s the price of manhood. Well, at least it was that way when I come up.
I miss the age of innocence because life tends to rip it away unexpectedly. Leaving you standing there with a gapping hole where innocence l
What are you doing this evening?
Or an error in judgment. Me thinking I was going to live forever. Me, thinking my body was going to remain in its current state. Somehow, I believed I was tougher than I am. I remember making fun of the older generation when I was younger, saying stupid things like, “That will never be me!” In some ways, I was correct, and in others, I was utterly wrong. It turns out I am worse. Some of those folks are still around. They look at me with those tired eyes that have seen far too much. Yet, there is an understanding behind them. This understanding, a nod, and a slight smile welcomed me to a group I never thought I deserved to be a member of.
Here we are, three weeks into it. My life changed forever. I have to make some adjustments in how I do things. That ought to be fun. I have new prescriptions, new doctors, and new challenges. I never much thought about dying. I figured it was one of those things that came in the night without warning. You know, the reaper sneaking up on you because he was too much of a punk to face you head-on. Turns out the reaper is no punk.
So, this evening, I sit writing about the madness I’m in the middle of. I’m thinking about how foolish I’ve been. I’m thinking about how it began as a mistake. How I wish I could tell my parents, I got it. It makes sense now. I just hope they read my blog wherever they are. I’m thinking about how I had my whole life to prepare for this moment and why aren’t I ready? Yeah, the shit just got real!
REO Speedwagon’s Ridin’ the Storm Out sets the tone for the morning. I’ve no idea what going on, but I feel like writing. Of course, this happens while I’m at the office. Ursula, my muse, is sitting here in the office like she is a client or something. Knowing, damn well she’s being a pain in the ass.
She’s looking me pouting as I type these words, like there is heat in them. She knows if she keeps whispering, I’m going to write a story or a bit of prose.
Really? the twirling the hair thing? It’s like that?
She smiles and snaps her fingers
Malcolm Young playing rhythm …
Here comes Angus’s power chord … shit
I look over at Ursula and her eyes are sparkling and her hips begin to sway as Bon Scott begins to do his thing.
I sit here trying to fight off the tremors that come every time I hear this song. I know there is no use, but its adorable I try.
All right, Ursula
What does your ideal home look like?
PROSE – RECOLLECTION
If you are certain age, you may recognize the title of this peice. It was a horror film from the seventies. Back when there good or I was young and didn’t know any better. I choose this title because I want my ideal home to completely the opposite of what the house in that film represented.
For those of you who are familiar on how I do things here, get ready we are about to kick things off. For those who are new, things may get weird so prepare yourself. Snacks are in the cupboard. I believe that a few throw pillows in the hall closet. There’s a popcorn tin to the right. Three different flavors I might add. The grandchildren no I’m a sucker for popcorn.
Look around you, there are wall to wall books from every region of the world. All of them writtem in the language of their origin. There they are just waiting to be read by you, by me, by everyone. Now, I understand some of you folks have come here for ole`Mangus to tell you a story. Well alright then, let’s get to it.
Look in front of you, down the dark walkaway through the door. You don’t see anything? Look again.
Within these walls we have the ability to have anything we desire. All that is required is to write the sentence, tell the story, dream. My ideal home is a house of magic.
Why do you blog?
PROSE – REFLECTION/INTROSPECTION
The sun has set, signaling the end of a wonderous day. Nothing particular happened, but it just felt good all around. In the spirit of this, let’s speak plainly and talk about this prompt. Let me remove my mask for a while, just to prove to myself I’m human after all. Regarding this prompt, I am trying to understand why I blog—at least, not a hard, fast answer. One I say with any confidence of its truth because it’s complicated.
So come on in and have a seat. I have a lot to say, but I’ll hurry every chance I get. Welcome to the regions of my mind. A hideaway, if you will. Don’t mind the skulls; there are totems of my former glory long past. This blog, at least a version of it, has been around for over a decade. I know it’s hard to imagine it’s been that long, and I created it. However, two things occurred which has changed this blog forever.
I had decided to get writing publicly last year but took my time pulling the trigger. My lady requested I increase my online presence, which I agreed to only to end the conversation. I figured my success would be fleeting. I explained this absurd request to my longtime editor, and she agreed with my lady. “What will it hurt? she said, or some madness close to that. So, I started posting. I received more traffic in the first thirty days than in the previous decade.
Despite this success, I wasn’t convinced I had what it took to grow and maintain an audience. I spend a ridiculous amount of time figuring out the magic formula to make a blog popular. My number kept climbing, but I still worried about the stats obsessively. I had to quantify my efforts. I sat at my desk saying WTF am I doing wrong? The answer was the simplest one I’ve answered all year. It’s shameful when I think about it, how it sat there in front of me the entire time. I kept looking every place else for what I needed; instead, where I needed to look.
If you are a fraud or don’t believe in what you are writing, it comes through in the writing. So, I took a step back and started writing what I knew: pain and turmoil. Some of you might remember it was a gut-wrenching couple of weeks. This blog is a place where I get to face my demons head-on. I slay them at times; at others, they slew me. However, each time, I continue to fight. I don’t know any other way. It was how I was raised; I see no fault in it.
So, here we are then, you and I, faithful readers, your support is greatly appreciated. You have done more for me than any pill or therapy session. Here, I dive into the darkness of myself, my monster, and come right along with me. Such brave souls. The cool stuff, the part that’s the shit, Is you allow me to read you. I get a glimpse of the world through your eyes.
I often wondered: With the world as big as it is, why do we insist on living it so small? As I sat formulating this very sentence I’m typing, my eyes were closed momentarily, and a smile crept across my face while thinking of the countries I’ve read today. It’s staggering, to say the least. Each picture, word, sentence, meme, or prayer has the potential to touch so many. It may be the thing that makes the difference in someone’s life, and you have no way of knowing. That’s okay.
We tell our stories and strengthen the people we touch. I’m sorry, folks, that’s some beautiful shit, and I got to be a part of that. I had no idea it was going to be like this …
What motivates you?
PROSE – INTROSPECTION
I sit thinking about the question before me. As usual, I overthink everything. Qualification is a necessity before answering the simplest question: insanity, a worthy description of my state of being and actions. I believe I’m slow dancing on the edge, but I’m drowning in the middle of an abyss I conjured.
The only thing that keeps me going is my grit. My ability to withstand all I subject myself to. No person has the power to affect you unless you allow them to. Yes, the power they have over you was gifted to them by you. I know, right? That’s the rub. Understanding this concept is the easy part.
Regaining your power won’t be easy. It may be the hardest thing we have to do.
Learn to swim …
I’ll see you in the deep end. I’ll be the guy struggling just like you.
How are you feeling right now?
PROSE – INTROSPECTION
Somewhere in the admist these series of events called life, I began to believe a lie. No, no, no not a lie told to me. I wish it was that easy, something that simple. You can shrug those off if you want. You can justify the reasons why a person lied to you. But, the lies you tell yourself are permanent; at least they seem that way. No matter how hard you try. No matter how many lies you tell to hide the first.
Looking back, I can remember when I first uttered the lie. I was filled with conviction and promise. I meant everything I said at the time. Yet, I can’t recall when it became a lie. Some may question whether it was ever truth. It was. That much I’m sure of, I meant with everything I had in me. Slowly, without noticing, I had become a bald-faced lie.
Pleased to meet you…I’m the butt of the joke.
PROSE – RDP CHALLENGE/ PHOTOGRAPHY
I have always heard there’s a reason for everything. I always viewed as one of those things people say when don’t anything better to say. For a lot of folks that atitude is perfectly fine. The necessity to drive deeper into an issue or situation isn’t a requirement and there’s nothing wrong with that.
For many years, professionally, I needed to answer to those kinds of questions. I had to get to bottom of situations or problems in order to provide possible resolutions to them. If I’m being honest, some of the reasons for certain situations didn’t make sense then; they don’t make sense still.
I live a different life now,. There’s a reason has taken a different meaning for me. Wait, a different spin, yes I like that phrase better. Since, babbled on about who I was before, lets talk about who I am now. Hopefully, its itzy bit more entertaining .
Photographer:
I can’t remeber the reason I took them this way. Honestly, I can’t remember if I even cared. Typically, when I take pictures, I allow the moment to speak to me. I’m surprised of the shots I get when I download them onto my computer.
Writer:
I never know what word is coming until it comes. Sometimes, I’m as surprised of what omes out of me as the reader. There are times when I read a written piece it feels as if I was readng it for the first time.
It’s almost if the characters I create have their own lives. It feels at times , my job is just to record my characters truth. I know these things sound a little odd. But I suppose that’s okay. After, living a life like I have, a little whimsy is tolerated.
What daily habit do you do that improves your quality of life?
PROSE – DAILY PROMPT
Allow me a moment to consider which one of my daily habits improves my quality of life …hmm
Is it reading the news? nope
Posting on my blog? nah
This is more difficult than I imagined…
I have it now…
Although, I need it. I understand that it benefits humanity if I drink it regularly. I’m not quite sure they say this, but I hear it a lot. So, there may be something to it.
What’s your favorite time of day?
PROSE – DAILY PROMPT
This shouldn’t be a difficult question, but as I consider a response to this daily prompt, the difficulty has begun to rear its ugly head. The three-eyed gnarly creature and its rotten tooth cousin doubt fester, making me weak and powerless. Yet, desperately, I wage war against myself to write the whispering verses I hear throughout most days. But I’m more than a little curious about how this post will end.
The Night has come. I close my eyes and envision the stories the words have whispered throughout the day. I sway to the waves of darkness. My lips moistened by “the ballad of stillness.” as I await its return. Writing is what I’m here for. Writing is what I crave. I write to claim the sanity that is mine.
I feel my monster stirring, preparing to drag me down another hole. Can someone feed this monster while I string the words together as I rapidly approach the bottom? Our blades are drawn, my katana versus his scimitar. Our swords clang as they slice the air. Each wound releases our demons. Demons, we don’t want to know. Yet, we ignore the pain, the truth, and smile.
The monster whispers, “Help me if you can?”
“Kick rocks!” I reply
The monster pleads, “Write me a lullaby.”
Let me ask you a question? Has anyone ever seen a monster pout? He even had his bottom shot out. That crusty, gnarled-up thang. Definitely, not a good look. Because I’m a dick, I sang an enthusiastic rendition of Drowning Pool’s “Tear Away.”
You know this bastard had the nerve to weep? When did crying monsters become a thing? Soft-ass monsters? That’s some bullshit! I going to need his bitch ass to get it together. Without him haunting me, driving me further into the bowls of madness. I will burn all my journals, for I won’t confess anymore. I can no longer bury my secrets in shame. This is where I draw the line.
Wait, the dawn is coming. This whiny asshat has kept me up all night. Is this my future? Is my journey to sanity haunting me? For my monster is sleeping. My body, my spirit, awaits the caress of Slumber. I slip into her arms and surrender. To be soothed, even if it’s for a short while. This is my favorite part of the day . I sleep as the world awakens. For a few hours, I bask in the nature of daylight. …its 5 am
PROSE – SHORT FICTION
The interwoven steel and brick appear the same after all this time. I am standing here where I first laid eyes on her. The spot where things go in slow motion allows me to memorize your every movement. The spot, though the crowded streets, our eyes met for the first time. It was like she looked right through me, a gaze that severed my armor-plated exterior. She saw me for who I really was. It was terrifying and exhilarating at all once. No mask, no pretense; she was looking at me, a simple ordinary man.
On that day, in that moment, I took the first breath of the rest of my life. On that day, in that moment, my life became redefined. I stood there stagnating, watching my world change for the better. Watching my wildest dreams become reality. I found the confidence to become whatever I could imagine. I knew I had the strength each time I looked into her eyes. Every flutter of your eyelash gave me the courage to strive for unattainable. Little did I know that my vanity would be my curse. Things got so mixed up.
Now, alone on a park bench, the wind blows steadily, bringing the night chill. I listen to its lonesome howl, and I know its pain. I listen to the night, the silence, and feel the chill creeping slowly into the emptiness of my soul. Exhaling, clearing this moment’s anguish, the whispers begin to perforate the silence. I begin to hear the tales that go unspoken. I close my eyes and open my soul as I hear the lucidity of silence.
PROSE – SHORT FICTION
It was a Friday night, and the writing contest deadline was in a few hours. I barely had a solid opening, let alone anything that made the cut. Finally, my muse hit. My fingers had begun flying across the keys. Sentence after sentence filled the page. My sultry but forever absent muse had returned for a special one-night showing. I was eternally grateful. I was so lost in the story created in a presumed moment of brilliance that I barely noticed the rumble of thunder outside.
Though it had been hours, 5,000 words flowed out of me in what seemed an instance. I leaned back and lit a cigarette. I began to review what I had just written. It could be my best work or literary psychobabble like anything I had written. The first three paragraphs had promise, but the next two needed an infusion of common sense. On second thought, the delete button needed to be my best friend. It could save me from swirling in a vat of my ignorance.
Suddenly, the unthinkable happened. I heard the lightning as it struck. I remember jumping a little because the rumbling thunder shook us to the core. The lights began to flicker. I looked around, hoping that it was a fluke. I went to the living room and let the dogs inside. Although they were killers, they were afraid of thunderstorms. The house went dark. Quickly, I retrieved the candles from the junk drawer and lit them. Sitting in my easy chair, I caressed my dogs to settle their nerves. Then, it occurred to me my story.
I knew my word processor had auto-save, so most of my work would be saved. Hours went by, and still no lights. I could hear the sirens of emergency vehicles echoing through the neighboring streets. This storm was worse than most. Finally, six hours later, God smiled at us and restored the power. My dogs continued resting by the chair. I noticed their eyebrows raise as I began to move. I got to my office to see how much of my work survived. I hit the power button, but nothing happened. I knew my machine was old and desperately needed to be upgraded. So I hit the power button again, and still nothing,
I began crawling around on the floor, attempting to find my way through the jungle of power cords, USB cables, and everything else was hooked to my machine. I hit the power button again, filled with hope and promise, alas nothing. Angry, frustration, and devastation hit me all at once as I looked at the scene in disbelief. Of all the days my machine could go down, why today? Why when I had something that could have been great lurking on those digital shelves that seem to crumble under the strain?
Sifting through the pile of paper on my desk, I looked for the number of the computer guy that my friend had spoken so highly of. I find the card underneath the final pile, at the farthest corner of my desk. It was crumpled and coffee-stained, yet it was still legible. I called the shop and got the machine. How could they not answer the phone right now? This was an emergency. Then I looked at the clock and realized it was 3 am.
10:00 am couldn’t come fast enough. I feared the worst. I feared that all my recent work would be lost forever. Hopefully, this computer guy could save me. On pins and needles, I waited for the store to open. I had checked my bank account and had enough to buy another laptop, but I didn’t want to. This laptop and I had a history together. Through the late nights, countless articles, shorts, and just some incoherent early morning babble created. Through it all, she had stayed with me. A clear testament of devotion and stamina, no one truly understands a writer’s relationship with their machine Except for another writer.
I was tired of waiting, so I jumped into the car and drove to the store. Thirty minutes later, a beat Honda pulls into the parking lot. A lanky young man exits the car, looking like a cross between Maynard and Gilligan. I give him a few minutes to get inside and get things settled. I smoked a cigarette while I waited. I sat staring at my laptop, saddened, hoping things would be okay.
The store was a shambles. Stacks and stacks of computers that looked similar to mine. It was like lost souls looking for their way home—a digital wasteland within the mortar and brick. I wonder how many had walked in like me, hoping for a miracle. I wonder how many walked in and lost all hope once they saw this. I must admit, my confidence seems to be fading. I turned towards the counter, and there silently stood the man who held my sanity in his hands.
I explained my plight to him. He didn’t seem to care by his expression. By this time, he had heard nearly every story there when it came to this. He reached for my machine and excused himself to the back of his show. I swallowed hard; sweat began to bead on my forehead as I waited for his return. I stepped outside and smoked a cigarette, attempting to calm my nerves. It wasn’t helping at all. My mouth began to water as I contemplated going to the C-store and buying a beer.
This is a piece of fiction considering reworking. What do you guys think? Scribble or Delete?
POETRY – INTROSPECTION
Why do I bother to post in other groups?
When my words are barely read at their home
Perhaps it is an evolving disillusion of a boyhood dream
To do something in life that makes a difference
To touch someone’s soul with a glance
To inspire a dream with a whisper
When did the purity of an ideal dissolve into an institution
Perhaps, the day you uttered another name, replacing your own
Why do I read my work aloud?
When it is obvious no one is moved
The only thing mentioned is its length
Nevermind anything about its strength
Were you listening?
There’s no need to lie to me.
Perhaps it’s because my words lack the standard rhyme or mitre.
Perhaps I have yet to say something that possesses some depth.
One thing is clear.
Their silence speaks louder than any word could
I found this piece on an old folder … interesting
PROSE – RANDOM THOUGHTS
No man should ever eat another man’s dirt.
Sometimes, its better to go home, pride wounded
Then, to end up neath the dirr
PROSE – RANDOM THOUGHTS
Pain is coursing through my body like I’m riding the rapids. There seems to be no end in sight. I can barely keep my eyes open. I barely slept at all. Yet, today is a good day. Today, is a solid day.
I got married on this day, decades ago. I know its crazy. How did I find a woman crazy enough to put up with me. It boggles the mind, but I never question the laws of physics. God rest her.
The first granddaughter was born today. Though she’s a pain in the butt, as are all my grandbabies. I couldn’t be prouder of her.
So today is a good, solid, and strong day!
Be Blessed !
What do you love about where you live?
PROSE – RANDOM THOUGHTS
The thing I love about my neighborhood is the sense of community. Everyone is struggling in one way or another, but somehow, we come together in times of need. Today, I witnessed a local church hand out school supplies to its members.
Sometimes, out of nowhere, things like this happen.
Now, I’m the only one who’s plays rock & roll in my neighborhood, but the sentiment is sound.
Peering at the surface of my mind
PROSE – Straight talk
This is a response to a writing prompt I found on Medium. I thought it would be a good opportunity to slow down and examine what I’m doing and why? In the following few lines, perhaps, you will be able to better understand the writer known as Mangus Khan. So, I will put down the mask and speak to you plainly.
This has been sitting in my drafts for months. I forgot about it. So here it is …
I started writing when I was young. I can remember a specific age, but people’s opinions of me really mattered at the time. Shakespearean Psychobabble sticks out as an early work. I recall it fondly.
No rituals per se, but nothing gets written without a cup of coffee. I’m afraid of what might come from my mind without my fix. I jot down anything in my head when I first wake up. Writing down the raw idea is essential for me. This way, I have an untainted version of the concept. Next, depending on what kind of mood I’m in that day; I might play a little music. I typically don’t write poetry to music, but it has inspired several poems. When I’m writing longer works, I find music drives the emotion I’m conveying rather well. However, it depends on my mood or what I’m writing.
Writer’s block has never been an issue for me. I think it is nothing more than a myth constructed by some writer during a particular undefined period. However, my constant monster or crippling demon is self-doubt. For me, it’s like Doubt lurks in the shadows of every corner. However, journaling is what keeps me sane. Not everything I write gets posted.
There is no set process. Nothing like step 1. I do this or Step 2. I do that. That might be nice or maddening. I let things flow to me, how they are supposed to. If I remember, I was meant to. If I wasn’t, I don’t. However, I often get gentle reminders and other times they aren’t so gentle.
Typically, I can write just about anything. Of course, there are genres I’m better at than others.
I run a blog about my work and a writer’s workshop website. Both of these sites are hosted on WordPress. Both are relatively new, but there is a direct correlation to the work I put into them.
No
Writing, for me, is cheaper than a shrink. It’s my state of calm, my safety blanket, or my church. When writing, I have the ability to be myself. I can say all the things I wanted to say but couldn’t. I get to stare my demons in the face and tell them to “KICK ROCKS,” whether they leave or not is another matter entirely. However, I find peace within the moments I can write these lines.
I get several ideas throughout the day. However, the ones I pay the most attention to come in the morning. They are mainly fragments of something. Sometimes it’s the beginning, while others, it’s the middle, and of course. Example: Once, I wrote an entire novella around a single scene in an alley.
There have been several writers over the years who stuck out to me. There have written something that spoke to the soul.
No, my writing plans are completely independent of Medium. However, I found my Medium experience to be beneficial in regaining my confidence in my writing ability. Medium has also broadened my creative abilities in storytelling. Since, I have started writing here, I’ve explored my talents in photography and rediscovered cinematography.
PROSE – RANDOM THOUGHTS
I’m unsure if I always enjoyed the clouds, but I know I loved the rain. Lately, in my part of the world, cloudy skies are normal. So, when I walked out and saw clear skies, I should have known there was going to be some shit this morning.
There I was standing in front of the vending machine trying to decide what salty, sugary, or this might be good, but tastes like poo, treat I going to get. This is when happened….
“What?…What?” exclaimed the strange person walking up the stairs.
I have a blank look on face, because my caffiene levels are in the red. I’ve learned from eperience not to respond without being properly caffienated.
“First thing in tbe morning you at the dog – gone vending machine.”
I stand dumbfounded at her choice of vernacular. A young person using “Dog-Gone” tells me she spent time with her elders which pleases me. She went on with some indiscript chattering. I was only make out a word here and there.
Then another one appeared with a plate in her hands. Mistakenly I did the following.
“What is this?” I asked with a puzzled look on my face.
“It’s healthy, now eat it!” says the sassy short person.
Here’s the funny thing about sassy short people they believe they whatever the hell the want and we just have to take it. Now, what’s about these two sassy individuals is they are just a millimeter from being stubby. I’ve dealt with stubby folks on occasion, they’re not so bad ; pleasant even. So close!
Now, to complete this motley quartet is a regular sized person. Now, she sat there like she had no idea what was going on. Ya’ll know I wasn’t what they was selling no even a little bit. The shit was adorable; coochie-coo!
I defended myself by saying something outlandish; to only be met with walking away giggling with one hand waving in the air.
“I can’t …I can’t!” they muttered in unison all walking away in different directions.
The meal was tasty, but the love behind it was amazing.
I can’t remember why I started writing things down in a notebook. I don’t think I care. Hand journaling is a simple yet effective way to gain insight into your thoughts and emotions. It’s a practice that has been used for centuries, and for good reason. Writing by hand lets you slow down and connect with your thoughts and feelings. And with the world’s communication state, we all could pause before we tell someone how it is.
One of the great things about hand journaling is that it requires no special tools or equipment. All you need is a pen and paper. You can choose a notebook you love or use whatever you have. It is vital to make it a regular practice, even just for a few minutes a day.
Now, I mean everything I said about not needing any special equipment. But, I can see how someone may believe they need something special regarding their paper and pen. I know a guy who journals daily but is so particular about his journals that he makes his own. He took the time to figure out the paper and binding that worked for him.
Now, I don’t expect many of you to get carried away like this gentleman. You may read the stuff he writes a few times a week. I suppose I could get him to write a blog post, making a journal from scratch one day. One of the main reasons I don’t, his head is already big enough.
When you sit down to journal, try to let go of any expectations you might have. You don’t need to write a masterpiece or even complete sentences. The goal is to get your thoughts and emotions down on paper. You might write about something specific that happened that day or jot down whatever comes to mind. Don’t worry about grammar or spelling – write.
As you make hand journaling a regular habit, you’ll notice some benefits. For one thing, it can be a great stress reliever. Writing down your thoughts and feelings can help you process them so they don’t feel overwhelming. It can also be a way to work through difficult emotions like anger or sadness. Writing can help you get to the root of what’s bothering you, which can be the first step in finding a solution.
Hand journaling can also be a way to cultivate mindfulness. When you write by hand, you’re fully engaged in the present moment. You can focus on the feeling of the pen in your hand, the sound of the paper rustling, and how the ink flows onto the page. This mindfulness can help reduce anxiety and stress and increase your overall well-being.
Think about it, sometimes when reading, you are like. That scene seemed so natural. I can’t be sure, but I feel confident that somewhere, that scene has been worked out in a journal.
In conclusion, hand journaling is a simple but effective practice that can help you gain insight into your thoughts and emotions. Regularizing it can reduce stress and anxiety, cultivate mindfulness, and build self-awareness. So why not give it a try today? All you need is a pen and paper and a few minutes of your time.
Here are a few articles on journaling for mental health
POETRY – HUMOR
Assholes are a dime of a dozen
Good people are rare
Take it from me
Another Asshole
Create an emergency preparedness plan.
I have created several EPs over the years, personal and professional. I have inspected several on a professional setting. Through all of that, I discovered a method that has worked the best for me.
As I work through the different items necessary to accomplish the overall goal. I used this to ensure I had most of my bases covered. I hope this helps you guys as much as it has me.
PROSE – RANDOM THOUGHTS
The clouds are thick this morning. It puts me in the mind of the old saying, “A blanket of clouds.” They look as if there are several blankets one on top of another. It’s one of those days where you just want to roll over and catch some more sleep. Not a lot, just another hour or three.
I was picking up breakfast at the local grocery and I saw a woman shopping gingerly. She ended up at the chekout before I did. She had a bottle of wine and crackers. I chuckled as I walked out the door. I sat in my pickup looking at my receipt, my items came to $19.87. It was the year I stepped into madness.
What is the most important thing to carry with you all the time?
PROSE – REFLECTION
On a table, items are lined up in a certain order. These are the things I take with me each day. The items on the table may change for time to time depending on what is in store for the day. However, there are certain things that I carry regardless.
To answer this question, I suppose line them up; spread them out, look at them individually making a determination of their importance. Then perhaps them in some sort of order. I’m not sure which sorting method I’m going to use, but that’s not what important at the moment.
If I know myself, I’d like to think I got a pretty good handle of who I am. Though I admit I surprise myself now and again. I’d asking the question, “How did things get this way?”
Now I know the purpose of every item on the table and why its there. My question of how? Is simply an exercise of gaining the understanding how these items became important enough to make to the table. If you look at it, something as simple of a yes or no could have altered the way I do things.
An altered decision of undefined place in time, could possibly alter the items on the table. A black pen could be blue, wristwatch instead of pocket watch, etc,. It’s becomes clear to me, none of the items on the table are that important. For they could be changed by answers to questions I didn’t know to ask.
So, what is my most important thing to carry with me daily?
My humanity
No matter what goes on, I still must be truest form of myself.
Be decent and kind,
Despite…
what is said
what is done
Despite …
what is felt
what is not
Despite…
pain
fear
hate
torment
agony
Joy
Yes, there’s joy
Love as well
Grace, compassion
I must stand and remain steady
This is my unspoken charge
What profession do you admire most and why?
When I think about the professions that make a difference, what comes to mind are teachers, doctors, and stuff. However, I attended a concert last week where the lead singer took a moment to recognize the personnel who spent all day in the heat setting up everything. I liked that a lot.
So, this morning, I took a different approach to answering this question. I decided to choose a profession that is seldom heard or talked about. As I began thinking about the question, I realized there are far too many unspoken professions. So let’s do this…
If you work behind the scenes or rarely get credit for the things you do.
This Bud for you …
So many prominent people get their moment in the spotlight. It’s time for the people who shape the world to get some props. I’ve been one of you my whole life. So were my parents and most of my friends. So, this tribute is genuine.
For months, I’ve refused to acknowledge ownership of the feral cats in my house. Yes, I realize what I just said, allow me to explain. It happened several months ago when one showed up pregnant looking all cuddly and whatnot.
There is a considerable amount more to the story and I tried to end plain the particulars to my lady. She gracious listened and asked the following question.
“Do you feed them?”
“Yes.”
“Then they are your cats.”
I started to protest, because their obvious factors she wasn’t considering. Her eyebrow raised, she gave the look that every woman gives their man when he being ridiculous. I relented and went to pick up some kibble. They really love the salmon and rice stuff.
Is it really that simple?
PROSE – RANDOM THOUGHTS
It’s been a while since I felt like writing; it’s been a heavy couple of weeks. The kind that can be summed up in a single word, “Damn.” Said in a whisper with a shake of the head while rubbing your brow, as if that action ever really does anything. Everything seems to be gnawing you all at once. It’s like being pulled into a thousand different directions, but you’re standing still.
Wishing this were true…
While popping off the lid of the carton of Butter Pecan, you pause, thinking it might be a bit early…
Who gives a shit … it’s 11 am
List 30 things that make you happy.
I read this question and begin to laugh. I can’t remember the last time I needed 30 things to make me happy. I’ve overheard conservation dealing with this subject, where the overall opinion if you couldn’t name a certain ridiculous number things you weren’t a happy person.
As I walked away, feeling joy for dodging a bullet. Being assimilated into the Borg, has been a goal of mine. Yet, I knew I couldn’t name the required amount of things. What did this say about me? Am I not a happy person?
Okay, I admit I’m a bit of a frowner, but come on! A sad sack?
So I came up with a list for various topics I’ve heard people talking about.
Yes, I know those list are ridiculous, however there was a time in my life where I considered these might important to know at some point. Yet, I find them no more than zany than needing 30 items that make you happy. I concede it appears to avoiding the question for some reason. I’m not I assure you.
Now, I’m aware that 28lbs paper officially makes me bougie. Whatever.
I live a simple, a few frills life. Or at least these are things the things I tell myself as attempt justifying to myself the expensive of a new piece of tech.
How would you describe yourself to someone who can’t see you?
PROSE – RANDOM THOUGHTS/CHALLENGE
When I read this question, I thought about Raymond Carver’s short story “Cathedral”. I remember by the end of that story, I wondered who was really blind? The sighted man? Or the blind man? What doesn’t a sighted person really see? In so many regards, there is a tremendous world available to us, yet we limit ourselves to very little of it. As I write this I still wonder.
A physical description will do you no good. However, allow me to take a few moments to tell who I am, not what I look like.
I’m the one who broods silently in the corner. You know I will be there if needed, but I will not impede you. You get sense of my size by the depths of my breathing. You’ll get I’m a troubled man by my breathing tempo.
I tell you I live by a simple code, this may seem ludicrous, but it’s true. I will lie for another, yet I won’t lie for myself, despite the cost. I’ve lost everything, yet I’ve gained so much.
One who walks the halls of darkness, leads this troubled soul to the light.
NEVER, change or comprise who you are for the sake of another. They never respect you for it. More than likely, they will lose respect for you. View you as weak and treat you accordingly. Stay no matter what, true to the person you know yourself to be.
If they cannot respect the person you are? Then, do the responsibility thing … escort them to the door and say bye!
I haven’t been sleeping, my latest bout with insomnia. I’m sure there’s a reason. However, too figure out what.
So it goes …
What’s your go-to comfort food?
I’ve known by many names in my lifetime. Some flattering, others not so much. However, I say I earned every one of them.
There is nothing better to forgot the things that ail you than a morsel from the gods.
For health reasons, I can’t enjoy these like I once could, but I can remember the gooey. I can remember the mmm. And its enough.
For years, I acted a certain way because I thought that was the expectation. Sadly, I discovered no matter how you act or what you do, people will complain about something. By my rationale, if they’re going to complain anyway, you might as well be true to yourself as much as possible. I concede there are situations where being yourself is not the appropriate action. If you have no idea what I’m referring to, be thankful, and you are blessed.
Typically, health is addressed with a proper diet and exercise. I agree with this mindset overall. However, some things cause me concern. I feel every diet and exercise program should tailored to the individual. Yes, there are tried and true methods, yet we are different. So why should we attempt to place everyone in the same categories? I think we should be mindful of these things, developing a program for ourselves or others.
I tend to focus on the mental aspect of things: mind, body, and spirit philosophy. I have found consistently over several decades if I work to maintain a proper mindset, everything else falls into place. This state of being isn’t automatic; it’s consistent enough to keep using. I admit I fail miserably at times. We are human, right?
I remember attending the matinee and watching Bruce Lee do his thing. This fueled my newfound obsession with the martial arts. I learned about Jim Kelly. He was in one of Bruce’s movies. I was blown away. The whole “Black guy” doing karate thing. Then we had that song “Kung-fu Fighting,” just finished me off.
What I learned from my studies is to exercise patience and restraint. I’ve considered this concept to be one of the keys to success in life. I found it works despite your social-economic standing. Over the years, I have heard a multitude of phrases or slogans covering various aspects of life. However, I have found patience and restraint provided the most significant measure of success overall. I am a self-proclaimed knucklehead and, at times, a jackass, so this hasn’t been the most effortless journey for me. Yet, I keep trying.
In conclusion, I feel a person’s mental and physical health are connected. I have to remember that. It’s such a simple thing. When I think about the numerous times I have lost sight of that, I feel idiotic. Yet, I maintain faith in this practice.
During my daily reading this morning, I came across an opening line.
It evokes a random memory
It unearthed a forgotten emotion
K. Hartless’ s Yard Sale of Thoughts
Yes, I remember the first time I saw my beloved.
I swallowed a delicious urge to kiss her
Kiss me
Yeesss!
slow and deep
in a serious manner
Kiss me
without boundaries
Without pretense
Surrender to hunger
Give way to passion
A knock on the door
”Mr. Khan, your 1 o’clock is here.”
I have a perplexed look
“I know she’s early, but she says it can’t wait.”
I nod
Now, I swallow a primal urge to shiver
What are your future travel plans?
I have no future plans for traveling; I have entirely too much work to do. This place will fall apart without me. I said something similar to that to my lady during a conversation about me taking a break. Mind you, I was snapping over the slightest things and just an all-out pain in the ass. Now, my lady isn’t above giving me a good dose of what for if it calls for it. But that day, she simply reiterated her previous statement but put a little stank on it.
I caught the tone but went into a whole thing about my old truck not being road trip worthy. I thought it would end the conversation, and I could return to preparing for the next day’s work. Looking back, I wonder why I ever thought that reason was fly. It’s not like we started dating and we ridiculously understanding about everything. Nope, we’ve been at this for a while, and then I received the patented, often lamented, you’re a jackass look.
Her response was simple, “You know there are such things as rental cars, right?”
It took me over fifty years
to get to this moment.
Some think I’m crazy to continue trying
The ones who quit are somewhere
lying & crying justifying
the stories they feed themselves
I guess that’s okay on some level
As long as they lie like they mean it
Yesterday, I shared a flower that survived a recent storm in my town. I’still moved by its beauty and will to survive. Now, I’m actually aware of its species, sweet! Thanks, Cee.
For some reason, I didn’t consider any other area being effected by the storm. I figured my community alone had suffered the wrath. I really don’t know why I don’t that. I had some business to conduct outside my region, I noticed the path of the storm. It affected much more than I realized. People didn’t have power just like us. People were shook emotionally as well, like we were.
I stopped at a rest area during my return home, that’s when I heard something peculiar.
“Really! You gonna just walk right by me without taking a look?
“Huh?”
“HUH! That’s right here for my health. I survive a storm and everything.” The voice said.
The voice was agitated, but delicate. I paused and looked around. My attention rested on this flower .
It’s color was captivating. I stood there in bewildered wondering how I could have missed the beauty. I decided to take a closer look.
Uncontrollably I uttered, “You so beautiful!” Her response, “Thank You”
Then I heard another voice say, “What about me, I survived too!” I turned a saw another beautiful survivor, but that’s a story for another day.
Memoirs of Madness 