A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
Churn is soothing.
Crickets chirp,
dancing by a nearby light,
and the night air lingers on my lips.
Slumber sits beside me, rocking.
We’re together, yet so far apart.
Together rocking and enjoying the stillness….it’s 2 am.
An important approach in developing your ability to apply tension in your writing. It is by reading other types of writing. One suggestion for doing this is to grab a short story or two. They are usually small in size, and you examine them quickly without investing a great deal of time. I suggest you read them slowly, noting the elements of tension. It is a good possibility that you will see different approaches to formulas that interest you. You might be inspired enough to develop a few different approaches.
In the first paragraph, we are introduced to a character obviously not pleased with his life. We observe that he is somewhat detached from life. Yet, he notices certain things that remind him that there is more to life. But he hasn’t had the opportunity to experience them to the fullest. Here we have the foundation of the character’s desire.
Next, Canin provides information about the character in a few paragraphs that firmly establishes the character’s desire. We discover he is a third-year medical student, which explains the exhaustion and the long hours. It provides us with a bit of insight into why the character has such a profound sense of detachment. As well as an explanation of why his girlfriend still has two unpacked suitcases and a lump on the other side of the bed.
In the remainder of the piece, we discover the dangerous elements. First, we face the danger of contamination in the operating room. Something that remains looming throughout the remainder of the tale. We also see that character begins to face the possibility of losing his mind. Either from fatigue or longing to be somewhere. Something that he struggles his until contamination rears its icky head.
The character realizes he is not crazy and that an ant has caused mayhem. The situation is resolved quickly. And they go back to work as if nothing happened. I suppose it is a message of how life really is. We can want something or be somewhere else, but we have to maintain the tasks at hand. Overall I enjoyed the creative way Canin took a mundane routine and made it enjoyable. He did so by imagery to describe things that typically would be overlooked.
I’m tragically aware we are losing the war of self-absorption.
A constant bombardment of the idea we need to bathe in vanity.
Worn so tightly it rubs against our skin.
A constant reminder we aren’t beautiful enough;
we need beard dye, smoother skin, and ninja bullet.
POETRY – INSOMNIA
Slumber whispers in my ear
as she runs her fingers through my whiskers.
I love it when she does that.
Sleep creeps in.
The muse slaps my face, “Where are my words.”
The shit just got real …. it’s 5 am.
Allow me to introduce myself
I’m a blabbering idiot
it’s nice to meet you.
Then I crack the mirror.
Breakfast Cereal takes me back to the mixing bowl of cereal.
This was my jam, hands down.
Once, I wondered what journals were for
What do we write in them..?
We tell the stories of pain
we can never speak.
POETRY –
If I thought you could love me
If I thought you really can
I will tell you my secret
I have always been your man
Is this what you wanted?
A piece of me …
You better get what you need.
While I bleed
PROSE – RANDOM THOUGHTS
In the silence as the cool mist caresses your face. You remember that section of the park when the beauty and the path she walks she wasn’t born yet. You whisper a spell to the beauty, hoping it will last.
PROSE – RANDOM THOUGHTS
She stares into the darkness, in a fog of stale cigarettes and drunken sweet nothings, wondering where everything went wrong. She just wanted to make movies people talked about. Now she does what she needs to survive.
Here is a glimpse of my world in response to Pensitivity101“s prompt
Here are this week’s questions:
Gratitude:
It costs nothing to be nice. You may even be remembered for it.
Harold Shea is an ordinary fellow, as fellows go. He has no grand stories about this girl or that girl. He is a simple chap who eats tuna on toasted rye. Harold and I are clerks at the Ministry of Useless Facts and Random Memories. A person becomes a clerk if they have a knack for remembering and cataloging trivial information. Our job is to sift through old documents and archives, searching for forgotten tidbits of knowledge that may one day prove useful.
Harold is a diligent worker, and he takes pride in his work. He always arrives early and stays late, poring over old manuscripts and dusty tomes. He has a particular fondness for historical trivia and, from time to time, found regaling his coworker Venus Milo with tales of obscure battles and forgotten rulers.
Despite his unremarkable nature and unassuming demeanor, Harold is a valuable member of our team. Without his tireless efforts, many of the useless facts and random memories that we collect would be lost to the sands of time.
Harold is also a kind and thoughtful person. He is always willing to lend a helping hand to his coworkers. Last week, for instance, one of our colleagues was struggling to find a particular piece of information for a project. Harold spent hours searching through old records until he found what she was looking for. He did all of this without expecting anything in return.
Despite his many admirable qualities, Harold is not without his quirks. For one thing, he can be a bit absent-minded at times. On more than one occasion, he has misplaced important documents or forgotten to submit reports on time. However, his forgetfulness is more than made up for by his enthusiasm and dedication.
Everything changed about six months ago. I came into the office, and everyone was in a tizzy. It isn’t like it was the first time the office was in this state. Harold usually got things in order rather quickly. However today, no Harold. He has never been late a day in thirty years. I tended to the disaster but never took my mind off what could have possibly happened to Harold. Then I was called into the Director’s office.
“Thank you for sorting out that dreadful mess.” said the Director
“It was nothing, Ma’am,” I replied.
“Harold?” She asked. I shrugged and walked out.
After stopping by Harold’s weekly for the next six months, I received a package at the Ministry. The package sat on my desk for another month before I remembered it. When I opened the package, there was a letter from Harold.
Dear Seamus,
I know this package has been sitting on your desk for about a month. I’m well. Venus and I have retired and living in my favorite place. Do you remember? Of course you do, you don’t forget anything. I miss you, ole chap. I haven’t had a decent conversation in months. Perhaps, you can down and keep Venus and me company.
~H
Well, that rascal, I thought. I had no idea that he and Venus had a thing. Why wouldn’t he tell me?
I guess there are a lot of things to consider when you’re thinking about “Pulling the Pen.”
Do you remember your favorite book from childhood?
The only thing I can remember about my childhood reading is the name of two books. Surely I read more; however, their titles escape me presently.
Though I can’t read anything significant about the book, I can remember my friends and me running around trying to solve mysteries. We had little notebooks filled with ciphers and observations. It was all quite innocent, really, perhaps a little comical even.
I can’t recall whether or not I ever finished reading this book, but I remember enjoying the experience. Recently, I considered rereading the book to satisfy the gap in my memory. I’ve been thinking of revisiting some books from the past. I wonder if they will have the same effect they previously had.
you spend a lifetime
trying to be something
a meaningful entity
you lie to yourself
you believe in those lies
but the truth comes out
it always does, no matter
how you try to hide it.
it hurts like hell, but you swallow it
yum, may I have another, yum
you are so damn disgusting to look at
they can barely stomach a glance.
What is your favorite season of year? Why?
There’s something of the winter
Snowball fights and Snow Angels
playing for hours, we never seemed
to get tired. Never seemed to get cold.
Our mothers told us to come inside
and warm up.
There’s something about the winter
There’s a stillness that comes in the winter night
the sir is crisp, it’s chill prickly
Yet, there’s a peacefulness in the hush
though we not know what lurks in the dark.
There’s something about the winter
List three books that have had an impact on you. Why?
I laughed when I read this question, then questioned the air, “How in all that is holy, going to limit the list to three.” I paused, waiting for an answer. The air remained silent to spite me. Then I realized I needed to pick three books, not the three that impacted me most. I shook my head, chuckling slightly, remembering that “Reading is Fundamental,” and then began to make a proper list.
After settling on a few parameters, I could narrow things down to twenty. Yes, I know, twenty is not three; I continued trudging forward despite this. Here’s what I have come up with so far. They aren’t listed in the order of importance.
PHOTOGRAPHY – CBWC CHALLENGE – CANDID PHOTOS
My grandson seems to be in another world when he has a camera in his hands. I wonder what he sees or what captures his attention. Whatever it is, I’m fine with it. One of the few times I see him without that damn iPhone in his hands.
During a video shoot, I was able to capture some of my actors.
I hope you guys enjoyed these. I used a different platform for the editing. I think I might use it again.
I’m continuing on my journey into Black & White Photography. I found this challenge last night at Cee’s Black and White Photo Challenge..
I found this tree on a walkabout. I found myself wanting to stick my hand in the hole. The only thing preventing this was the tree was too tall.
After this shot, I got tired and needed to sit down. I almost sat on here but looked down and saw its condition and snapped a shot instead.
I can’t remember where I was with this shot, but I think it’s a cool shot.
As you know, I have been exploring the photography side of my creativity. Today, I discovered an old challenge concerning birds. So I pulled out some photos of water birds. Here’s my entry for Cee’s Black and White Photo Challenge
I’ve always been held to a higher standard. I’ve never been allowed to release the monster inside. Unbeknownst to the masses, their actions feed him, and he’s full. Due to the fact others don’t live by the standards they set. So, I sit here trapped in a case. For I’m my monster’s prisoner.
What fears have you overcome and how?
I’ve spent most of my life conquering fear; at least, I thought so. As a child, we are taught to be tough and not be afraid of anything.
“Are you chicken?”
“What you yella?
Phrases like these quickly appear in my memory when I think of fear. I remember I wanted to be brave, strong, and courageous. For the most part, I feel I accomplished it on some level. I followed the rules and worked hard, volunteering for every crappy assignment to prove to myself and those around me that I feared nothing. Unwittingly, I was actually making a fool of myself. My friends and superiors felt my actions were to curry favor, not prove my courage.
One day in the barracks, I discovered this when I overheard some soldiers discussing my actions. There I was, staring into the face of what I believed to be my greatest fear, mockery. As this continued, I became numb to everything. My attitude damaged my relationship with my wife and children. I had no idea I was suffering from the effects of PTSD. To be honest, I’d never heard of it. Something I regret, I regret it still.
Tragedy and disappointment became my watchwords. However, facing death from something that didn’t carry a rifle became the catalyst of my new mindset. I realized something. I don’t control anything. Then I asked myself, “Why am I trying to conquer an emotion that innate.” So I began to embrace my fear. I took a decade digging into myself, trying to understand my fear. What I figured out was the following:
Once you begin to understand one’s fear, one realizes there is no shame in being afraid. It protects us; keeps us harm.
So, my greatest fear is I’m afraid of being afraid. How I conquered it? I didn’t. I embraced it. Once I accepted this concept, I began to find peace.
SHORT ESSAY – REFLECTION
I never dreamed I had what it took to become a writer. It was more than the usual self-doubt, more like an evaluation of my skills. My mastery of the language was smattering at best. Writing for myself was the only way to feel the joy I desperately desired. My sketches were rudimentary, but I still enjoyed the process occasionally. However, writing is the thing that gets my motor running, as they say. Even after becoming a widower, I kept writing; I began my first novel within the first month. Over the next three years, I took loss after loss. Though wretched like a tsunami with no quarter, I continued to write.
Despite all this tragedy, I created a poetry show and taught workshops about writing poetry. In many ways, my writing career had begun to take off. Then one day, I felt a little off. It felt different than previous experiences of this sort, so I went to the doctor. I was fully prepared to be told I was suffering from several underlining symptoms of my PTSD. It’s peculiar how once you have a diagnosis of something, it becomes the cause of EVERYTHING that ails you. However, today was different; the physician stated
“although unlikely, but it is probable.”
Really, bro? This is how you’re going to start things off? I screamed in my head but gave a tempered response, “I see; when will the test results return?”
A couple days later, I got the news. A confirmation of something I already knew to be true. The doctor had a lot to say, but the only thing I heard was
He was still talking. Still, I heard nothing. Then, my once-decent vocabulary was reduced to one-syllable words.
“Well damn!”
“Fuck!”
“Okay, Okay”
“Fuck!”
The doctor finally stopped talking and ended the call. There was a numbness that took hold, and I can’t quite remember feeling much after that. It seemed as if this feeling was my permanent state for the next couple of years. Even through everything, I was just numb. I befriended people I would never have and shared things usually kept private.
It was as if I didn’t recognize myself. It was me talking to these strangers and sharing these private things. Something was wrong. It wasn’t just me, for I share the wisdom of their secrets in the lines I write. As if it is my duty or something I can’t quite name or describe, to share what is learned in the space between clarity and confusion.
Even now, years later, I can’t tell what I’ve learned. Perhaps, as I write these lines and others like them, lessons will become clear. It took me years to talk about my experience, years to write, and years to share.
I could talk about this experience forever; perhaps I will share more one day. However, for now, I’ll share my feelings about the news that day. Tell you how it stripped away my courage. Slowly tearing away the essence of my existence. I barely wrote a word after that. Somehow, I felt I’d had this coming. I deserved this fate.
Somedays, I hear the echoes of the haunting memories of that man. I’d love to say I’ve shed its torment and walked around free. That wouldn’t be honest. It took me years to regain my courage. With a bit of luck, I can maintain it. We all know luck is all a person needs if their courage holds.
How do you know when it’s time to unplug? What do you do to make it happen?
Typically, in conversations like these, I have a long, drawn out story. However, today there is no need for a long bowl when a short one will do.
I can’t imagine a day without reading. Yeah, it’s just that simple. I’ve traveled through time, been around the world, and fell in love without leaving my home office. If I couldn’t write another word, I would just pick up a book. The ability to walk away from a world filled with hollow sentiments and plastic smiles feels amazing. In the words of Tina Turner, “Simply the Best.” To feel that , even if for a little while, means so much.
How do you balance work and home life?
I come from a time when workaholics ruled. This isn’t spoken from a place of pride but rather a place where, thinking back, I wish I would have made better decisions about the use of my time. There are events I missed out on. Moments I can’t get back. Though I wish I could, but it doesn’t work that way, does it?
One minute, my daughters are playing with dolls, and next, I’m staring into the face of some goofy-looking chucklehead. Who has the sand to mumble something like
“Nice to meet you, Sir. I’m”
I never seem to catch their names. The wife swore it was because I’m a certified asshole when it came to my daughters. When she first said it, I felt wounded. I’m not an asshole; I’m a dick, asshole, no. One day explained this to her for clarity. Her response,
“Yep, you’re a dick, alright.”
I sighed, feeling vindicated. Then she went into a rant as she walked about something I can’t remember. I read somewhere this happens to people who suffer traumatic events. However, I do remember feeling maybe I should have let that one go, and from that point, asshole was just fine.
I was gone a lot for work, then one day, I became Papaw. The oddest thing. Who is this little creature pulling on your finger because their little hands are so small that’s all they can grab ahold of.
Where did the time go? Man, I learned a great deal about life.; its triumphs and pitfalls. I even had an opportunity on occasion to take part in some and prevent some of the others. I’m an old man trying to do his part to make a difference.
So, when it comes to finding the balance? If you figured it out. I mean really got something, don’t say a word until copyrighted and patented. Then, put it up for sale and become an instant millionaire.
Oh yeah, post your links, so I can get my Pre-order in.
The perfect opening line seldom comes at the perfect time,
You’re anything other than being prepared to write
Hang on a second … Hang on!
You’re ready now. Then just like that
Poof
Get back here! I’m not done with you, you shout!
It’s a game we play; between them & us
Such a cruel game
But when it’s good; it’s damn good
There we are, writing
the words are flowing
They fly above your head
each one chirping like birds
Each chirp a note in the unwritten
symphony, and we are the composers
Thanks, Momoetry for the inspiring comment
Let me tell you about
the man trapped inside
the one residing in the bowels of madness
His armor is rusted & dented
but his sword remains sharp
as he grips the hilt, he tastes
the blood of the unhealed wounds
beneath the scars
He’s been in that life for so long
he’s forgotten the other
yet, he wonders, if there’s something else
one day, I will tell him about peace.
Today we honor the fallen; I observed them by teaching and passing on some of their lessons. Here are some photos of today’s shoot in black and white.
It’s the start of the concert season for my friends and I. They have been to several shows already, but finally dragged my butt away from my laptop and notebooks. I managed to sneak one with me. Out of habit, I pulled it to take notes about the show. My buddy, gives me an evil look….oops, my bad
Anxiety is a common mental health issue affecting millions of people worldwide. According to the World Health Organization, anxiety is the most prevalent mental health disorder, with an estimated 1 in 13 people globally suffering from anxiety. Anxiety is a feeling of unease, worry, or fear ranging from mild to severe. The symptoms of anxiety can vary from person to person, and it can affect people from all walks of life.
This blog post aims to provide an understanding of anxiety, its causes, symptoms, and coping strategies.
Anxiety can be caused by a combination of factors, including genetics, brain chemistry, life experiences, and environmental factors. Some people may be more susceptible to anxiety due to their genetic makeup, while others may develop anxiety due to traumatic life events or ongoing stress. Environmental factors such as work-related stress, financial difficulties, and relationship issues may also contribute to anxiety.
Research has shown that anxiety disorders tend to run in families. A person’s genetic makeup may make them more susceptible to developing anxiety disorders.
Imbalances in certain chemicals in the brain, such as serotonin and dopamine, can contribute to the development of anxiety disorders.
Traumatic life experiences, such as abuse, neglect, or the death of a loved one, can trigger anxiety disorders. Chronic stress from work or personal relationships can also contribute to developing anxiety disorders.
Environmental factors such as work-related stress, financial difficulties, and relationship issues may also contribute to anxiety. Exposure to stressful situations or trauma can trigger or worsen anxiety symptoms.
Anxiety can manifest in various ways, and the symptoms can vary from person to person. Some common symptoms of anxiety include:
There are several coping strategies for anxiety that can help manage symptoms. Cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT) is a type of therapy that can help individuals identify and change negative thought patterns and behaviors that contribute to anxiety. CBT has been shown to be effective in treating anxiety disorders.
Mindfulness meditation, exercise, and relaxation techniques such as deep breathing and progressive muscle relaxation can also help reduce anxiety symptoms. Regular exercise, in particular, has been shown to improve mental health and reduce symptoms of anxiety.
Individuals with anxiety can also benefit from making lifestyle changes such as getting enough sleep, eating a healthy diet, avoiding caffeine and alcohol, and engaging in enjoyable activities. These lifestyle changes can help to reduce stress and improve overall well-being.
It is also important to seek professional help if anxiety symptoms are interfering with daily life or if you are experiencing suicidal thoughts. A mental health professional can provide additional support and guidance in managing anxiety symptoms.
Anxiety is a common mental health issue that can significantly impact a person’s quality of life. However, there are effective coping strategies available to manage symptoms. By identifying the causes of anxiety, recognizing symptoms, and utilizing coping strategies, individuals with anxiety can take steps towards improving their mental health and overall well-being. Remember that seeking professional help is not a sign of weakness, but rather a courageous step towards taking control of your mental health.
Complementary therapies have been used for centuries to help manage various health conditions, and their popularity has increased significantly in recent years. Traditional medicine often uses these therapies to help manage symptoms and improve overall well-being. Complementary therapies aim to treat the whole person, not just the symptoms of a particular condition.
Some examples of complementary therapies include:
While some complementary therapies have been extensively studied and are supported by scientific evidence, others are not. It’s important to talk to a healthcare professional before trying new treatments to ensure they are safe and appropriate for your specific situation.
One of the benefits of complementary therapies is that they can help manage symptoms and improve overall well-being without medication or invasive procedures. For example, massage therapy can help reduce muscle tension and improve circulation, while meditation can help reduce stress and promote relaxation.
Complementary therapies can be a valuable addition to a comprehensive healthcare plan. However, it’s important to approach them cautiously and do your research before trying new treatments. Some complementary therapies may interact with medications or have side effects, so talking to a healthcare professional before incorporating them into your healthcare plan is important.
In summary, complementary therapies can be a helpful tool in managing various health conditions and improving overall well-being. However, it’s important to approach them cautiously, talk to a healthcare professional before trying new treatments, and do your research to ensure that they are safe and appropriate for your specific situation.
Trauma can have a deep and lasting impact on an individual’s life. It can cause various mental health conditions, such as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), anxiety, depression, and phobias. Fortunately, various treatment options are available to help individuals overcome the effects of trauma and live a more fulfilling life. One such treatment is Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR).
EMDR is a psychotherapy technique that was developed in the late 1980s by psychologist Francine Shapiro. It is a structured approach to address distressing memories and experiences, with the aim of reducing their lasting impact on an individual’s life. The therapy has gained popularity recently due to its effectiveness in treating PTSD and other mental health conditions.
EMDR therapy involves a series of sessions, typically ranging from 6 to 12, where the individual is guided through a sequence of eye movements, sounds, or taps while recalling a distressing memory. The therapy aims to help the individual process these memories, so they no longer have a negative impact on their emotional well-being. It is believed that EMDR therapy works by stimulating the brain’s natural healing processes, allowing the individual to reprocess the traumatic memory and integrate it into their life in a more positive way.
The therapy is not just about eye movements, sounds or taps. The therapist will help the client identify the negative belief about themselves developed from the traumatic event. The client is then asked to identify a positive belief that they would like to have instead of the negative one. The therapist will then help the client to imagine what it would feel like to have the positive belief. The eye movements, sounds, or taps are used while the client is imagining the positive belief. This process is repeated until the client feels an emotional shift from negative to positive beliefs.
EMDR has been found to be particularly effective in treating PTSD. It is estimated that up to 80% of individuals who receive EMDR therapy for PTSD experience significant improvement in their symptoms. The therapy is believed to help individuals with PTSD by reducing the negative emotions and physical sensations associated with the traumatic memory, allowing them to feel more in control of their thoughts and feelings. EMDR can also help individuals with PTSD develop coping mechanisms to deal with future triggers.
EMDR is not just for PTSD. It has also been found to be effective in treating a range of mental health conditions, such as anxiety, depression, and phobias. EMDR can help individuals process distressing memories and experiences so they no longer have a negative impact on their emotional well-being. By reducing the negative emotions associated with these memories, individuals can learn to manage their symptoms and live a more fulfilling life.
EMDR therapy is a highly effective treatment for a range of mental health conditions, particularly PTSD. While the therapy may not be suitable for everyone, it is a safe and non-invasive approach to addressing distressing memories and experiences. If you are struggling with PTSD or other mental health conditions, it is important to seek professional help to find the right treatment for you. EMDR therapy may be an effective option to help you overcome your challenges and live a more fulfilling life.
When I first started therapy, my therapist began discussing the different courses of treatment. Then she mentioned we would be starting with CBT. Now, I always enjoy when experts talk to you using their jargon as if the entire world speaks this way. My therapist must have noticed my expression and immediately clarified things by stating, “Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.” I nodded, reassuring her I understood what she was referring to. However, in mind, a mini-rant formed.
“What? Is talking about mind control?”
“Hold on, I don’t quake like a duck for nobody!”
“Nah, ya’ll ain’t getting me with MK-Ultran, secret squirrel, CIA guinea pig … bullshit! Fuck that!”
As I stood up, preparing to walk out, she stared at me momentarily and asked, “MK-Ultra? or “Vulcan mind meld?” and pointed at the chair, inviting me to sit.
I assure you it’s nothing like that at all. Below I’ve provided some general information about the treatment.
Let’s take a look, shall we?
Mental health issues are a common occurrence in today’s world, and they can manifest in a variety of ways. Fortunately, there are effective methods to manage these conditions, one of which is cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT). CBT is a therapeutic approach that focuses on the connection between our thoughts, behaviors, and emotions and how changing them can positively impact our mental health.
CBT is a talk therapy that aims to help individuals identify and modify negative thought patterns and behaviors that contribute to mental health problems such as anxiety, depression, and PTSD. It is a short-term treatment option typically done in weekly sessions with a licensed therapist. During these sessions, the therapist works with the patient to identify negative thought patterns and behaviors and develop strategies to overcome them.
One of the fundamental principles of CBT is that our thoughts and beliefs have a powerful impact on our emotions and behaviors. This principle is based on the idea that our thoughts create our reality, and by changing our thoughts and beliefs, we can change how we feel and behave in various situations. CBT also emphasizes the development of practical coping strategies that patients can use to manage their symptoms outside of therapy sessions.
There are many benefits to using CBT to manage mental health issues. One of the main advantages is that it can be highly effective in helping patients overcome negative thought patterns and behaviors. Studies have shown that CBT can be just as effective as medication in treating conditions like anxiety and depression and more effective in the long term.
Another benefit of CBT is that it is a relatively short-term treatment option. While some other forms of therapy can take years to complete, most patients can complete a course of CBT in just a few months. This can make it a more practical option for people who are looking for a quick and effective way to manage their mental health.
CBT is also a versatile therapy that can be used to treat a variety of mental health conditions. In addition to anxiety, depression, and PTSD, CBT has been shown to be effective in treating conditions like obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), eating disorders, and substance abuse.
If you are struggling with mental health issues like anxiety, depression, or PTSD, CBT can effectively manage your symptoms and improve your overall well-being. By working with a licensed therapist, you can learn to identify and change negative thought patterns and behaviors, develop practical coping strategies, and achieve greater control over your emotions and behaviors.
It is important to note that CBT may not be the best option for everyone. Some people may benefit more from other types of therapy or a combination of treatments. However, CBT is definitely worth considering if you are looking for a proven and practical way to improve your mental health.
CBT is a powerful tool to help people overcome negative thought patterns and behaviors contributing to mental health issues. By working with a licensed therapist, patients can develop practical coping strategies and achieve greater control over their emotions and behaviors. If you are looking for a proven and practical way to improve your mental health, CBT may be the right choice for you.
Mental health issues are a common occurrence in today’s world, and they can manifest in a variety of ways. Fortunately, there are effective methods to manage these conditions, one of which is cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT). CBT is a therapeutic approach that focuses on the connection between our thoughts, behaviors, and emotions and how changing them can positively impact our mental health.
This is hard work. You have to face things you would rather forget but in the long run. I believe you be the better for it. I know I have been.
Ladies and gentleman
I’d like to thank you for coming
In the next few moments,
we will return to 40 years ago.
Then I will speak in a language that
hopefully everyone can easily understand
From my ice cream castle
I stared into the purple rain
While I had starfish and coffee
I saw a bird caught in an oak tree
Prince said he was so confused.
However, I sat chuckling, only slightly amused
He was just another owner of a lonely heart
That’s right; gigolos get lonely too
From that ice cream castle
I saw Judas Priest screaming for vengeance
The death of Orion, some thought was a disposable hero
Yet, Iron Maidens search for a piece of mind, while chanting the call to Ktulu
Benatar chronicles the crimes of passion.
Preparing us for that next anthem
Billie Jean was on the scene and swore she was a thriller
It turns out all she wanted was a little paradise by the dashboard lights
Red leather jacket, a new edition
It got me ready for the world
Man..I was cool, I mean C-O-O-L!
I know I could definitely stand the rain.
I started wondering about that candy girl
What’s her name? What’s her number?
777-9311??? Jenny or 867-5309 ….Roxanne
Oh!! That’s right, that’s right …Sheila.
I left my ice cream castle in the summertime
To meet a concrete blonde in the cold part of town
She started spinning me right round like record
And all I wanted was to find myself a brand new lover
Sh-Sh –Shaking, I fell into a wall of voodoo
Then woke up in Tijuana wanting some barbecue iguana
The next thing I knew, there was a cheap trick
Talking bout if you want my love, you got it
I shook my head. NO!!
Knowing she wasn’t ready for this jungle love
So instead, we drank some brass monkey
Listening to some Mexican radio
Now, back in my ice cream castle
Listening to watermelon man and sipping bitches brew
Thinking they call it Stormy Monday
And Tuesday is just as bad
But
God Bless the child
That got their own….that got their own
WHAT TIME IS IT?
Are you a leader or a follower?
In my humble opinion, one must be willing and able to follow before they can lead. Leaders are not born; they are developed. For those who have or had the honor of leadership, make no mistake to lead another is a definite honor, you may not be a leader in every situation. Those who don’t understand this concept aren’t ready to lead.
Such is the Rule of Leadership.
POETRY – DAILY PROMPTS/WEEKLY PROMPTS TIED TOGETHER
I’m prosecuted by an unknown authority
I’m convicted on an assumption.
A victim of irrational stereotype
I’m housed in an asylum of tasty jello
There’s no safe harbor, alone in a crowd.
Like an enslaved extraterrestrial
My freedom, My Existence
Outlawed; off limits.
Like a bite of the forbidden fruit
I’m lost in a fog; its dampness feels like velvet.
Hospitality is just as foreign as tranquility.
Yet, I still wander while wondering what I’ll find.
Perhaps, lush words are scattered in thick notebooks.
stuck in old buckets, tucked away willy-nilly in rusty cabinets.
Whew! What a polyoquent doozy!I guess I’ll shut up now.
Has anyone got a beer? I need something to revive me.
PROSE – REFLECTION
She could have been here; if she wanted. She could have been here; if it meant something. I knew her words were hollow when she spewed them; I heard their echo, such a haunting sound. Still, I hoped that I was wrong. I hoped what I heard was some psychotic break. Is there a sound you hear when this happens? Is it something dismissed, resolved, or mocked with six hundred dollars an hour, a sofa, and a pill? Yea, you know that shit that gets you hooked, but you need to believe you are free. So I sit here, waiting for the doorbell to chime, waiting to hear that familiar melody. The melody, which ends the silence, ends the loneliness. Yet the silence thickens, and the depths of loneliness have no bounds.
With a click, strike, and spark, the tobacco crackles as I take a drag to forget about the pain.
Yeah, she wanted me to get up and come running. She wanted me to stand in line like the others. Suitors plenty, but real men are few. She wanted me to be someone I had never been. She wanted to be someone; if she took the time to know me, she’d know I could never be. Yet, in her delusion, she wanted me to fall in line, like the wiry snake-eyed fellow whose lips were in a constant state of pucker against her gluteus maximus. Her leg would shudder when he kissed it just right. Often, I wondered if he was part fish, Bluegill. Trout?
Then there was the portly fellow whose clothes were two sizes larger than needed. An attempt to hide his predilection for Ho-Ho’s and Ding-Dong’s, but their melted remnants on his lapel and in the corner of his mouth told the tale. I couldn’t resist imagining him as Wimpy from the old cartoon; I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a Ding-Dong today. Since he was always eating them, I wondered how he pulled it off. But, of course, everyone knew he didn’t have a job.
Perhaps, I was the well-dressed fellow who would unleash this girlish giggle every time he hit the blunt. I couldn’t help but picture him in pigtails with pink ribbons in his mouth, chewing on the ends. He sported a five o’clock shadow like it was still something stylish. Maybe for some, but him not a good look. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was wearing socks with lace around the top. I do believe it would complete the look.
I exhale to relieve the strain. I exhale to let go. I exhale to be one step closer to the sanity to which I cling; I exhale.
But I wasn’t any of them. I was a man whose name was spoken in reverence barely above a whisper. There wasn’t a need to speak; people were satisfied with a nod. I know what it means to love a woman for your entire life and be the better. I know how it feels to grab hold of someone, and they grab you back. Never letting go, hearing what their eyes speak when their mouths fail utter a word. Our bodies trembling from its power, our souls quivering, like the Earth shaking beneath your feet. I know one can only get there with love and respect for one another. No plastic smiles, and hollow sentiments can take their place—an honor reserved for the special and the elite, Real men and women. For anyone else, your attendance is futile. Perhaps, one day she will understand. But I know what I really want to know. What has my curiosity stirring? How the hell did she ever get things so twisted?
I stub the cigarette out; the embers glow bright, then fade, and the smoke dissipates.
I know the answer. I had a momentary lapse of reason.
It’s Saturday morning, and I’m sleeping in, although I really need it after waiting until the last minute to write an article. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to go back to sleep, but the aroma of freshly brewed Colombian coffee and blueberry pancakes tickles my nostrils. I smile, feeling content. I love blueberry pancakes so much that it’s almost criminal. If I were on death row, my last meal would definitely be blueberry pancakes and chewy chocolate chip cookies. I’d wash it down with a satisfying mug of Colombian coffee. Just thinking about it makes me want to moan with delight.
Then it hit me: I live alone. Who the heck is in my house? So, I armed myself. My bed linen had swallowed my sidearm, so I grabbed a whiffle ball bat. You may wonder why a grown man would have a whiffle ball bat in a word: grandkids. You may also be wondering how a plastic bat would do any damage. It will, I assure you. Let me explain.
I concede that you may not have heard of anyone getting the beatdown with a whiffle ball bat. Simply put, no one would ever admit to this happening to them. Imagine the shame and ridicule they would receive from peers and family. The victims would go to extreme lengths to come up with a backstory to explain their faces being covered in welts. They could even enlist the genius of their cousin, who spun ridiculously plausible stories to get them out of troublesome situations. However, when the cousin looks at them blankly for a moment, they state, “I got nothing.” The victims respond, “Really?” Their cousin hands them a beer and says, “Looks like you need this.” They nod and take a swig.
I walked into the kitchen, ready to do damage, thinking of all the houses on the block and how dare they pick mine. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was Ursula. Ursula was my muse, who had seen me since the illness. She seemed to disappear without any explanation.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” I asked.
She shot me a puzzled look. “You’re writing again; you need me.”
I leaned against the counter, folding my arms. “Really? I do. It’s not like you’ve been around to know,” I replied.
She paused momentarily before answering; her expression hurt. “Hun, you got sick and started babbling about quitting the game. I didn’t know how to handle it. With Aunt Harry covering the bar, I figured it was a good time to take a holiday.”
“What’s this?” I asked, pointing to the skillet.
She smiled. “Your favorite,” she said, lifting a plate of blueberry pancakes. I took the plate and headed towards the office, but then stopped as I realized something.
“Why do you have a beard?” I asked.
“Hun, you know beards are in fashion now. Don’t be silly,” she remarked.
I stared at her, considering her logic. “But you’re a girl, so go shave,” I demanded, pointing my finger toward the bathroom.
She scoffed as she turned off the skillet, then stormed towards the bathroom, yelling, “Fine…go put some pants on!” over her shoulder as she closed the door.
I stood puzzled momentarily, then realized I was standing in my boxers. I poured myself a cup of coffee and then put the coffee and the pancakes in the office. I slipped on a pair of shorts and began eating my breakfast. I was on my second helping of pancakes when Ursula finally emerged from the bathroom. She was freshly showered, sporting a blank tank top and khaki shorts. Though it had been a while since I had seen her, she still had a banging body and would be considered attractive by most men. However, she had a minor setback. Ursula had lime green skin and crimson eyes that sparkled when her ideas flowed. They were on fire now.
Ursula began explaining her ideas on how we could succeed with the magazine. As she spoke, I stopped eating and started taking notes. I don’t particularly appreciate taking notes on a story but I haven’t found a way to avoid it yet. The more I wrote, the more she spoke. Ursula was typically a pain in the butt and a bit of a slave driver, but it felt good to be working again. So, I groaned inwardly. We were almost done with the layout for the next few months when there was a knock at the door.
I opened the door to find my cousin standing there. Like most family members, he assumed he had an open invitation to my home, arriving unannounced and expecting to be welcomed. He lifted his head, sniffed the air, smacked his lips as if tasting the air, and headed to the kitchen without saying a word. Then, he fixed himself a plate and returned to the front porch, where we typically sit when the weather permits. I brought him a cup of coffee and placed it beside him. As he ate, he occasionally mumbled about how delicious the pancakes were. Ursula sat on the railing and lit a Cohiba, her preferred cigar. Eventually, my cousin finished his pancakes, and we began our usual banter, reminiscing about our mothers and the good old days.
Right on cue, my cousin starts reciting some Don L. Lee. He hits me with, “But He Has Cool,” or “He even stopped for green lights.” My cousin’s rhythm and cadence are second to none. I found myself leaning back in the chair, swaying as he went straight into his rendition of “Big Momma,” another Don L. Lee standard. Ursula also felt him and nearly fell off the banister; I chuckled. I hit him with a medley consisting of “The Poet” by Dunbar and a bit of “The Backlash Blues” by Hughes, capping it off with a dash of “I Know My Soul” by Mckay.
My cousin responds, “Boy, you think you’re bad, don’t you.” “I learned from you; I ought to be!” I remark.
He smiles and hits me with Hayden’s “The Ballad of Nat Turner.” I’m floored; I wasn’t expecting that one. Though Ursula is smiling, she taps her wrist, signaling that we must return to work. I pretend not to notice. My cousin starts reciting “Black Jam for Dr. Negro” by Mari Evans. I wave my hands in defeat but deliver Jean Toomer’s “Georgia Dusk” to make it sting. He’s on fire today, and I need to do something. I think for a moment; then it hits me. I hit him with a double dose of Rilke, starting with “Going Blind” and following up with the prose piece “Faces.” And just for good measure, I slide into the opening sequence of the prologue of Ellison’s “Invisible Man.”
He sat back in the chair and shot me a stern look. “There you go cheating… you know this is poetry only!”
I chuckled with a wide grin. “Oops, my bad.” We burst into laughter.
“Hun, we really need to get back to work!” Ursula exclaims.
I lift my arms in surrender. “Okay… okay, we’re finished, girl… hold on a minute.”
My cousin shoots me a strange look after he looks around the porch. “Cuz, who are you talking to?”
“Ursula, that lime green pain in the butt sitting on the banister,” I state as I point in her direction.
My cousin slowly turns around and looks back at me. “Lime green, huh?”
“Uh-huh… yep.”
His eyes dart in that direction, then back to me. “I don’t see anybody… and you don’t either! What do you have in that cup?”
With a shy smile, I lift my cup. “Colombian,” and take a sip.
As we practice and learn about the craft of writing, we sometimes forget what it is we are supposed to be doing when we read a piece. This is especially true when it comes to poetry. We forget to enjoy the words and allow them to resonate within us. In the poem entitled “ Introduction to Poetry,” Billy Collins reminds us of this fact.
Collins’ Poem is listed below:
Introduction To Poetry
I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.
But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.
Billy Collins
In the first stanza tells us to examine a poem for what it is. Take a few moments and see what it is to see. Next, he invites us to listen to the sound of the words when they are spoken. There is so much information to be learned just by examining the poem’s surface and listening to how it sounds when spoken aloud. Collins then suggests that we begin to dig a little deeper. He asks us to probe around to see what we can discover. To have no expectations going in. To feel our way around the poem. Letting its energy splash against our faces, enjoying every aspect the poem offers us. Collins cautions us about digging too deep into a poem. Stripping it down to its bare bones, as if it will relinquish the location of the Holy Grail. We all know that the Grail is the heart of those who seek it. Just as the meaning of the poem read.
Slumber releases me as the glow of the serene sun caresses my face.
Let us lay back for a while longer before we have to move.
Gently, I stroke your hair, listening to the city’s awakening commotion
Your head on my chest, your breathing lures me to the edge of slumber
I’m careful not to move, not to wake you
Your head falls to your favorite spot; the space between
my chest and stomach as you pull the blanket tight.
Your breathing shallows; Your sleep deepens
I exhale this one of those moments you see in film.
Five years ago, my production team and I were discussing the direction of our current project. The crew caught the Ole` man on film running my mouth. When I updated this blog, they reminded me of this conversation. So I picked a few key points to share with you. I hope you enjoy it.
The conversation concerning self-doubt when it comes to writing has been everywhere. I understand this emotion far more than I care to admit. I struggle with my demons; Butch and Greta are a pain in the ass. I figure if they are going to hang out, stirring up trouble, I might as well name them.
POETRY – WORD CHALLENGE – PASTIME
She played with my emotions like it was a pastime
a commercial-free game of the week
She had begun to irk me …
Poor child had no idea.
I don’t do irksome
POETRY – Memory from ANOTHER TIME
As strangers, we sat there
nervously seeking glances
smiling so hard until our jaws ached
At that moment, nothing was more real to me.
Our hearts, souls, and breathing fell into unison
We were aligned; we were one
Under the Desert Moon
What gives you direction in life?
I was taking night courses working on my degree back when that was a thing when I exploded on the instructor during a lecture. She made a comment about the intent of man during times of war. Looking back, I realize it was merely a generalization, a device I’ve had on numerous occasions then and now. However, her words were like white-hot searing to my depths that night. This incident may have been the beginning of my psychosis.
My emotional wounds of war were still fresh, and I overreacted. The next morning, I was summoned to my Commander to answer for my conduct. Though filled with shame, I had nothing to say in my defense. I stood firm and took the verbal assault I had coming until my entire being felt as hollow as my soul. Then the oddest thing occurred.
They sent me to get help…
On this day, I heard the letters for the first time. Nonsense, rubbish, bullocks, “Get the F*@K outta here, wit dat!” And other such phrases were my expression. Knowing me, I probably said them and more. Yet, the counselor remained steady and explained my plight.
I felt better when leaving their office. Better than I had in a very long time.
I never saw them again…
Decades later, I’m destroyed by these four letters, consumed by them. It was the first time I had the courage to utter them without disdain. Yet, having applied to me, I bore the weight of their shame.
P
T
S
D
Everyone involved said its okay, but their expressions said otherwise. Their whispers were louder than an announcement over speakers. The Memoirs of Madness had been started for years, and now I know the name of my affliction provided the memoirs’ direction. Writing the memoirs provides my direction. They provide a smidgen of peace.
Things are better now, I can say those letters. I have accepted, and with understanding, I can move forward.
In poetry, imagery is one of the most powerful tools in our toolboxes. If used properly, we can guide our readers precisely where we want them. However, we can also paint just enough of any image to allow them to visualize an experience that relates to them. So, I decided to look at the work of some other poets to gain a deeper understanding of imagery and its uses in poetry.
Today, let’s take a look at a poem by Gary Soto.
Biology was a set of marble-colored tables
And gas spouts where we bloated up frogs, I thought,
And I thought I had a chance if I bought the book
Early and read it with my lips moving,
Maybe twice, maybe with my roommate half-listening.
I tried chemistry. I tried astronomy,
Which was more like honest-to-goodness math
Than the star of Bethlehem shining down the good news.
I was never good
At science, and so at the beginning of spring
I learned my boredom on the wood desks
Of piss-ant chairs. But when our biology prof came
Into the classroom wiping his mouth,
When he moved a chair out of the way
And still bumped into it, I knew I had a chance.
He was drunk. His bow tie was a twisted-up
Twig and a nest of hair grew
From each ear. I looked to the skeleton
In the corner and smiled. A breeze stirred
And the bones clicked on
Their strings and wire. With the classroom splayed
With sunlight and hope, the students sighed.
A few pencils rolled to the floor –
An easy grade for all. The prof slurred,
“Man was never created equal.” He fumbled at the
Blackboard as he hunted for chalk. When he turned to us,
Chalk dust clung to his face.
For a moment, I don’t think he knew where he was.
He touched his bow tie. He stuck a finger
Into an ear and repeated, “Man was never created equal,”
Took a step and stumbled into chairs. Right then
I knew I didn’t even have to buy the book.
He was already repeating himself. Right there,
I looked out the window and sucked
In the good air of spring. Trees were wagging blossoms
And the like. One petal would sway,
Then another, sway after slight sway,
A repetition that was endless
And beautiful in the uniquely scientific world.
-Gary Soto
It is interesting how Soto connected the poem’s first two lines to the last two. As if he wrote them initially as a complete stanza. When read together, it has the feel of a single consciousness.
Biology was a set of marble-colored tables
And gas spouts where we bloated up frogs, I thought,
A repetition that was endless
And beautiful in the uniquely scientific world.
However, we can see the thought’s expansion or elaboration by breaking them apart.
In this piece, Soto elaborates on this experience with image-driven depiction. Soto also uses summary imagery throughout the poem. Early in the poem, we see something remarkable. It is as if we are in the haze of the morning. Lost in the mundane repetitiveness of life is displayed well here. Each of us remembers, rereading the science books. Almost the author purposely wrote, so we had to read everything twice to get the slightest idea of what was happening.
Early and read it with my lips moving,
Maybe twice, maybe with my roommate half-listening.
I tried chemistry. I tried astronomy,
Which was more like honest-to-goodness math
Than the star of Bethlehem shining down the good news.
I was never good
At science, and so at the beginning of spring
I learned my boredom on the wood desks
Of piss-ant chairs
In the next portion of the piece, Soto shifts gear a bit. Better stated, he zooms in on the professor. He provides crisp and clear images of the mannerisms of the instructor. In this section, he zooms in and out, letting us know which portions of the story are important. Then his attention shifts or slides to the actions happening outside the class. He begins daydreaming about the beauty of nature. Then, he closes his thoughts.
In this, I enjoyed how Soto described everything twice in the piece. Showing us how things in life can be viewed from two different perspectives
RANDOM THOUGHT – A RANT? – PEP TALK?
I write these words for an unknown reason. Something keeps gnawing at me to speak, but I do not know what. Yet, I’m sure many writers have faced this exact issue, not knowing what to say or how to say it. I recall long ago when I decided writing was something I was passionate about doing for the rest of my life. Also, I remember feeling no one wanted to hear what I had to say. So I wrote my thoughts, dreams, ideas, and fears in a notebook. I hid its contents from the world. If I am being honest, I hid them from myself. The instance I doubted myself, I became defeated. A player in a rigged game, and I didn’t even know the rules.
Back then, you seldom heard words like; depression, anxiety, or low self-esteem. However, I remember phrases like, “Stop being a pussy” or “Get your shit together.” Today, people attempt to listen to the problems we face. It’s kind of nice. Anxiety, depression, and other mental issues are real. We must, as a people and society, respect them. Witnessing people getting the help they need and being true to themselves is beautiful. Yet, like everything, we go a little overboard if people let us. Somehow, amidst all the self-imposed crap, I kept writing. I’m not even sure how or why.
I kept looking for external validation of my talent. As if I needed someone to walk up to me and say, “Man, you’re one hell of a writer.” Yes, of course, this happens. Sometimes comments, reviews, and other accolades are plenty and fulfilling. However, what do we do when they don’t come? Your inbox is empty, and a deafening silence surrounds you. People you’ve asked to read your work avoid you. They are swamped now, “They haven’t had the time to read.” Or they give you, my favorite, the delicious lie. “My God, your work was amazing. I couldn’t stop reading. I read everything on site.” This utterance is coupled with a plastic smile and hollow sentiment.
You turn to a blank page and pick up a pen. Then, write your ass off. Whatever it is you’re feeling. Let it fly. Write the good, the bad, and the ugly. Tell it straight and write true. Let no one tell you any different, and when they do, simply look at them, and say, “Yahoo…Kiss my Grits!” Flo would be proud. No matter what, keep writing. It may not turn out you make it to The NY Times bestseller list. Or you may never win a covenant prize. However, what you have done is tell a portion of your story. I hope you realize this happens in every story we write. Don’t worry about it, and it’s okay; it’s just fine.
Sometimes my journal is my confessional, and my readers are my priests. Yet, some things chronicled within those pages are mine, and I bear their weight alone as we do with certain things. My method or ideas aren’t for everyone, but writing them, and getting that crap out of my head, has kept me on this side of the veil. Where I have the hope of happiness, the urge for acceptance, and the whisper of redemption, I speak of it too loud; it may become vapor.
Somewhere in these words, I suppose, is a message to you, the reader, a pep talk of sorts. Yet, as I finish the closing sentence, this is nothing more than a pep talk to myself. I hope I listen.
When do you feel most productive?
I’ve asked myself this question numerous times during my life, I never allow myself to honestly answer the question. Generally, I agree with whatever trending topic at the time. I did this because I didn’t want to be the person who went against the group.
As I wrote the previous sentence, I realized something. I’ve never been that person. I’ve always been a rebel, if you will, against anything I deemed foolish.
In the stillness of any time of the day, I can find my way of doing anything. What I mean by the stillness is quiet, tranquil, and relaxing. I do my best work during these times of the day. I suppose the reason is simple I’m able to think.
Truth be told, it was never about going to some show. It was about seeing your gorgeous smile and feeling those arms wrapped around me. It’s been a long couple of weeks, and they feel so good. I want to scream in the anguish of missing them, missing you, but these lips will never utter a word.
In that moment, I will let my guard down and allow the warmth of you to soothe me.
In that moment, I forget about being cool and allow myself to enjoy the feeling of holding a beautiful woman in my arms. I will be cognizant of the fact that she is allowing herself to be held.
Forgive me for being mushy, but I thought we were past the greasy kid’s stuff, and we were somewhere in the middle of something. I’m not sure where something is, not this, seriously?
Perhaps, we should do what grown folks do?
Grown folks sit down and have a conversation about the things that matter to one another. Whether or not we want to hear what is being said. We sit there and allow each other to voice our concerns until all that remains are long looks and easy smiles.
PROSE – RANDOM THOUGHT
Perhaps I’ve reached an all-time low. I spent considerable time sending out a barrage of inbox marriage proposals. In these proposals, I removed the obligation of sex, hoping to sweeten the pot. I figured taking sex off the table would increase the number of acceptance. I figured surely one of these candidates would say yes, right? The next morning, my inbox was overflowing with responses. However, all I got in the inbox was filled with laughter.
I received several images of women’s reactions to my proposal. I even got a sexually explicit image with block letters informing me I would never get what was displayed in the image. Sitting back, thinking as I closed my laptop, the whole affair was rather hilarious—the idea of someone marrying a guy like me.
As it stands right now,
I can’t be with you.
I think too much of myself.
I have too much pride in who worked to become
In order to be with you, I must cease to be the man I am.
I must allow myself to be disrespected.
I must forget all that I know about; what it is to be a man
I must forget all that I know about love; how it makes me feel
I must cease to care about my well-being; for I no longer matter
I must be willing to surrender my will to another; without question
I will do all these things to prove my love.
Willingly change who I am; because I love you that much.
Hmm… You aren’t even willing to change a dress for me.
So how much did you really love me?
I don’t know
So, I offer the longest goodbye to myself.
Describe a risk you took that you do not regret.
I was excited and a little nervous; despite all the warnings, I decided to strike out independently and join the military. Talking about risk, I have never been one who would blindly follow anyone. I’d seen Officer and a Gentleman; I knew I couldn’t stand someone yelling in my face. However, I had to do something with my life. The Madre had busted her butt, getting ready for manhood. Hanging out on the couch wasn’t on the curriculum.
Hell yeah, I’m to get to ride on a plane. This is going to be cool, turned into what have I got myself into? In about 15 minutes. No one said anything about the hazards of flying.
“The time of your life!” they said
“Travel the world!” they said
HA! Let me be clear: if traveling the world meant getting back on one of these things, I was to become the epitome of a couch potato. Okay, maybe not a couch potato; I was willing to do anything that didn’t involve flying.
Fortunately, there was a very nice woman who took pity. She helped through what I considered to be pending death. She talked about her family and where she goes. Before long, I had forgotten my fears and laughed at her stories. I even told a few of my own. Then we started our final approach.
I survived the first flight, and they put me on a twin-engine plane. This was my introduction to turbulence.
“Lord, I’m sorry. (Sniff, sniff), Can you see your way to forgiving me?” I begged
Crickets
“If you can’t …take me now, Lord, just take me now!” I begged
This became my mantra for the remainder of the flight. Since I’m writing this, you can figure out things turned out fine.
After a bus trip, I finally arrived at the military base. Now, I’m definitely nervous. The largest man I had seen in my life was standing under a dim light staring at me. I’m standing there holding everything I own in the world, regretting everything at that moment.
“Boy, what’s that shit on your lip, dirt?” He asked,
Well, that’s now me taking a huge risk that changed my life for the better. I have no regrets…
Truth or Happiness? Never both …
The first time I heard this phrase, I thought it fell into the hukum jazz people say. Yeah, but something about it grabbed hold of me. So, I sat down and let it speak. I felt ready with a pack of Luckies and a cup of java. I added a notebook and pen, just in case. Because you never know what will happen when you sift through fragments of random memories.
Taught to carefully example each fragment; I’m a dutiful student. I came up with the following:
The truth; the world is full of lies we are willing to accept.
Society acts as if we are okay when poverty is an addiction, and there’s rehab on every corner. Right next to the package store and across the street from the church.
On the bench at the bus stop was a man with a two-tone beard singing a melody of the Pretenders, Tom Petty, and ELO with a Gregory Issac flavor. A member of “the gap,” those who make too much money for benefits and not enough to live, stares straight into the madness of their existence.
Perhaps, Denial and Distraction are Huey Lewis’s new drug. Take a hearty dose of Denial, a familiar favorite, while waiting in line for the latest and greatest in distraction served happily in this free tablet.
Describe a decision you made in the past that helped you learn or grow.
A few months back, I was talked into something; if I had thought about I would have never done it. However, my lady has a way of getting me to do whatever. She simply shows me her elbows, and I’m putty.
She wanted me to increase my online presence. “It will be easy,” “Tweet a couple of things – make a couple of posts,” she said. Like I ordered a pizza with pineapples on one side or a cheeseburger with extra cheese. Though I was filled with skepticism, I relented. This time she gave me that enchanting gaze she used to get to kill a spider when we first met. Still putty. So I upped my Twitter game, regaining the followers I lost. I know this process is ridiculously simple, but it was only the beginning.
At the end of February, I breathed life into my blog and shifted things around on other sites. I discovered I needed to learn about marketing, SEO, trends, and all other things I didn’t believe mattered when working on a blog. As I researched blogging, most of the articles weren’t about writing. I found this to be odd, especially since some research was provided by writers.
This week marks just over sixty days of consistent blogging. I learned so much in the last 48 hours, not to mention the last 60 days. I can’t wait to see what adventures are in store. I’m having a wonderful time writing and growing as a writer and content creator. Man, it is hard work, yet very rewarding.
This has been one of the best decisions I have ever made.
Thank you, everyone, for reading!
Thanks, babe, for the nudge.
Images courtesy of Leroy Skalstad, Gerd Altmann. and webvilla from Pixabay . Collage by Mangus Khan
How do you use social media?
Lost within the traps of my mind
Crazy, because I placed them
to protect me from the madness
running from trap to trap
like, I’m hooked on pain
my screams melodic
Every line I write
another attempt to release
the pain coursing through me
SO…
I write the blues
because I lived them
facing the everlasting memories
Don’t think less of me
if all I can do is sit here and cry
without you, who am I supposed to me
My words come from my soul
of all the things I do wrong
this is the only thing you can’t deny
Do you remember me,
like I remember you?
The night you came to me
back when we were just friends
back when all we were was an unspoken desire
By the state of you
I had no idea where you had been
I had no idea what you needed
You leaned into me and started to cry
My love could comfort you
all you had to do was let me try
in Frustration
I silently scream
Now, I sound my poetic yelp!
I’ve become painfully aware
of something
All this time
I thought
I knew
I believed
I was hilarious
NOPE
I’m not
People were laughing
by God
All this time
People laughing
Were just being
Polite
What place in the world do you never want to visit? Why?
To me, this is a loaded question. Like there is just one place on this Earth, you would like to avoid. As if you randomly hear of a place and automatically decide never to travel there ever. Since I have traveled a great deal in my life, the question could be, where in the world you never want to visit again.
However, since that isn’t the question, I suppose I should act right and answer the question straight. HA! Anyone, who knows me, knows as an absolute certainty, except on the rarest occasions, I will not answer a writing prompt straight. Today is no exception.
So, here we are without any further preamble. I humbly present …
Places with strange names:
Places that may have Cannibalism in their history:
Normally, this would be a thing, but I was planning a vacation with my lady, and she had a list of disqualifiers. Cannibalism was on the list. I can’t say this request is completely unreasonable. I’m a big guy. I have concerns. With a little googling, these names stuck out to me.
Places with a large monkey population:
While you are shaking your head at my response. You know you heard of Planet of the Apes, both versions; don’t play with me. Monkeys like to throw things at people. I’ve been a person who enjoyed things being thrown at them. I know me; I don’t do animal cruelty. So, it’s just best I stay away. These places stood out.
There you have it, my Top 3 of my bucket list of places not to go to ever.
POETRY – INTROSPECTIVE
Every drop of a tear
There’s a reason
Whether you accept it
or understand it
Doesn’t Matter!
There’s a reason
Here’s the rub
The one who from
The tear falls
May not
Know or understand
Why?
But there’s a reason.
POETRY – HUMOR
I put a whole lot of effort into
releasing the pain in my heart.
It was supposed to
Sooothe
me
I need to curb my addiction
Google is not a lifestyle
POETRY – DAY 14 – NATIONAL POETRY MONTH
I know I turned out
to be a disappointment
I never intended to be
What book could you read over and over again?
Several books fall into this category. For me, the requirements to reread a book are simple, but they seem to evolve each time I read it. It’s almost like the book in question casts a spell on me, or a post-hypnotic suggestion is cleverly placed within the crevasses of my mind. Whereby I become the book’s slave, hopelessly doing its bidding. Despite the throws of my addiction, I’ve narrowed the list to only a few, but I’ll try to speak about one. Please be mindful that I did say try in case I fail at this endeavor.
So, the book I can and have read on multiple occasions is “The Green Mile” by Stephen King. This book isn’t the only book I have read multiple times and would read again without provocation, but it isn’t my favorite in this category. However, I have several reasons why I reread this book, but I will only list the main ones.
What draws me to The Green Mile is the idea this could actually happen. To me, King outdid himself in telling this story. Its structure and style is some of his best work. The themes tackled in this novel moved me. Some are subtle, while others slap you in the face. Lastly, I think this novel is just damn good. If I said I read this novel five times, it would be low.
POETRY – DAY 9 NATIONAL POETRY MONTH
I wake up sweaty and sour
Out of breath, like I’ve been fighting
in my sleep
I have…
with myself
I wonder who won?
POETRY – DAY 6 NATIONAL POETRY MONTH
I only ever wanted to be one thing.
Just one.
I never wanted to be rich
I never wanted to be famous
None of the standards to define us.
None of that really mattered to me
I only wanted one thing
Just one
to be
Relevant
Thank you for reading
POETRY – COMFORT & GRACE
I shudder from the warmth of my soul’s smile
The image of your beauty, permanently etched upon my mantle,
The collision of your beauty (Inner & outer) emits a glow
A glow with the radiance that will melt a Himalayan snow
A sight:
never forgotten …
truly majestic…
I sigh from the comfort and security of your embrace
A cleansing exhale with the contentment of knowing that I’m home
In this moment, I know what it is like to be held
In this moment, I know what it is like to be loved
My soul screams these words
Yet, my lips remain still
Nay tremor, nor whisper
I remain in the comfort of the way things are
Instead of braving what could be
I remain comfortable in the warmth of my fear.
POETRY – LIFE LESSONS
There wasn’t a sound,
but the silence echoed.
I didn’t want believe it
how could she?
But the walls were bare
and halls empty
My regret not worth a dime
aloofness my crime
didn’t mean for this rhyme
it just kinda happened
Just kinda happened …
me
Taking her for granted.
Thank you for reading!
POETRY – INTROSPECTIVE
I poured everything I had
To become a good man
Until I learned who
good men were.
I didn’t make the cut
POETRY – LOSS
Through the rain-splattered glass
I watch silhouettes dance in a distant window
With closed eyes I dream how things could be
I dream of how the beauty of life is so filling
With opened eyes I see the reality of what is
I extend my hand to lift her from the quicksand
Yet, she struggles and continues to sink
My eyes burn
My cheeks are dampened
As I drive away …
Empty handed
POETRY – MINDFULNESS
With a push of a button, the television screen goes blank, removing that annoying hum that fills our homes for the better part of the day. A hum we seldom realize exists until it has gone. Then, finally, we notice how peaceful your life has just become.
I sat down by my window
and opened the blinds
From my window, I see
a world absent of law
No quarter for those who want it
No quarter for those in need
There was none, even for those
who drop to their knees and plead.
From my window, I witness
the darkness of the light,
the woman adjusting her clothes
because she just made her rent in the backseat
the man whose rent vanished in a puff of smoke
the child who wonders about their next meal
because their father just drank it away
from my window, I see light
through the darkness
the young man helping the older couple
a reminder that there is still courtesy, although fading
the blooms of the flowers in an overgrown garden
steadily growing, steadily fighting,
as we should, like every moment was our last
from my window, I witness those
who will not bow
Those whose faith is unwavering
those who love unconditionally
with no concern for themselves
those who continue to fight
though is no sign of hope
In this window, I have seen
many things
things that you want to fix but cannot
things that make us cry,
even if it is silently amongst a hundred
The things that will make a stand on mountaintops and cheer
The things that will make the strongest of men get up and walk away
These things and much more represent the ideal I have spent my life fighting for.
No wonder I can never close the blinds.
Thanks for reading!
POETRY
Be mindful of what you do.
It is a reflection of what you are worth.
If it is true, then it is truth, and cherish it.
If it is deceit, then it’s deceitful, and you might become it.
The leather of my gloves crinkles
as I tighten the reins
My steeds trot becomes a gallop
We begin traveling through time …
through space …
arriving at a place unfamiliar
Yet, it felt so safe …
Shimmering through the shadows
I’m drawn to a presence…
My heart begins to pound as I see you laying there
behind a veil of lace ….
Resting so peaceful… so full of grace …
I remove my cloak and armor
I sit down in a chair beside the bed
Closing my eyes, drifting into your dreams
There we make beautiful, passionate love
in the twilight, just before dawn …
Memoirs of Madness 