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.
There’s nothing to worry about … come on
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.
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 …
My Lady and My Editor might be geniuses … for real!
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.
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.
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:
What was the reason I took this shot at this particular angle? or this one?
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…
Mounds and mounds of it
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.
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
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.
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?
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
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.
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.
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 …
When did you start writing? Is there a specific story?
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.
Do you have rituals in writing? If yes, then please share them with us.
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.
The ugliest monster that writers are afraid of is writer’s block. If you have a recipe to deal with it, kindly share it with us.
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.
Describe the process of finding ideas for your stories. Please elaborate.
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.
As humans, we suffer without knowing it by choosing not to move outside our comfort zone. Do you have a “comfort zone” in writing (i.e., a topic that you always like to write about)? Have you tried to step outside your comfort zone and write something drastically different?
Typically, I can write just about anything. Of course, there are genres I’m better at than others.
Besides Medium, do you use other writing platforms? Please share our experiences.
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.
Have you published a book? If yes, how and where…etc. Plz, feel free to share your links with us.
No
You write because writing provides you with something special. Could you share your experience?
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.
Do you write a paragraph, a chapter, or a story with the end in mind or not? plz explain
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.
Every writer has an idol. Who is yours? And what do you find inspiring in her or his trajectory?
There have been several writers over the years who stuck out to me. There have written something that spoke to the soul.
Does being on a writing platform like Medium help your writing plans? Plz, elaborate.
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.
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.
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.
P – Primary
A – Alternate
C – Contingency
E – Emergency
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.
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.
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 …
Respect
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.
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…
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.
Top 5 Jobs regardless of the time period
The 5 Best Albums of 1973
Top 5 Tombstone inscriptions
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.
Life – appreciating all the things has to offer and doing my best to wisdom from them.
Love – isn’t there a song explaining this one
Music – One of the magnificent about life is music.
A good pen – There are few things better than a good pen. Yes, I have a preferred rotation of writing instruments fitting this criteria.
A proper notebook – This has proven time and time again more difficult than it should. Due to this, I make my own.
Spiral so it will lay flat.
Hard cover at least on the back
28lbs paper preferred, 24 lbs in a pinch.
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!
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.
I never saw a video for this song until today…wow
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.
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.
Typically, while working at my day job. I listen to a book whether it be a short story, novel, or essay. I do this to assist in practicing my active listening skills. I listen to both fiction and non-fiction. I pay attention to the story, plot, and structure.
This habit also assists in writing. On breaks I sit and close my eyes. I try to create an image in my mind. I’ve found in incidents where I can’t create in my mind. I stopped the book and tried to create the scene on paper. This is a writing exercise I’ve found useful in my own writing.
I read somewhere if you can’t see; delete it. Since I started working on screenplays several years, I found advice to be quite accurate. Happy writing everyone. If you’re a different sort of creative type leave your techniques in the comments below. I’m interested in learning new things.
I was told, telling someone to trust you is a plea of a guilty soul. I’m unsure if I agree with this statement, but it has always stuck with lingering the darkness of my mind. As if it was reminders of my demons I created and haunt me daily. You know what talking about. Most folks know as regrets.
I’m guilty of many things and my regrets are numerous. Yet, I wonder if I’m strong enough to bear the responsibility of my guilt and the reality of the unintended consequences of my actions. No matter which way direction the pendulum swings, the reality of the situation rings true. It’s cost is a heavy one.
The pulled me the arms of my vision. I say vision because it felt than a dream. Nana always said if you can remember your dream, it was a premonition of what was to come.
I’ve lived long enough to develop and fine-tune my daily routine. I’ve lived long enough to have grown tired of said routine. So, you spice it up by changing your brand or flavor of coffee. Get your muffin from a different bakery. There are so many acceptable variations to the daily grind.
However, as we fine-tune things, we discover certain things that are acceptable variations under any circumstances. An example of most things concerning my cat, Sophie. Sophie really isn’t the hissing kind, so when she does, there’s trouble in Demark, as some folks say. Then she typically gives Ghost, the neighborhood cat, and swat with a calibrated hiss for effect.
Soph’s is a little perturbed because I switched to bargain cat food to save a little coin, but dealing with grief wasn’t worth it. I made matters worse by switching to a Jamicain blend of coffee. As it brewed, she sniffed the air, gave me a short hiss, and whined. So I dumped the pot and made her favorite.
You’re probably wondering why I would dump a perfectly good pot of coffee. I didn’t care much myself. I picked it up in the clearance basket right after I thought I caught a deal on the cat kibble. It appears I missed on both accounts. So, being quite pleased with myself, not, I belt out a healthy dose of expletives, capping it off with, “That’s that bullshit!” I continued muttering something under my breath, what I’m not sure, I’m always running my mouth, and no telling what passed these lips.
We do this routine every day. Coffee, curse, and repeat
In this world, everything is shiny and new in 5 easy steps. It is hard to see or understand what is real and what is fake. People can flash an award-winning smile without even thinking about it. It is almost second nature. To be clear, I’m not referring to the genuinely happy people. They are special and shouldn’t be confused with the others.
I’m also not talking about the people who we know are obviously fake. They are easily spotted; they have plastic smiles and spew prattle like its a lifestyle as if they get a few dollars off for the crap that comes out of their mouths. Only to be recognized at the end of the banquet hosted at HoJo’s. I heard it isn’t bad; the continental breakfast is to die for. I hear they have real eggs and fresh pastries.
I’m talking about the people we wouldn’t suspect. The people we trusted got to know and had over for cards. They have babysat your children and you theirs. They have been such a positive light in your life. If anyone were to say different, you have words. However, there are times when you discover something unnerving about them. Something so unsettling it’s simply unbelievable. Cognitive dissonance comes to mind when thinking about this scenario.
Cognitive dissonance is the mental discomfort that results from holding two conflicting beliefs, values, or attitudes. People tend to seek consistency in their attitudes and perceptions, so this conflict causes unpleasant feelings of unease or discomfort.
PROSE – RANDOM THOUGHT asked this question earlier in the week. I would have a list of things I’m an authority. I would have said it with a level of confidence, leaving you without doubt of my ability to perform or know whatever I said. Good thing I wasn’t asked earlier I’ve never been a fan of lying to people.
First, I would have rattled off being to your passions. Explore them with enthusiasm. Don’t hold back for a moment. When it’s all said and done, you can you did it right. Some would include having no regrets; they can shut up now. If you have no regrets, you ain’t doing right. Now, cut that shit out. It’s okay to be truthful; it’s okay to be authentic.
Secondly, Love Hard. I mean, give it everything you got, full throttle with 1000hp, baby! If you don’t understand the metaphor, put simply, if you love someone? Mean, that shit! Don’t half-ass a second. Trust me; you’ll regret it even if they break your heart and grind you into the sand, blow granules in your face. You will know you have done it right.
Alas, the question was posed much later. Although, I still firmly believe everything I previously stated. Damn straight! Every word! However, I’m no longer an authority in such matters. As of late, I’ve unwittingly become an authority on disappointment.
More precisely, the disappointment of others. I see their looks as I pass by. I hear the contempt in their voices when they utter my name. It isn’t something I set out to do. It just seem to happen.
There was a time recently when people asked if this was the beginning of our extinction. I was unsure, but I listened. I’m not an alarmist or anything, nor do I believe they were either. However, one couldn’t ignore what was happening around us.
A local playground during the pandemic
So, the world goes back to normal somewhat. We resume our usual activities as best we can. No more caution tape, and families are filling the playground. Laughter filled the air, assholes resurfaced, and street prophets stood on the corners, dropping their unorthodox wisdom. Yeah, everything’s right in the world. It has been this way for a couple of years. The attitude is we made it through the worst of it.
Two weeks ago, I sat here in the dark. I sit here not by choice but by circumstance. A tornado touched down in my area, destroying all in its path. Broken branches lined the streets, and power was lost. They are still clearing up the branches, but they are almost done. The last of my friends got their power restored Tuesday. I was lucky by comparison my power was out for three days.
The rest of the city was far worst than this
The physical damage was the easy part, but the effects of the emotional damage lingered. I still haven’t seemed to regain my rhythm in writing with the blog. But I need it. It was one of the few things that remained steady.
Last night I dreamt of the innocence of writing before the hoopla, deadlines, word counts, etc., when we hurriedly crafted sentences in chalk on sidewalks before they got washed away in the rain. Good luck today; write clean, true, & honest ….it’s 5 am
So many things flood my mind when thinking about this question. I literally sat down and made a list. After laughing about the ridiculous nature of the things I listed. I remembered how I was as a young man. How every little thing pissed me off. The monster and I had reached puberty. It’s bad enough to deal with teenage emotion on its own. However, I had an accidental passenger, think Venom, from the comics and movies.
MTV had become a thing, and many evenings were spent listening to the music of the time. One of these nights, I heard a song that changed my life. Yes, I know how much that sounds like a cliche, but I’m serious. Elvis Costello was on the screen doing his thing. I’ve been a fan ever since. He accompanied me on every deployment. His music has gotten me through some tough spots. What does this have to do with the question?
The song that changed my life is “What’s so funny about (Peace, Love, and Understanding).” I understand it more and more as I get older. It’s not that the song has gotten better or changed; I did. I realize I have more peace, love, and understanding as I get older. I hope society gains more of this than I did.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way, not even close. What was she doing here? She knows the rules. Absolutely no distractions while I’m drafting a novel. But I was glad she was here. I needed to see her. I longed for her touch. Fuck that; rules are rules. Scam! I wanted to say but couldn’t.
Her gaze, her movement, and her presence were everything I needed. Every strife has begun to dissipate from being. My racing thoughts calmed, gently flowing and controllable. My God, where has she been? The hell with the rules. Finally, I was able to mutter.
I’ve been under the blade a few times in my short time on this side of the veil. I’m not precisely accident-prone but in the words of Pop. “If you gonna do anything, do it right.” I might as well scream at the top of my lungs, “Yes sir!” like those military folks in boot camp. You know, as you see on the shows.
Today, I’d like to direct your attention 1976. I was a wee lad. I hadn’t graduated from Wrigley’s to Bazooka Joe yet. Col. Steve Austin was on the airwaves doing fantastic with his bionic parts. So, I ran around making sounds heard every time he used his bionics.
I thought this was so cool
As it happens, 1976 was the year Kurt Thomas competed in the Summer Olympics. I watched that guy do his thing, and I was floored. He was so good; my grandma let me watch him every time he was on the TV. Now this was a woman who firmly believed in children going outside to play. I can only think of one exception; rain “cause you’d catch cold.”
You see that? Badass
So, at the start of the school year, I decided to show off my new gymnast skills. These skills comprised doing a back flip off the swing set and crossing the creek on a fallen tree. Now this didn’t qualify me to become a gymnast by any stretch, but by God, not a soul was going to me any different.
In gym class, I decided to jump off the top of the jungle gym. The first time was a disaster; I didn’t nail the landing. I fell back, can you believe it? Just shameful. The second attempt was perfect dismount; since I failed the first time, I went for broke. I did a triple somersault with a one-half twist. That’s right, un-huh, I was showing out. Perfect execution. I nailed the landing. Things went to hell from there.
Well, I broke my hip. I can only remember fragments of that period, but I can remember hollering as they rolled me to surgery, “I don’t want a bionic leg!”, “I don’t want to be the Six Million Dollar Man.” I ended up in traction, then a body cast. Good times for all, especially my mother because had to change my bedpan.
What could you let go of, for the sake of harmony?
PROSE – RANDOM THOUGHT/ DAILY PROMPT
I constantly think the monster I reside within is in control of every decision I make. I’m aware this doesn’t make sense to most, but I will my best to have make sense. Before I’ve blogged about being my monster’s prisoner. However, in that post, I wasn’t exactly truthful. I didn’t exactly tell it straight. I played with words rearranged them for the sake of cleverness or for the sake of attempting of being cool.
The truth can be the hardest hammer known. Or touch with the gentliest touch. The gentle touch, part is something I read about somewhere. I’d would like to think it exists, but unfortunately it hasn’t been my experience.
Today, I realized something about myself. Accepting the truth of is one of the most painful things I’ve experinced in awhile. I’d like to walk upon a Djinn, so they could grant me three wishes. However, I only need one. I’d wish I could someone worthy of respect and be treated with dignity.
Yet, I know it. doesn’t work that way. I can’t rid of my monster side. Nor, can I even hid it. For it’s all that I am. I would gladly surrender it for the sake of harmony
Doubt casts a long shadow, I don’t know if I can escape. Paralyzed as he whispers lies in my ears. I recite the writer’s prayer until I feel its courage. Courage is all we need to hang on … it’s 4 am
It’s like I can’t hear the rhythm or sway to the melody of a verse… yet somehow, my fingers begin to tap, and my pen moves… I sigh, then smile because I know the madness is flying again.
It’s sometimes hard to come up with one name. To narrow down contributions to humanity to a single name. I have categories where people of history fell into. It’s an organizational thing, something I picked up from watching Sesame Street.
This is where it started. Now everything is a category. So to answer this question without driving myself completely crazy, I’ve chosen the writing category. Now my favorite across all forms, genres, and types of writing is Gwendolyn Brooks.
If you had to change your name, what would your new name be?
PROSE – SHORT FICTION /MAYBE?
Allow me to start here. Most of you have gotten to know Mangus Khan. It’s a little much, I know, at the start, but it kind of rolls off the tongue once you get used to it. However, I feel it may be time to reveal my true identity. My name is …
Before we move forward, let me provide some context to avoid confusion. I am an immortal.
As an immortal, I have lived for centuries and witnessed many events in history. I have gained knowledge and experience beyond what any mortal can imagine. I can see the way you’re looking at me. If I were you, I would looking at me in the same manner. I suppose you have watched some of those movies attempting to discuss immortality. No? let us assume you have seen at least one and allow me assure you my life has been that glamourous.
However, my immortality comes with a price. I have watched friends die. The chap the Raminez character was based on, he too, was an immortal. He loved life more than anyone my path has crossed. I was present the day … well, he crossed over. I died that day as well. You see, when I came back from the darkness I found my friend headless leaning against a stump. It was then I knew I was destined to be alone.
Yet, I was blessed and fell in love that year. Our love was forbidden and certainly unwise. When she crossed over I was broken. Yet, I remain unchanged. well at least outwardly. It can be a lonely existence at times, but I have learned to appreciate the beauty and wonder of life despite its fleeting nature and shattered heart.
Throughout my many years, I have seen the world change in countless ways. I have witnessed wars and revolutions, the rise and fall of civilizations, and the evolution of technology and culture. I have also seen the best and worst of humanity, from acts of kindness and compassion to unspeakable acts of cruelty and violence.
Despite all of this, I have remained a mere observer of history, a passive witness to the events that have shaped our world. It is only recently that I have decided to again take a more active role in shaping the course of history, using my knowledge and experience to make a positive impact on the world.
And that is where you come in. As an assistant, I am here to help you achieve your goals and make a difference in the world. Whether you are an individual seeking personal growth and fulfillment, or an organization working to make a positive impact on society, I am here to support you every step of the way.
So, let us work together to achieve greatness and make the most of our time in this world. What can I assist you with today?
There is something about taking a drive. A full tank of gas packed lunch, and your camera and notebook. It’s a sense of freedom; at least, that’s the phrase I’ll use as I sit here talking to you. I suppose it’s as good as any, to really explain this feeling I get when taking a drive. It’s a chance to explore, clear your mind, and, just for a moment, set aside the stresses of everyday life. And having your camera and notebook with you allows you to capture the magic.
There’s no better way to appreciate the beauty of nature and the world around you than to take a leisurely drive, at least I don’t know if any. Maybe one or two others come to mind if I think on it a spell. But, nothing beats a drive. Whether through winding country roads, along the coast, or through the mountains, a scenic drive can be a truly unforgettable experience. Let us not forget, a drive through the city after dark. Another side of life seems to come alive in the night; after dark. One must be careful you may see things you may never have known existed.
But it’s not just about the destination; it’s also about the journey. Taking a drive can be a chance to reflect on your life, think about your goals and dreams, and enjoy the present moment. It’s a form of self-care that can help reduce stress, improve your mood, and boost your creativity.
In fact, many writers, artists, and photographers have used driving to inspire their work. The freedom of the open road allows them to escape the distractions of everyday life and focus on their craft. And with a camera and notebook, they can capture their thoughts and ideas as they come to them.
But even if you’re not a writer or artist, taking a drive can still be a valuable experience. It’s a chance to unplug from technology, connect with nature, and appreciate the simple pleasures in life. And with the flexibility of driving, you can make the experience your own. You can stop at a roadside diner for a classic burger and fries, take a detour to visit a local attraction, or simply park by a scenic overlook and watch the world go by.
So next time you’re feeling stressed or overwhelmed, why not take a drive and see where the road takes you? You never know what new experiences, sights, and insights you may discover. Perhaps, a fond memory or recollection will be unlocked evoking a smile.
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.
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.
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.
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:
If you could reinvent yourself, how would you like to be? I wouldn’t change much about myself. Each success and failure has been a learning experience I’ve found them useful in a variety of situations. However, I think it would be nice to live without the nightmares.
Would you like to be a pet in your household? Yes, of course, I believe pets make us better. They can be messy, but the emotional support they provide is crucial. At least, it’s that way for me.
How many house moves have you had as an adult? I have moved a lot as an adult. A few countries and several states. I’m going to guess and say, maybe 15 times.
What was your favourite home? I don’t have a favorite home was whereever my wife and children were. It’s literally that simple for me. 
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.
Encyclopedia Brown – Boy Detective (1963)
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.
The Westing Game (1978)
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.
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.
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.
The Green Mile – To be haunted by the actions of your past. To see everything you know and love die. To be left on this earth and witness their demise. One realizes the dead were the lucky ones. To feel the blessing of a long life is a curse. Perhaps, a punishment for a hideous act.
Invisible Man – In this novel, we follow the actions of an unnamed protagonist living in a society that chooses not to recognize him as a man. The winner of the National Book Award in 1953, this novel should depict an outdated social construct, but it doesn’t, sadly.
11/22/63 – In this book addresses something we all may have wanted to do from time to time. A chance to go back in time and change something we have done. However, the most powerful part for me, was how it laid out the hazards of time travel. I will continue working on the time machine in my basement.
Three honorable mentions:
Count a Lonely Cadence – Taps is still the loneliest sound I have ever heard.
Bad Haircut – It brought back some good memories.
Devil in the Blue Dress – I love the character Easy Rawlins. If I said I read this book seven times, it would be low.
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.
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.
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.
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
~You have Cancer~
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.
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
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.
Causes of Anxiety
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.
Genetics
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.
Brain Chemistry
Imbalances in certain chemicals in the brain, such as serotonin and dopamine, can contribute to the development of anxiety disorders.
Life Experiences
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
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.
Symptoms of Anxiety
Anxiety can manifest in various ways, and the symptoms can vary from person to person. Some common symptoms of anxiety include:
Excessive worrying
Restlessness
Irritability
Difficulty concentrating
Muscle tension
Insomnia
Panic attacks
Avoidance behaviors
Physical symptoms such as sweating, trembling, and heart palpitations
Coping Strategies for Anxiety
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.
Conclusion
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:
Acupuncture: This involves the use of thin needles inserted into specific points on the body to stimulate the body’s natural healing processes.
Massage therapy involves manipulating soft tissues in the body to help reduce muscle tension, improve circulation, and promote relaxation.
Herbal medicine: This involves the use of plants or plant extracts to help treat various health conditions.
Meditation: This involves the practice of focusing the mind on a particular object, thought, or activity to promote relaxation and reduce stress.
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.
Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR)
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).
What is 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.
How EMDR works
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 and PTSD
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.
Other applications of EMDR
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.
Conclusion
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?
Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT)
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.
Understanding CBT
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.
Benefits of CBT
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.
The Bottom Line
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.
Conclusion
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
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.
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.
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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.
Thoughts on the Craft: The Simple Truth about Writing
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.
Me running my mouth
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.
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.
Memoirs of Madness 