If you could un-invent something, what would it be?
DAILY PROMPT RESPONSE
I was in public today, watching people because I’m a people watcher. Not one of those creepy people who gawk at you with sinister smiles, but one who is entirely aware of their surroundings. A by-product of my PTSD. I noticed people were inches from one another and weren’t talking. Their faces were buried in their mobile devices. What freaked me out was that nearly everyone, young and old. Myself included. Immediately, I looked around for a magazine or left behind newspaper. There weren’t any.
I opened a document on my iPad and started documenting my outrage. Yes, I’m aware of the hypocrisy of this rant, but it was either my iPad or my phone. So, I ended up at a diner with the intention of finishing this post, but I got sidetracked. There was a veteran eating with his wife, and I struck up a conversation with them. Though I don’t know the couple’s names, I learned his family had served in the military in various capacities for four generations, starting with WWII.
We began to discuss the rudeness of society and how no one talks to one another anymore. We laughed about how we get in trouble with wives and so much more. I closed my iPad and just enjoyed the conversation. They left and tried to remember the last time I had a decent conversation with a stranger. I remember today’s occurrence wasn’t a rarity but the norm.
For those who know me personally, what I’m saying may shock you. Most of you have never seen me with some sort tech in my hands. I purchased my first mobile device in the early nineties. And now I wish we could un-invent them. Even as I write this post, I have something processing on multiple devices. I started writing code in the mid-eighties. So, I’ve been working with tech in one or another for over 40 years.
I’ve witnessed or been a part of miscommunication issues; it’s ridiculous. Why can’t we just talk to one another?
Below is a bit of prose I wrote over fifteen years ago; I feel it is still relevant today. Especially the closing line, I believe, sums up my feelings on the matter.
Archaic
The pulsing glow fades on your monitor. Closing the door is one’s outlet, portal, or means to escape. Escaping the insanity that is sometimes right outside your front door. Sometimes, sitting right there in your living room, sitting on your couch looking crazy, talking about some “what?”
Thinking back, one would take a walk, read a book, or sip some lemonade while sitting on the front porch. Sitting wondering what the hell your neighbor is wearing or just sitting there letting the night breeze caress you into a calm?
Saddened, we are by the daunting realization that a clever array of ones and zeros now defines our existence. Once complete, syllable vocabulary is reduced to an abbreviation of some unknown order. Deviance is becoming the norm, as the once social norm is fading into a deviant wasteland.
Identities expanded behind hexadecimal veils in fleeting hopes of discovering who we are. All the while, all that is necessary is to stand in front of the mirror facing the face they have come to hate. Yearning for some form of validation of who you are or what you are. Searching for answers that can only be found within ourselves.
If surrendering one’s identity is the price we must pay in the pursuit of progress, then may I forever be archaic.
This morning, I was reviewing this prompt and trying to figure out how to approach it. I knew I didn’t have any photos that featured hatching of some kind. I ran across an image of an old hatchback and remembered our adventures in high school.
A buddy of mine brought a Datsun B210 hatchback and drove everywhere in that thing. Most of the time, there were three of us. We would travel to a nearby town so he could profess his undying love to his girlfriend. It was the stuff they write stories about for about six months. We would buy a case of beer Saturday night and head to the highway. I don’t remember her name or what she looked like.
We all professed our love at one time or another in that car. We traveled hundreds of miles doing so. I suppose we were allergic to the idea of having a local girlfriend. None of us ended up with any of the women that we loved so dearly. I haven’t seen those guys in over 30 years. However, I remember the times we spent together in that hatchback.
The Datsun we rode in looked like the one in the photo. The memories just flood back. In fact, our car didn’t have a reverse. So, whenever we parked, we’d stick our foot out of the car and push backward. I wonder what happened to those guys? I hope life was gentler than mine.
The morning chill creeps through my layers as I sit on my porch, twirling my finger playfully in my whiskers. I swallow a sip of coffee while tugging at them, lost in the depths of my thoughts. The amber glow of the collision between night and dawn illuminates the horizon. Today, a man was born that brought so much light to the world. His presence hurled us out of a darkness that had engulfed us for nearly a hundred years—a man whose vision, courage, and devotion to humanity will never be forgotten.
Sipping coffee, I watch the lights turn on one by one as the neighborhood awakens. A community in which I could have never lived if it wasn’t for this man’s efforts. Not because where I live now is better than where I grew up. Society’s attitude is better. I remember the speech of this brave man as a child being replayed every year during my youth: a vision of hope, love, determination, and courage. His speech or vision served as a beacon representing one of hell of a dream.
Now a seasoned man, I wonder if my efforts in life have helped fulfill that dream. We fought for God, Country, and the ideal of freedom. We spent countless hours away from home in pursuit of the vision on the mountaintop. The endless miles walked for the dream of the Promised Land. No mile did I walk alone. Each mile walked and every hour spent away was in the faith that a moment of hatred was erased. I hoped they would ring the bell of freedom. A sound heard in the souls of each man and woman in the land. A faith I held on to with all my might, even though it was sometimes fleeting.
Each time I heard the word Jew, it took away a little bit of hope. Whenever I heard the word cracker, freedom’s bell rang a little softer. Every time I heard the word spick or chili pepper, humanity’s love got a little weaker. Each time I heard the nigger humanity’s dignity lessen. However, each time I heard these, we fought harder to fulfill the dream of a man we had never known. We risked our lives to fulfill a dream our forefathers wrote nearly two hundred years before my birth.
I look upon my granddaughter, who shifts under her blanket of freedom provided by the fulfillment of this dream, a granddaughter who turns a year older today. She is allowed to live in a world and taste the crispness of a freedom that wouldn’t have been without his dream. A smile comes across my face as I finish my coffee. I smack my lips because I, too, taste the crispness of freedom in the fresh morning air.
Now, I’m a great-grandfather. I still taste the crispness of freedom in the morning air. It’s rather tasty!
Yesterday, I stood in line at a local store when the computer system went down. After a wave of groans and disapproving looks, the manager assured us the system would be online shortly. This didn’t help the groans. I understood a possible reason for the atmosphere. We were in the middle of a snowstorm, and the conditions were worsening by the second. However, examining the crowd, I’m pretty sure they would have been complaining regardless. Complaining is the latest trend, like yoga pants and foo-foo coffee.
The system took longer than expected, and the manager declared, “It’s like dial-up!” I shook my head, “Not even close,” I corrected. We had a laugh; the system was up a few seconds later, and all was right in the world. Within a few minutes, the grandson and I were inside, safe and warm.
I see this prompt, and I’m reminded of how impatient we all have become since the advancements of technology. Despite this, I pretty much communicate the same way I did at the start of all this. Other than things being a helluva a lot faster, I’m the same guy. I’ve added social media stuff from time to time, but I basically avoid it. With the exception of Twitter, there is a writing community over there that I’ve been a part of for nearly a decade.
So when things get crazy … I just think … I remember dial-up
The unfinished projects have formed a pile. Ideas, rants, and incoherent sentences fester. Sometimes I wonder what Goofball gave me the idea to become a writer. Where the hell are they at? I need to hunt them down wherever they may cleverly hide. To the corners of the earth if I must. By God, I need to find and look at them square in the eyes and thank them. Pull them into an embrace. Please do not think less of me, for I may weep. They have provided me with a fantastic gift. You see, boredom will never be a problem for me. Inside each project is the potential to create something that never existed before. At the very least, the potential to heal.
Today has been the longest of days for no reason. Nothing I can put my finger on anyway. I got so much accomplished, but so much more to do. There isn’t enough time to get it all done. I never complete it all. My Lord, what will I do? What will I do? We have all said this statement, felt it, or both. It doesn’t matter if you don’t admit it. It’s fine. Know that wherever you are in your journey, we all have or will walk it. The trail right in front of you. You can get to the other side step by step, word by word, or sentence by sentence. Whatever the method you will be the better for it.
As I lay across my bed, I lit a cigarette, letting it burn in the ashtray for a few minutes before I took another drag. I read a poem in Vietnamese, then I listened to it. Next, I read some prose in Italian; then again, I listened to it. The beauty of the words captured me. I’m reminded of hearing The Holy Quran recited. So beautiful and tranquil. I’m reminded how much I miss Latin Mass. I memorized it as a lad and recited it in English when the priests performed Mass. Though exhausted, hearing these works in their native language healed and recharged me a bit.
I would not have discovered the beauty of our world if I had chosen another profession on the day they whispered to me to become a writer. Although we live in a vast world full of wonder and delight, I wonder why we live so small.
Nope, this is the only profession I would do for free. Nothing else completes me.
I find myself the most happy when I’m lost in a good story. It took a long time to figure out how to enjoy reading stories without my imagination taking off, and I lost interest in the story. I began making notes in little spiral notebooks of the thoughts that came to me as I read. Soon, those notebooks were being filled with my own stories. I’m unsure what makes me happier? The words of others or the words of mine? To me, it doesn’t matter, not really. As long as the story is good.
Questions like these make me roll my eyes and shake my head. It seems like the next thing they will be asking is,
“What does it all mean?”
What’s my place in the world?”
And more nonsense questions. I have this attitude because it is the decisions we make that cause us to become who we are.
Sure, we have situations in life we would like to do-over or take back. It’s just the nature of life. However, neither of those things are possible. So, when someone asks questions like these. I respond with the following question:
“You’ve had your entire life to prepare for this moment … why aren’t you ready?”
Every decision we have made in life has led to where we are … the good, the bad, and the ugly. Do we really want to change anything?
A few decades ago, I got tired of watching the same old holiday movies each year. I started ranting about it, because I’m a bit of a ranter. So, my late wife would roll her eyes and tell me to put in “Home Alone.” I mumbled under my breath and did what she asked.
The following year, I bought a used TV and set up an area in the basement. I dug out an old VCR and made a few tapes with my favorite movies. So, about a week before Christmas, I went to the basement and started my marathon. Over the years, I added and subtracted movies I always wanted to keep the list small.
Here is the current list:
Die Hard (1988)
Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005)
Reindeer Games (2000)
Diner (1982)
The Ref (1994)
Wrong Turn at Tahoe (2009)
This Christmas (2007)
The Simple Life of Noah Dearborn (1999)
Passenger 57 (1992)
True Crime (1999)
An Arthurian Legend Movie – This year, it was King Arthur: The Legend of the Sword (2017)
A Shaft Movie – This year, it was Shaft (2019)
Twelve movies for the 12 days of Christmas and all that. Some of these movies have absolutely nothing to do with Christmas, but I like them, so I watch them. Be aware that each film is subject to substitution at any moment. Sometimes, I just don’t feel the movie that year. Normally, I don’t make it through the list. However, this year, because of my health, I finished early. Stay tuned for my starting the new year off right movie list.
The short answer is NO. However, as I have gotten older and gained more experience, I better understand some of the motives. Politics is in almost every aspect of life. I would love to say, “I don’t do politics,” as I have said on several occasions, but that would be incorrect. What I mean is I prefer a straightforward approach to things. This way, one knows where they stand in a given situation. However, that’s not how things work, is it? There seems to be some hidden agenda.
My body is healing, so I’ve been sleeping a lot. It’s strange how remarkable the body can be if you allow it to do its thing. I haven’t been able to get much done in these past weeks, but I’ve had the strength to create. This is a blessing in itself. I may never return to being the man I was before all this happened, but honestly, they may not be such a bad thing. In part, it’s because of him; I’m in this situation, and it’s also because of him; I know I can survive it. Who or what will I be after it is all said and done? Who knows? But it’s gonna be fun figuring things out.
Image Credit:
I took this photo a week before my health took a nose dive. I remember feeling horrible that day. However, I pushed through because I’m a tough guy and all that.
In an earlier post, I discussed my dream cars, so in this response, I’ll talk about my favorite vehicle I have owned. I’ve owned several cars over the years. My first pickup truck was a 1969 Ford F-100. She was called ”The Gypsy” and was the ugliest vehicle I ever owned. However, she ran like a dream. I missed that ole’ girl.
Although I have been writing and drawing since I was a kid, I never really considered myself to be creative. This isn’t because I wasn’t encouraged or anything like that. It’s partly because I was surrounded by very talented people. I just didn’t consider my work good enough to make the cut.
I suppose another issue is I never found a particular style I excelled in. I enjoy writing every genre. It’s nothing better than getting an idea down on paper and seeing where it goes. Sometimes, that’s no further than a notation in a notebook or scribbled on a scrap of paper.
Lately, my friends have been expressing in my photography. I have to admit I enjoy capturing the images and seeing what stories they tell me. Yet, recently, I have been discovering the stories within themselves.
I must say I’m lucky. I get to tell stories by writing, photos, or film. Every now and then, I get combine all three. It’s special when things work out that way. When writing a screenplay, I must rely on imagery to get it done. This can be a challenge for a narrative fiction writer.
This is where the photography comes into play. I can capture images and use them as templates of the world I’m trying to create. This can be done with a video camera, but sometimes, the stills just work better for me.
Often, I sketch ideas and then try to find them in the real world. Well, I guess I’ve babbled enough for you to get the idea.
What are your favorite physical activities or exercises?
DAILY PROMPT RESPONSE
There is nothing like taking a walk. I would add cigarettes and coffee to the mi, but that would only dimish the benefits. I was poor as a child, we had two ways to get anywhere; walking or riding your bike. In some cases, you ended up doing both. So I learned early to enjoy the journey. To freely allow the thoughts in my head to run wild. No one there sticking their opinion mudding up the process.
Even now, I walk with headphones on. The music provides a blanket shielding me from the outside. I hear my thoughts exhale, clear their throats, and call the rest of my body to order. My arms and legs are moving in unison to a subconscious rhythm. Yet, I realize my breathing is setting the tempo. My thoughts and ideas line up to me counted.
Next, I exclaim, not looking up at the next idea waiting to have their say.
“Good day, Mr. Khan”
“Good day.” I reply, waiting for them to get on with it. They take a moment to gather themselves to ensure not to waste my time. I’m thankful for the gesture actually. I can’t count the numerous times progress has been striflield by a ridiculous idea.
‘“Well get on with it,” I nudge.
“You see Sir, I been thinking the story needs a bit of restructuring.” Idea stated.
“How so?” I questioned. The idea went on to explain its opinion in great deal. I have to admit I like the idea. But I couldn’t let this go unchallenged. It was the principle of the thing. I can’t be having ideas rushing up to me at hours of the night thinking they’re to get their say. The other day I saw a wanna-be Picasso paint his cat pink.
Uncle Willie told me a story about a fella who had an idea to impress a woman. We all know the lengths men go to impress women. It’s ridiculous the things we come up with. Well this fella, got the idea that the women of his dreams was worth it. He met her at the local bowling alley. The story goes, she liked him well enough, but she always wanted to see what a kangaroo looked like up close. For months, they’d meet at the bowling alley and talk, but she kept bringing up the kangaroo thing. Finally, the fella invited her to fly with him to Australia to see a kangaroo. Her reply was that she didn’t know him well enough to go on a trip like that. What kind of woman did he think she was?
Cedric, the fella, was determined to have Gretchen, the woman, by any means necessary. So, he contacted a navy buddy who owed him a favor and got a damn kangaroo. Christmas Day 1966, when the bowling alley was closed, arranged for the place to open and convinced Gretchen to meet him there. So, Gretchen’s Christmas present was a kangaroo, named Rocky. Of course, Gretchen didn’t have any place to keep Rocky, so he lived with Cedric. Christmas 1967, they were married. The marriage lasted five years. Gretchen got the house and Rocky in the settlement. I know this may be hard to believe, but here is a photo from the day Gretchen and Rocky met.
Aunt Willie, on my father’s side, a bit touched if you listen to Nana. Despite this, Aunt Willie, was the most successful pig farmer in the state. A winter’s back, Aunt Willie got a notion that Charlene and Jessup, her pet pigs didn’t want to spend the winter in the cold. So, she pack them up and took them to the beach. The local took exception to the pigs at the beach and made a big ruckus. However, Aunt Willie was to snap a picture of Charlene and Jessup before things got out of hand.
I have to admit I’m a bit jealous, they look rather peaceful.
There’s nothing like a good stroll to clear your mind and you get a little exercise to boot.
Have you ever performed on stage or given a speech?
DAILY PROMPT RESPONSE
I’ve given speeches and lectures several times during my adulthood. However, I’ve been a victim of stage fright. Yet, I’ve done so many of them you couldn’t tell. However, I’ve only performed on stage once.
My stage debut was in a musical called Let George Do It. My teacher came into the class and told us we would perform a musical for the whole school. I didn’t understand what that really meant, but I listened. I can’t remember how this happened, but I ended up with the lead part of George Washington. Of course, since this was a musical, the lead role required me to sing. I didn’t sing then, and I don’t sing now. However, I figured my refusal to sing would indeed send me to the back, where I could pretend to sing along. As it turned out, my teacher had other ideas.
She decided I speak all the parts of the lead role. I was terrified, but somehow I got through it. Unbeknownst to her, this brilliant move launched my public speaking career. I’m indebted to her for that. It has served me well over the years. Thanks teach.
I would like to think I’m a decent judge of character overall. However, there have been occasions over the years where I have been hoodwinked. I’m sure most you may have experienced this phenomenon and probably don’t like it anymore than I do.
Because of being hoodwinked in the past, I’m not as trusting of people as I had in the past. Despite this, I try to keep an open mind. I have found that there are times when I have been surprised by people. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen.
People are going to be who they are. I just hope I’m not hoodwinked.
Over the last several weeks, I’ve had a rough go of it, to put it mildly. What I have learned and been reminded of is that I’m loved. There is no doubt about that.
What is your idea of a good holiday? Seeing the sights, lazing on a beach, hitting the night spots, getting away from it all……………….
My favorite holiday in the U.S. is Thanksgiving. It’s all about the food. Dishes you haven’t had all year are waiting for you to gorge yourself into oblivion. There are no diets or anything like that. In short, it is the ultimate cheat day. Another thing about this holiday, perhaps the most important, is being with family. It doesn’t get any better than that.
You are offered tickets to a show. Which would you prefer, Opera, Play, Cinema, Entertainment, Ice Gala, or something else?
During my 50th birthday celebration, a friend took me to see Cirque du Soleil. I remember complaining the entire trip to the show. Grumbling nonsense about any and everything. My friend stood her ground and let me rant. She had gotten us incredible seats, and the show was amazing. The gracefulness of the performers was breathtaking. It was an ice show, so I kept waiting for someone to face plant. Didn’t happen. I would watch something like that again.
Have you ever won a sports trophy (or something similar for a particular achievement):
I was a jock during my youth, so I picked up a few trophies here and there. My mother kept them in a bag. I received awards while serving in the military. I used to call the wall my wife hung them on “The Wall of Shame.” Don’t get me wrong. I’m proud of the time I spent in the military. There is no question that it helped shape me into the man I am today. I never did buy into the whole medal thing. It was more about what we were doing and its importance. However, there was an occasion when I was recognized for an achievement. I got no medal or ceremony, just a simple handwritten thank you note. That gesture means more to me than any awards.
What is your dream car (fact or fictional):
As a child, I remember being enthralled by several cars before settling in on my favorite. I still can’t pick a definite favorite, but two stand out. In 1979, the cult classic Phantasm was released. It was a tripped out movie that didn’t make any sense to me at the time. However, my friends and I still talk about that movie. Not as much as we did as kids, but now and again, someone will mention a line at the perfect moment, and we just laugh.
There were several notable characters in that film, but it wasn’t a character that caused the movie to be bookmarked in my mind; it was the car. A Plymouth Barracuda raced away, rescuing the characters and taking them to safety. From that moment, that was my car. I did my best to learn about that model car, but I discovered something different that I loved even more. A 1968 Plymouth Hemi Cuda became my jam. Take a look
My first love
As I got older and started my journey into becoming a mechanic with my father, I learned more about cars and their capabilities. My father was aware of my infatuation with the Hemi but schooled me about the other muscle cars of that era. My appreciation grew for American Muscle. I had the privilege of building and repairing several different ones with my dad. I’m more of a circuit head than a gearhead. Yet, I love mechanics; it’s in me bones. After Pop went to the otherside of the veil, I found myself watching old movies with car chases: Smokey and the Bandit, Dukes of Hazzard, The French Connection, and finally, Bullitt. I found my second love, a 1968 Ford Mustang – GT-500. Let’s take a look at the scene that grabbed me.
My second love
However, a different year model of Mustang, the movie Gone in 60 Seconds, the remake with Nicolas Cage, featured a 1967 GT-500. The original featured a 1971 Mustang, a beast in her own right but not as sexy. Here are two clips that express my love for this car.
It would seem my idiocracy has no bounds. It’s like I’ve become the type of person I never wanted to be. The kind of person I typically avoid at all costs. There are those among us who refuse to look at things thoroughly. They have a slanted view of the world and the events that occur within it. They refuse to accept certain truths and live in an alternate reality. It’s not even a cool one where there are flying cars and no sick people. It is a place where we live in harmonic lives, and “Rex,” the family golden retriever, always brings the ball back.
Now, life isn’t that way. There aren’t any flying cars yet, people get sick and sometimes die, and Rex, even though he still has the heart, doesn’t bring the ball back because he doesn’t have the legs for it anymore. In this reality, we face what comes: we laugh, we love, we cry, and most importantly, we fight. We do this for no other reason than to prove our time here mattered. Even if it only matters to ourselves. Trust me, it’s enough.
For the past several weeks, I’ve been ignoring the obvious. I’ve been ignoring; there’s a price to pay for my arrogance. When my health went into the toilet, I made several lifestyle changes and figured I would be good from there as long as I continued on the right track. Well, it didn’t quite work out that way. Yes, I must stay the course with the changes I made, but the negligence that caused the changes in the first place has done more than I had anticipated.
In short, pay attention to your body. Please don’t dismiss certain things as testaments of getting older. Yes, some things are due to age, but others aren’t. This isn’t something I read somewhere but something I learned the hard way.
Stay strong…Be Blessed…
Image Credit: by Mangus Khan. Last year when my body was talking to me, but I wasn’t listening.
I’ve never really paid attention to the things I wear once I became an adult. I’ve found I’m most comfortable in pair of Dickies pants, a good boot, and a ball cap. Yeah, this prompt doesn’t require a lot of thought.
As a child, I developed a fondness for spending time in the parks. I would ride my bike to the different parks in my hometown. Each time I relocate, I drive around the new location to find the parks in the area. I search the surrounding areas for national parks, wildlife refuges, or reserves. I loved spending time in nature. It helps me to clear my head. I’ve written some of my best story ideas in these places. One of the reasons I love my iPad.
So, I take my trusty Nikon and cell as a backup to capture the glimpses of the world that usually only reside in our memories that fade over time. From time to time, they appear in fragments that invoke smiles whose warmth melts away the grime.
Shot during the early days of COVID-19
Seagulls in a local State Park
I like this little fishy
I love to combine challenges, so I took the opportunity to participate in a challenge I came across earlier this month. Here is my entry for XingfuMama’s Pull Up a Seat Challenge
I’m unsure if you have noticed, but I haven’t been posting a lot over the last week or so. It wasn’t due to the holidays, but I wish it had been. Despite all the progress I’ve made regarding my health, I developed a new issue. If I’m being honest, it’s that sporadically appeared over the years I just ignored. However, now it can’t be ignored. So, like a good little boy, I’m addressing the issue and taking it seriously. In case you were wondering, I’m also eating all my vegetables and stuff.
Despite my current challenges, I’ve been reading and attempting to develop new content for the blog. Yes, I’m aware some of you are waiting for me to finish several projects that currently exist on the blog. I assure you I have every intention to finish them, but I’m a bit scattered brain at the moment. My senior editor would say being scattered brain is normal for me, but even she had to admit the other day that my current state is a bit peculiar.
“Hush, and go to bed,” I believe were her words, but I have to admit there is a possibility they could have been harsher. She gets testy when it comes to my health. It’s weird. Yet, the writers among us, there are hardly many things worse than a testy editor.
Yet, I wonder if I continue being a good boy, will my lady pat me on the head and give me a treat?
I’m brilliant on most days and an idiot on others. However, there are special moments when I’m both. Life balance, I know, crazy, right? However, what makes today one of those special moments is that I failed to consider the depth of concern others had for me. What I just said doesn’t make sense, but work with me for a moment.
I knew they were concerned, but I hadn’t realized it had approached the fear level. As we know, some people get mean when they are afraid. They can’t allow anyone to see them vulnerable. I can’t blame them; society has indoctrinated us into believing fear is evil and should be eradicated at all costs. So, I get it.
I certainly didn’t intend to worry anyone, but it happened. Now, I wonder how to fix it or make things better. I suppose the answer is simple. Take care of yourself and listen for once. For I would like to point out for the record, I am an amazing listener; I just do all the things I hear.
Once, I mistakenly made my wife aware of my superpower of being able to repeat verbatim what she’d said. In my mind, this was the move to shut this nonsense down. What was to follow can only be described as a teachable moment.
Lesson one:
1. Do not under any circumstances let your wife know you can remember everything she says. STOP! I DO NOT CARE! We have an acceptable preprogrammed excuse in play. Learn to roll with it. By all means, keep your mouth shut. I know this is difficult. Especially, when you are troubled by responses you made to her during the conversation she had with you in her head.
Acceptable exceptions for the display of your superpower. The sweet, cute, thoughtful, and aww-evoking moments in life. Use your powers during these moments and all life will be infinitely better. Let me be clear at this point. There can be no good to come from pointing out flaws in their logic just for the sake of doing so.
I learned this lesson from a friend, an old-school cat daddy, who took me under his wing and started dropping jewels. He had one eye gone, and the other looked as if it had seen better days, but they were fearful. So, I figured he might have something important to say.
“Youngblood, hey, Youngblood,” he said motioning for me to join him. I stood there momentarily considering what he could possibly want.
“I know you see me, get over here, before I got to get up.” He threatened. Dante’ Mays had done time in at least three different states on multiple occasions. The chances of him making good on his threat were good.
For the next 45 minutes, he explained his version of life lessons. This happened some time ago and I still find myself referring back to the conversation that day. I had seen his wife, she was the sweetest woman you would ever want to meet, but she had this gaze. I wondered if she might have been the reason he lost his eye.
Lesson Two:
Pay attention to lesson one. Learn it, Know it, Live it.
Always listen to the whispers of the dark. They just might save you.
If I’ve learned anything as of late, it is life is the uncertainty of life. However, if things go as planned, I will be retired in decent health. Decent health because good health left a few years back. It didn’t even leave a note. I think I feel some sort of way about the whole affair. Often, I wonder what I will do with myself during retirement. The short answer is … Whatever I want.
First, I will buy a support truck filled with motorcycle parts. I will be the last to retire, and we plan to drive the historic Route 66 on motorcycles. My job at this point is to drive the support vehicle to handle any maintenance issues that may arise. All of us are former mechanics, so no worries about being able to handle any issues that may occur.
Next, I will ensure all camera equipment is ready to document the trip. This list includes video camera, DSLR, dash cam, and spares of all the accessories. I will bring plenty of notebooks to record my rants. It’s sacrilege to have a good rant go undocumented. I will also include an iPad and laptop for those lazy days. Well, that’s the plan anyway.
The first time I noticed my iPad notifying me about my screen time usage was disturbing. I didn’t know it was a thing until that point. I wondered why it tracked this information and what it would do with it. So, instantly, I pulled out my journal and started hashing out theories about what “The Man” would do with this information. Tracking my screen time, what? They better get out of here with that mess.
Of course, I was in a full PTSD episode, and my paranoia was out of control. Despite this, I took steps to limit my screen time. I still use most of them.
I manage my screen time the old fashion way. I pick up a book. I have no problem getting lost in a story of another design. However, if I’m working on a story or an idea for an article, I write down things down in a journal. I practice stream of consciousness writing. This exercise frees me from the confides of my mind. It allows me to forget about time and distractions. I usually have a audiobook playing in the background. Interesting enough, research suggests that visual reading and audiobooks stimulate the same region of the brain. Crazy, I know.
Listening to audiobooks for me took some getting used to. I found myself getting distracted. However, over time I use as an exercise in active listening. Well that’s it. That’s all of it.
DAILY PROMPT RESPONSE – CREATIVE NON-FICTION/FICTION – MAYBE A LITTLE OF BOTH
I could lie here, but I won’t. I could spin a fantastic but believable yarn about something that has nothing to do with the question. I’m a fiction writer; it’s what I do. You know, it’s my jam. One might even say it was my birthright. There are several writers in my family and all. I love learning. But school? I needed that like I needed another hole in my head. So, like any other flagrantly bored kid, I became a miscreant. A chatterbox, class clown, or any other thing I could think of that keeps me entertained. I considered my antics to be my responsibility to keep things lively. Until one day, my actions had reached their limit.
My mother tried to call my father, his secretary, a battle-axe of the highest order, my father’s description, not mine. I was too young to know what battle-axe meant and refused to disturb dear ole’ pop. So, my mother hung up the phone. By her expression, trouble was afoot. When my father came home, I was dismissed from the room. My mother started in on my father before he read his newspaper, a cardinal sin. Ticking off my mother, however, was a deadly sin. As I listened through the vent, I heard my mother go into lurid detail about her dissatisfaction.
There might have been flames. I couldn’t be sure. Once, during a bedtime story, Mother confessed to being part dragon.
Father: But…But … But … I can explain.
By the sound of his voice, it was apparent my father was miserable. I remember being scolded by my mother, and it wasn’t anywhere close to the level of what I heard. I felt miserable.
Afterward, Father came into my room and gave me the look. You know, the one parents give their children that lets the child know whatever reason they are showing that look stops now. Then he followed it with the look that only evolves in the following.
Action One: The head immediately drops down and avoids eye contact.
Action Two: Shoulders droop with the execution of a defeated sigh. There is a slight hesitation between the droop and the sigh. Timing is everything.
Action Three: The Apology
This is the most crucial of the actions. Execution is paramount. One could have nailed the first two actions, but bugger the third. It’s over. Here are a few suggestions I have witnessed and used in the past.
Pleading eyes – crucial
The swallow – a hard swallow after the pleading eyes, masterful
The acknowledgment – a simple “Yes sir or ma’am” executed in the proper tone; genius
The Apology – This must be nailed with an adequate amount of sincerity and remorse. I cannot stress the importance of this enough. Watery eyes or tears are allowed, even if you are a boy. We have to do what is necessary. There is no shame in it.
Now, my father stood there looking at me strangely. I knew my execution was flawless. Yet, I wondered why he hadn’t left the room. I had to resist the temptation to speak. It might ruin the effectiveness of my performance. Finally, he said.
“You know,” he started. We are aware that nothing good comes from sentences starting off like that. I attempted to settle as I thought, “Oh Boy!”
“When I was young, I always wanted a knucklehead son and look a knucklehead!” he said, gesturing towards me. He turned and headed out of the room.
“You know,” he said. There’s that phrase again.
“The apology was good. Very good, if I’m being honest. I almost bought it. Your timing was off. You’ll have to step up your game to fool your mother.” he finished and walked the room.
I never did fool my mother. I think my father derived a bit of pleasure from watching me try. In the present, I can say that English was my favorite subject. I used it to become a decent storyteller. I enjoy putting words together like a puzzle.
I’d like to thank Cyranny’s Cove for doing us the courtesy of providing inspiring words that shaped this story. If you haven’t checked out the site, get over there.
I hope you enjoyed today’s story. Trying to make the words fit the story in my head was hard. But I had a blast.
What’s the coolest thing you’ve ever found (and kept)?
DAILY PROMPT RESPONSE
As a child, I could be classified as strange or weird. I spent a great deal of time alone riding my bike or sitting by the lake staring at nothing. One day, I noticed a radio on bench. I waited all day for someone to come back for it. It was nice and fancy radio. I was sure someone would return for it. However, no one ever did. I took the radio home, but my mother made me return it. We waited until dark and no one came back. So she let me keep it. I played that radio every day until one day it just stopped.
I learned how to repair radios after that. I’ve built them out of spare parts. I’ve listened to radio broadcasts from around the world.
A few years later, my mother made me change schools. I wasn’t a problem child or anything so I couldn’t understand I had to leave all my friends. It seemed like the end of the world, but it wasn’t. I swore I didn’t belong there and would never make any friends. However, one kid took upon himself to be my friend. While everyone else treated me like a pariah. This kid did his best to make me feel welcome. I don’t think I ever thanked him for that.
One day, we found a rabbit’s foot by the school we so excited. About what I can’t remember why, but none of that matters. What matters is at that moment we made a lasting memory. Something I didn’t know until decades later. Well my friend has kept that rabbit foot all these years. When he told me he still had the rabbit’s foot I couldn’t believe it.
It’s cool finding a radio would change my life. The coolest things I’ve found are a shortwave radio and rabbit’s foot
Name the most expensive personal item you’ve ever purchased (not your home or car).
DAILY PROMPT RESPONSE
For most things, I’m a tightwad, even described as squeezing a penny so tight you can see the booger in Lincoln’s nose. There’s truth in that statement, with one exception. When it comes to my tech, I Typically spare no expense.
I don’t run out buying tech all willy-nilly. There will be none of that nonsense. Each piece of equipment must be researched again and again before purchase. Despite this rule, I keep equipment long after it should be replaced or upgraded.
Examples of this devotion to all things frugal: I shoot most of my photos with a secondhand Nikon D3200 and process video on a MacBook Pro. The MacBook Pro was ridiculously priced but is worth the coin. I’ve worn out three Windows boxes since I purchased my Mac.
My Sony FS5 was by far the most expensive equipment I own. She is old but gets the job done. I’m looking for a new camera body to possibly replace my Nikon. It’s going to cost an arm and leg, but what am I going to do? I have no choice, you know? Men and their toys and all.
I know there are people in this world who don’t entertain the idea of having a pet. I get it. They can be messy, expensive, and a lot of work. They even of the nerve at times to look at you as if you have done something inappropriate.
This is Roscoe … He always looks at me this way
Let’s not mention, talking to them and they completely ignore or disregard what your saying to them.
This is Emmett … He such a ham. He never pays me any attention
Seven years, I been dealing with this fella. Not so much as peep. You’d think if you dig holes in a guys years for that long, you could be at least friendly.
Sophie and Me chillin seeing what we can get into next
Sophie was a rescue and we have been together for two years now. I truly believe we rescued each other. I have bad days sometimes and she seems to understand when I’m having a hard time and comes to me. It’s quite amazing if you think about it.
Now, I going to provide some general information about ESA’s and their benefits.
The Importance of an Emotional Support Animal
Emotional support animals play a crucial role in providing comfort and emotional stability to their owners. These animals are not just pets; they are certified to provide specific assistance to individuals with mental health disorders. ESAs can help alleviate symptoms of anxiety, depression, PTSD, and other emotional conditions. They offer unconditional love, companionship, and a sense of security, which can greatly improve the overall well-being of their owners.
The Benefits of Emotional Support Animals
There are numerous benefits of having an emotional support animal. Firstly, the presence of an ESA can help reduce feelings of loneliness and isolation. Many individuals with mental health conditions often struggle with social interactions, but having a loyal companion by their side can provide a sense of belonging and comfort. ESAs can also help regulate emotions by providing a source of calmness and stability during times of distress.
Moreover, emotional support animals can help individuals cope with stress and anxiety. The simple act of petting or cuddling with an ESA has been proven to release endorphins, which are known as “feel-good” chemicals. This natural boost in mood can help reduce anxiety levels and promote relaxation. Additionally, the responsibility of taking care of an ESA can provide a sense of purpose and routine, which is particularly beneficial for individuals struggling with depression.
The Legal Rights of Emotional Support Animals
It is essential to understand the legal rights surrounding emotional support animals. In many countries, including the United States, ESAs are protected under the law. This means that individuals with valid ESA certifications can have their animals accompany them in housing that otherwise has a “no pets” policy. They are also allowed to travel on airplanes with their emotional support animals without having to pay additional fees.
However, it is important to note that emotional support animals are not the same as service animals. Service animals undergo extensive training to perform specific tasks for individuals with disabilities, while emotional support animals provide emotional comfort. Understanding the distinction between the two is crucial to ensure the appropriate rights and accommodations.
I’ve said on this blog that we have two families in life. The one we are born with and the one we choose. This concept has always been more than words for me. It’s been the way I was raised, and I live still. Today, Veteran’s Day, I going to take a moment and showcase my brothers.
These yahoo’s on each side of me are veterans.
The above picture is one of the few times we were together. Our lives are hectic, but we made it happen that day. The gentleman flashing the peace sign is the oldest. He was in the Marine Corps and whipped my skinny butt into shape before Army basic training. On the opposite side, he was in the Army Signal Corps and taught me what it meant to be a member of the Signal Corps. Their guidance and toughness laid the cornerstone of who I am.
Brother Brother Brother Cousin
Each of these men also served in the military; the top three were in the Navy, and my cousin was in the Army. These men helped me put the pieces back together again after my wife died. They reminded me who I was and what I stood for. I’m indebted to them for life.
As veterans, service and duty aren’t things we are born to; it’s what we learn. In many ways, we are the better for it. In others, that is a cost. Some more than others, but a cost, just the same. During the time we wore the uniform, we did our thang. Nothing or no one can take that away from us. It’s an honor to be among you all.
There is a silence in the room No words spoken, emotions so thick one could smother Fighting back the tears, as you look back at her face. She’s sitting on the steps, glowing in the sun.
Your bag is packed, yet you search for a reason not to leave. Standing the final stance before departure…knowing too well it is time Feeling the tenderness of her touch Followed by the warmth of her lips.
Exhaling in the moment, the next is unknown
Walking out the door, never turning around Not wanting your tears to show. The ride to post was longer today than any others Your brothers and sisters in arms have the same upon their faces
Equipment and manifest checks … moments away from destiny Chatter fills the room, but no one speaks of why we are here As if you speak its name, you give it power. To speak its name, the illusion would be over
We muster on the flight line, trying to stay strong We look through the crowd, watching your brethren summoning the courage Moments away from fighting an unknown cause Fighting with undying zeal and without pause
The plane is loaded, and slumber takes over Getting all we can get while we can Waken by the plane’s descent, our nerves on fire Knowing that the illusion is over and dues need to be paid
We flick the switch ….
Boom boom….boom boom ….boom boom Can you hear it?
Boom boom…boom boom ….boom boom War drums sound off
Desperately searching for the next thing that is keeping you away Through bloodshot eyes, we see all the enemies have vanished No one else to fight … no more orphans caused At least no more today
We flick off the switch ….
Leaning in the doorway, standing there looking Looking at the most breathtaking thing that these eyes have seen In what seems to be a lifetime
This week on her is a lovely tribute. It is in the memories of others that we truly achieve immortality. May we all become immortal.
Do you ever feel more excited about getting the package in the mail, rather than the item that’s in it? Yes, there have many times I received a package and wondered what goodies am I about to receive. I’ve been let down too many times, to be specific.
What is the difference between your ideal self and your real self? (i.e. what attribute or physical feature would allow you feel the ideal ‘you’?) I wish I saw myself as something else. I wonder who I would become? What would be the ideal version of myself? Would I be suave? Charismatic? Perhaps I would live on a mountain in an unknown region, communing with the birds. Wouldn’t it be cool to learn a bird language? In this ideal version of myself, would I still be a writer?
However, I’m not that fortunate. I am just a simple man living my life as best I can. I embrace my faults and learn from them. Some lessons are costly, and others not so much. Yet, no matter the cost, each is full of wisdom. I need the patience to listen. Who I am may not work for some, but it’s good enough for me. Everyone else is already taken. This includes any fantasy version of myself. I’m a writer, so I can make myself pretty sweet. However, The Madre has always urged me to use my powers for good. If I’m nothing else, I strived to be a good son.
If you found $2,000 on the ground and there were no witnesses, what would you do with it? I would turn it to the local authorities. Some folks are looking at this answer and saying, “Yeah, right, you would turn it in.” But I would. I’ve lost money before, and someone turned it in. I’m very thankful for that honest person. So why not pay it forward?
Are you ever morally obliged to take action? Under what circumstances? Yes, whenever I can assist people in need. As long as it doesn’t interfere with my responsibilities to my family. When this occurs, it usually affects how much I can assist. My code doesn’t allow me to say no.
There are far too many quality websites to call one my favorite. However, there are a few I visit regularly. I understand this might be the time to publicly admit. [Clearing my throat] My name is Mangus, and I’m a bookworm and shopaholic. Because of this compulsion, I spend a considerable amount of time on Amazon. I just can’t help myself. I have one of those Kindle Fire things, so I buy books all the time. To make matters worse, I acquire most of my provisions from there as well. Not to mention office supplies, electronics, and ridiculous whatnot that one buys on a wimp.
Until recently, I spent a great of time on Goodreads. A social media site for bookworms. I admit the idea is exciting. However, I have purposely been weening myself from Goodreads in hopes of somehow curving my book buying. Then there’s Abe.com; where can you believe this madness; people post books for sale. There are first editions and the lot waiting for me to enter my credit card information. Thriftbooks.com has reasonably priced books and a points system so you can get some discounts. So not fair.
Wish me luck in my pursuit of curving my addictions. I’m running out of space for bookshelves and my Kindle is almost full.
I always enjoy discovering new ways of pushing myself as a writer. Every sentence is an opportunity to redefine my limits. Often, I find myself struggling with who I’m becoming in the wake of my existence. There was a time when I felt certain who I was and my purpose. Now, with age and health issues, I wonder…
Here, in the chambers of my madness, I am showered by my decadence. The weight of my arrogance bears heavily on my soul, dropping me to my knees, beaten and shallow. The eyes of my damnation have opened. From its lips, a howl is released that cringes the wicked.
In a fleeting moment….
I believed someone wanted to hear what I had to say. Believing I had something worthy of saying.
For a moment….
I believed my words could inspire and ignite, Yet they are daunt and douse. I believed my words could teleport you from drab and mundane, to the majestic and climatic
For a moment….
I believed I was good enough to defend the faith, which gives us breath I believed I was that breath, filling the lungs of the passionate.
For a moment… I believed the faces of the slain would fade, Yet I drift deeper into a sea of their weeping souls. Believing I was strong enough to let go of the things that bind me. Though I await sadness to draw life that remains….leaving me hollow.
Bound by lunacy’s chains, I am danging in its web, screaming… Liberating my sanity as I stare into the fright and pain. Knowing I can’t let go of the hope … of grace.
For my fortitude must be unwavering. If I’m lucky, my courage will be limitless
Yet, I must be careful, for I hope for…. For it might destroy it all.
Yes, I must be careful … For it might destroy me.
In the twilight of this revelation, I slump, weakened… for I am dying. From my lifeless lips, I speak Passion’s name Breaking the chains, I rise untouched by the flames of Madness.
holding on to the dream that I’m powerful enough Powerful enough to scribe in lines of the destined. Wise enough to scribe the words that will bring us home. Strong enough to wield the words that will bind our drifting souls.
Bringing us to a place we all belong, united and strong A place where our words cast out the darkness that sometimes fills our hearts.
Yet, I must be careful about what I long for…. Careful for what I yearn for …. I might get things I don’t want
Yet, I pray hear you my plea
Just before the dawn of this … Epiphany of Madness
Here are this week’s questions (which are nothing to do with Halloween):
Do you have carpets, rugs, laminating flooring, tiles, or wooden floors (or something else) in your property. I always wanted shag carpet. Only because I liked the name. I enjoyed how it sounded when I said it. Currently, I have an old single ply carpet. I’m pretty sure it screams each time I walk into the kitchen. However, my preferred flooring is wooden floors. I love the coolness on the bottom of my feet as I walk through the house in the winter. How it feels as it warms after I get the fireplace going.
Do you have a bathtub and separate shower, or a combination of the two? Back during the fancy years, I had a stand alone shower. It worked great in the mornings. Waiting for your turn in the bathroom blows. I had a house full of daughters, so bathroom time was precious. Now, I have run of the mill garden variety combo. Nothing fancy, but it gets the job done.
What is your favourite room of the house, and why? My office. This is where the magic happens. This place I can go and be myself. I get to create some of the most amazing things. Like the boy who’s afraid to talk to the girl of his dreams because he has one leg longer than the other. Something you don’t even notice unless he tells you.
Mr. Crabtree has been sitting by the window over medicated for six months. He doesn’t complain because somewhere in the back of his mind, he feels he deserves this fate. He watches the night nurses grope one another. He hears them talking about how stoned he is. How he couldn’t tell a soul about what he sees. Then, one day, everything changes. He smells a hint of lilac and lavender. A soft, loving voice is speaking in his ear. He can’t believe this person is talking to him. This was the day he met Rose.
How many televisions do you have? too many. 4 total. 2 for watching the tele and 2 serve as monitors for my desktop
I’ve never done one of these before, but I enjoy them. I think it has something to do with the brevity of it. The power of less is more. So, true to fashion I will combine a few challenges. Let’s see if I get any of them right.
You have three magic genie wishes, what are you asking for?
DAILY PROMPT RESPONSE
Dealing with a Djinn is like bucking the tiger odds. The odds are in favor of the house. This is because we speak in generalities. we are specific about what we want or need. Sometimes, we actually think we know exactly what we need only to find out it isn’t what we needed at all.
If I remember my scripture, Solomon was the wisest man in the world and there wouldn’t be another as wise as him. If he couldn’t get it right, then I suppose we are good.
What is your favourite dessert? This is a difficult question for me because I’m diabetic. So, officially I hate dessert. However, before diabetes, I had a three dessert rotation depending on the situation. For quick fixes, there are freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. They must be soft, not the crunchy kind. Most store brought brands are trash. However, there is a Canadian brand that is quite nice. Secondly, Pecan pie, is there anything more that needs to be said about its scrumptiousness. Lastly, my mother-in-law’s Chess pie. Now, this might take a minute because my mouth is watering thinking about it. She stopped making them when she reached her eighties, and my brother-in-law took over the baking duties. I love him, but he’s fired.
Do you still use cash to pay for goods? Not really much anymore. Perhaps I should. The world of electronic currency is a little unsettling. However, it’s hard to remain old school when you have vendors who don’t take cash. Get this? They have the nerve to charge you a convenience fee.
Apart from a house, car, or holiday, what is the most expensive thing you’ve purchased? My video equipment, my Sony FS-5, and Macbook Pro lead the charge. If we add the peripherals, the price is ridiculous. However, it’s been several years, and the equipment is still very well. So, with the quality, I pretty much forgot about the price.
If you are going out for a special occasion, what is your favoured outfit? Any special occasion I wear a tailored suit and shirt.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, not even a little bit. Somewhere along the way, the little bastard got to me. Maybe it was his eyes full of innocence that looked up at me as he gripped my finger when I met him. He stole his grandmother’s heart at the first coo. I wasn’t falling for that cute shit. He’s a male. He must be raised hard, tough, and ready. No pansies are allowed in my clan. No sir. No way.
However, from the start, I saw he going to be different. I saw something in him I wasn’t used to seeing. There was a kindness to him, not the kind that makes you soft. But the kind that makes people want to be around. The kind that’s the foundation of becoming a good man. My grandson is also a very thoughtful young man. I’m pretty sure he got these traits from his grandmother.
I have also noticed he has a bit of a mean streak, something he definitely got from my side of the family. However, I seldom see this side. All in all, he is a cool kid. You can’t tell him; he might think I’m getting soft.
I feel like writing today. There have been so many days where I didn’t feel it, but wrote anyway. I can’t explain or put my finger on the difference. I’m unsure if I need to or if it’s all that important. What’s important to me right now is that I’m feeling it. Today, I not going to fight it.
Perhaps, it’s because
I saw the Moon in a clear blue sky. So close I could touch it. It has magical powers, they say I believe them.
Perhaps it’s because
I saw the clouds glow when they were touched by the Sun. A bird chirped as it flew by A stray cat rubbed against my leg I had a meeting with a friend that didn’t suck
I don’t know why today feels this way, but strap in.
There was a time when running was everything to me. I’ve literally have run hundreds if not thousands of miles in my life. It’s something about the struggle between your mind and body. The two of them trying to find synchronicity. The feeling is difficult to put into words.
Pushing past the pain, the burn in your lungs, the ache from your muscles, and the satisfaction once you have completed. Brings back memories. Depending on the weather, each run presents a difficult challenge. I always secretly loved running in the rain. Especially, a storm. I’d run straight into in an act of defiance. Knowing I should be inside, but no!
The battle between my will and Mother Nature had begun. Of course, I wasn’t going to win, but I would not be taken lightly. I would not cower inside like a good boy and wait. Yeah, that’s where was at, right there. Recalling it, brings back the emotions. My heart rate elevates, my breathing deepens, and my focus is on target.
I sometimes forget how I developed my love for running. How I built up my endurance, stamina, and intestinal fortitude. Oddly, it was from walking. I can’t to do the miles and rage war against the elements anymore by running. However, I can still go on a walk. I love it.
Let me explain why walking is so important to me. In earlier post, I babbled about a bionic kid wanting to a gymnast. It was attempt to be humorous, but missed the mark. Some of you might remember the story. For those who don’t remember or don’t have the foggiest idea what I’m about. Here is a link to the story
What I didn’t tell you about was after that fiasco I had to learn to walk again. I broke my hip in several places and lived in a body cast for a period of time. This marked the end of the adorable years. All my adorable chubbiness, which attracted women from the corners of the Earth just for the pleasure of pinching my cheek.
I never been a fan of cheek pinching, but it usually resulted in candy. So, I swallowed my disdain for the sake of candy. Once, I lost the chubbiness, the candy connection was over. Then, I met with healthy snacks, like apples, applesauce, and random raw vegetables from my grandmother garden. Of course, I suddenly wished I hadn’t broke my hip.
My journey of learning to walk again was challenging. I still don’t think I walk without a slight, but hitch in my step. It seemed I was going to be on crutches forever. I wasn’t before long, I was walking. Then I could run. Boy was I fast.
I walked everywhere. All across town, the different neighborhoods, the different stores, and all the different parks in town. I remember being told certain parks were only for the people who lived in the area. I paid that mess no attention. I kept walking.
Walking has always seem to be the activity where I can clear my mind. The activity where I can the peace that often escapes during the routines of the day. I can gauge myself while walking. Too much pain, tells me I’m not where I need to be physically. Or at least a good indication of my physical status.
Essays and stories have bloomed from my walks. My walks have also been the thread that has sworn together the story fragments that sometimes aimlessly linger in the corners of our minds. There not tucked too deep so we can forget, but they poke their heads out from time to time.
I look at this prompt with a certain measure of disbelief. Why would I pay anything to go to the moon? Let’s examine the question. Let me go at the possible advantages of going to the moon, let alone paying to go. From what I understand, the Moon is cold. I’ve been cold in my lifetime, and I don’t want to be cold. The winter season here on Earth is more than enough. I’ve spent winters in several different regions. I’m quite familiar with cold weather.
Now, how many science fiction stories have you read where anything good happens with living on the moon? I haven’t read any. If there are any that you know, please let me know. Here’s something interesting to consider. I’m a writer, so if I want to go to the Moon, all I have to do is write about it. Yep, all I have to do is sit in front of my laptop and devise a beautiful tale about a lunar adventure. Or I could pull out a stack of 28lbs paper and start writing.
So you see, there is no need to pay to go to the Moon when you are a writer. Pay to go to the Moon. Are you kidding me right now?
Here are this week’s questions: 1. When you were a child, did you have your friends round for tea even if it wasn’t your birthday? Were you invited to stay for tea at a friend’s house? I was raised in America, so the only we had was Sun Tea. Which consisted of placing Lipton tea bags in a large jar and sitting it on the porch. I forgot about sweet tea. We love our sweet tea and lemonade. The closest thing to what this question asked is my friends and I would scrouge change and go down to the filling station to buy RC Cola and a Moon Pie. We’d sit on the curb eating our pie and drinking our pop, like kings of the four blocks that comprised our neighborhood.
2. What was your first job in adult life? I joined the military right out of high school. There is nothing more to say about that.
3. Do you enjoy shopping (food, clothes, gifts etc)? I hate shopping for the most part. I mainly purchase books and electronics. Used bookstores are my happy place. I must remain calm when I find a treasure I have been looking for months. Weirdly, people stare at you like you’re a lunatic when you get all excited about a book find. As a child, they would shake their heads with looks of pity on their faces. I would overhear them saying, “Don’t stare! I told you about staring at God’s special people. That poor child.” For a while, I didn’t know they were talking about me. When I did discover it, I whooped a little louder.
4. What was the best bargain you ever got? I’m not sure if this is considered a bargain or not. Since the word bargain is a bit subjective. It really depends on the person and the item. I walked into a pawn shop once and saw a stack of LP’s on the shelf for sale. The stack was riddled with no name band in the last twenty years, but as I reached the bottom of the pile, I struck gold. I found an original pressing of Howlin Wolf’s London Sessions. Quickly, I took it to the counter to purchase. Turns out the owner of the store was an old friend from back when we both had hair, and our eyes hadn’t seen all the things we had. In a way, back when we were both innocent.
What’s something most people don’t know about you?
DAILY PROMPT RESPONSE
I had several different responses to this prompt. I actually made very detailed notes on something else. However, I was at my brother’s motorcycle shop. I took several photos of his projects. I can’t disclose any of the works in progress. However, there is one I’m sure he won’t mind.
Over the last decade, I’ve gone on about my desire of wanting to ride a motorcycle. We have talked extensively during that time about owning one. Once, I went so far as to discuss the design of a bike. My brother graciously entertained my thoughts. However, I know nothing about designing or building a bike. He could have taken the opportunity to berate me. He didn’t, but he did something else instead.
One day, he tells me he will build me a bike. Now, I did my best not to be all giddy and lose my shit. I don’t think I pulled it off. I thought he joking around, but I went around the shop and took pictures of my future bike.
Let’s take a look, shall we…
Now, some may feel my baby is in rough shape. I assure you it’s in better shape than I am. Thanks to my brother’s I now have an opportunity to fulfill a lifelong dream. Riding on the open road with the wind in my face and all that. Yes, I know it sounds cheesy, but don’t judge me!
Do you remember your first teacher at school? Of course, I do! How can I forget the woman who introduced me to nap time on a blue and red mat with white trim? Looking back, It seems I was destined to sleep on the ground on a foam mat, much thinner I might add. In the military, I didn’t sleep when I was supposed to either. Despite this, my first teacher was pretty cool. She visited me in the hospital after my gymnast attempt fiasco.
What was your best and worst subjects? I can’t remember my best subject I pretty much sucked at all of them. I do remember being bored for most of grade school. However, there were a few high points. The Monarch butterfly and acting out plays. There was a girl who was stupid smart who always would read a book and turn it into a play. I think we were in the third grade. She is probably some famous playwright or something. I’d look her up if I could just remember her name. Susie, Blanche, Mara, none of those sound right. I’m going to chuck that one into the L column.
Were you encouraged in class or did you just muddle along? Of course, I was encouraged I went to a great school. However, I did muddle along. This is when I heard the statement that followed me for the rest of my academic career. “Young man, you are working at your potential.” Nearly every teacher either said it to my mother’s face, which by the way were dark times for me, or wrote on my report card. My mother worked her butt off. Here I was playing around in school. I had one job, you know?
Would you like to be a student today? I pretty much have outgrown a good portion of my shenanigans, however, I still pepper a bit of high jinxes for flavor. I wouldn’t want anyone who knew me back then to think I’m reformed or something. One of my teachers attended one of my lectures, years ago. She waited until after I finished and came up to me. She had this expression that mixed with confusion and pride all at once. She asked if I was the little that gave her such a hard time in english class. I was taken back by the question. I was lecturing somewhere other than my hometown so I wasn’t expecting someone to actually know me.
She was an older version of herself. She hadn’t put weight and looked rather striking for her age. I smiled and nodded. She hugged me and we had coffee. I started going on about Gordon Weaver and she rolled right with me. Then the phone came out and it was picture time. Children, grandchildren, and have you been occupied the remainder of our conversation. As she left, she paused and looked back, and told me she always believed in me. Then she turned and walked away.
If I had believed in myself, perhaps, it wouldn’t have taken me so long to get things going in the right direction.
Along the coast of the isle, I await I’m awaiting the one who is heard but rarely seen. His guidance, his vision, is what soothes me.
Thundering huffs of his steed surround me Through the mist, I catch a glimpse of his armor My heart pounds in anticipation of asking the question
Opening my eyes, I am within the halls of my study An empty room with barren shelves, once full No remnants of its former purpose
Except…
An inkwell on my table Whispering … You’re the one I belong to…
My soul began to shiver As it transformed into a mesmerizing beauty With enchanting eyes that spoke to me.
I could barely take it My head was spinning around and around I didn’t know what to do As those eyes kept asking me Can you be the writer? That writes too silly to the profound Are you that writer? It is just a question to answer.
The inkwell on my table… Was the caressing wind Of the blossoming trees Everything between hell and heaven
Now I’m back along the coast In the presence of the rider As I looked at the face behind the visor
I realized the answers
I am the writer of the silly, perhaps the profound Yes, I have my answer I am the Muse
The longer you live the more things you remember. There are many historical events that stand out in my mind. It’s hard to choose which ones to talk about. So, I’ve decided to discuss a few that impacted my life. These events made me stop and think about the world around me. Sometimes, I find myself a little taken back by the level of carnage some members of humanity are willing to unleash.
I wish this quote by Joseph Conrad had no relevance in today’s society. Sadly, it is just as relevant today as when he wrote it.
Orlando Nightclub Shooting
On June 12, 2016, a horrific event in Orlando, Florida, shook the nation. Omar Mateen, a 29-year-old man, carried out a mass shooting at Pulse, a gay nightclub, resulting in the loss of 49 innocent lives and leaving 53 others wounded. The impact of this senseless act of violence reverberated far beyond the walls of the nightclub, leaving a deep scar on the LGBTQ+ community and the nation as a whole.
The Devastating Impact
The Orlando nightclub shooting was not just an act of violence but a targeted attack on a specific community. It attacked love, acceptance, and the freedom to be oneself. The LGBTQ+ community has long fought for equality and acceptance, and this tragic event served as a painful reminder that there are still those who seek to harm and oppress individuals based on their sexual orientation.
In the aftermath of the shooting, the nation came together to mourn the loss of innocent lives and support the LGBTQ+ community. Vigils were held across the country, with people from all walks of life coming together to stand in solidarity. It was a powerful display of unity and a testament to the resilience and strength of the human spirit.
The Importance of Remembering
As time passes, we mustn’t forget the Orlando nightclub shooting. We must remember the lives that were lost and the pain that was inflicted on the LGBTQ+ community. We honor the victims and their families by remembering and keeping their memories alive. Through this place, we can continue to fight for a world where everyone is accepted and loved for who they are.
Furthermore, the Orlando nightclub shooting serves as a reminder of the work that still needs to be done to prevent such acts of violence in the future. It highlights the need for better gun control measures to prevent individuals with harmful intentions from obtaining weapons. It also emphasizes creating a society that celebrates diversity and fosters acceptance.
I remember being outraged by this event. I wondered what was wrong with the young man. What was happening underneath the rhetoric? Of course, I will never know the answer to this question. However, this event didn’t hit me in the gut until a close friend shared her thoughts. Then finally exclaimed:
“They’re killing us, Mangus. They’re killing us!”
I had no idea what to do or how, if anything, I could comfort her. I still don’t. The event was senseless and cruel.
The Capitol Riots 2021
On January 6, 2021, some Americans lost their damn minds and stormed the Capital Building in Washington, D.C. This event should have never happened, but it did. Nearly three years later, I still question the point of the entire affair. I can remember staring at my boss like she had lost her mind. I heard her words, but they didn’t make sense.
The Attack on Democracy
The barrage of questions continued for a few minutes until I accepted that our Capital was under siege. I was furious. I felt helpless. I couldn’t do anything to right this wrong. It was no longer my job.
To attempt to overturn a presidential election by force is wrong on so many levels. I’m doing my best here to go into full mode.
Deep breaths…Mangus: Deep breaths … filth and foul and filth foul …deep breaths, use your words.
Civil disobedience is one of the things that made America what it is. However, in my opinion, the actions of that day went against the spirit of the country. That day was not our finest hour. We are better than this madness. It would behoove us to remember that.
Here is a link to the timeline of that day’s events provided by the BBC.
Healing and Moving Forward
In the aftermath of the Capitol riots, the nation grappled with the deep divisions that had been exposed. It was a stark reminder that democracy is fragile and requires constant vigilance. But in the face of this unprecedented attack on our democracy, there were glimmers of hope and unity.
Leaders from both sides of the political spectrum condemned the violence and called for accountability. The swift impeachment of the then-president and the subsequent investigations into the events of that day signaled a commitment to upholding the rule of law.
Furthermore, the resilience of the Capitol staff and law enforcement officers who worked tirelessly to protect the building and its occupants should be recognized and commended. Their bravery in the face of danger serves as a reminder of the dedication and sacrifice that public servants make every day.
Lessons Learned
The events of January 6, 2021, serve as a wake-up call for the nation. They highlight the urgent need to address the underlying issues that led to such a violent insurrection. We must examine the root causes of the division and discontent that fueled this attack on our democracy.
Moreover, the Capitol riots underscore the importance of education and critical thinking in a democratic society. We must invest in civic education and media literacy to ensure that citizens have the tools to discern fact from fiction and to engage in constructive dialogue rather than resorting to violence.
As we reflect on the Capitol riots of 2021, let us remember the lessons learned and work towards healing the wounds that continue to divide our nation. Only through unity, understanding, and a commitment to the principles of democracy can we build a brighter future for all Americans.
2017 Las Vegas Shooting
On October 1, 2017, the world was shocked as a horrific event unfolded in Las Vegas, Nevada. A lone gunman, identified as Stephen Paddock, opened fire on a crowd of concertgoers attending the Route 91 Harvest music festival. The attack resulted in the loss of 58 innocent lives and hundreds injured. This tragic incident is one of the deadliest mass shootings in modern American history.
The Devastating Impact
The impact of the 2017 Las Vegas shooting was felt by the victims, their families, and the entire nation. As news of the attack spread, a wave of grief and disbelief washed over the country. The concert, meant to celebrate music and unity, quickly turned into chaos and terror. Survivors and witnesses were left traumatized, forever scarred by that fateful night’s horrifying images and sounds.
The Las Vegas shooting also reignited the ongoing debate around gun control in the United States. The ease with which the shooter acquired a vast arsenal of weapons and ammunition raised severe concerns about the accessibility and regulation of firearms. Many called for stricter gun laws and comprehensive background checks to prevent similar tragedies from occurring in the future.
Unity and Resilience
In the face of such tragedy, the Las Vegas community displayed remarkable resilience and strength. Strangers came together to help the wounded, offering comfort and support amidst the chaos. First responders and medical professionals worked tirelessly to save lives and provide essential care to the injured. The city of Las Vegas rallied around the victims and their families, offering financial assistance, counseling services, and a collective shoulder to lean on.
The aftermath of the Las Vegas shooting also highlighted the importance of mental health support. Survivors and witnesses experienced profound emotional trauma that required professional intervention and support. Mental health organizations and counselors played a crucial role in helping individuals cope with the aftermath of the tragedy, emphasizing the need to prioritize mental well-being in the wake of such devastating events.
Conclusion
The 2017 Las Vegas shooting was an immense tragedy that deeply impacted the nation. The loss of innocent lives and the profound effects on the survivors and their families cannot be overstated. It serves as a somber reminder of the urgent need for stricter gun control measures and comprehensive mental health support in our society. This horrific event should compel us to reflect on the lives that were tragically cut short and the resilience displayed by the Las Vegas community. Moving forward, we must strive for a future where such senseless acts of violence are prevented, and where every individual feels safe and secure. Achieving this requires collective action and a steadfast commitment to change, as we honor the victims and work towards building a more peaceful and compassionate society.
The Capitol riots of 2021 will forever be etched into the annals of American history as a dark moment. It was a stark reminder of the fragility of democracy and the crucial importance of safeguarding our institutions. This shocking event shook the nation to its core, but it also sparked hope for healing and growth. As a nation, we can move forward by addressing the underlying issues that led to this unrest, fostering unity among our citizens, and prioritizing education to prevent such incidents from happening again. It is through these actions that we can strive for a better and more inclusive future, where the principles of democracy are upheld and respected.
The Orlando nightclub shooting was a tragic event that deeply impacted not only the LGBTQ+ community but also the entire nation. It served as a stark reminder of the ongoing presence of hatred and discrimination in our society. However, amidst the darkness, it also brought people together, showcasing the power of unity and love. As we remember the victims and their families, it is crucial that we continue to work towards creating a world where everyone feels safe, accepted, and valued. This means actively combating prejudice, fostering inclusivity, and promoting understanding. By doing so, we can honor the memory of those affected by this tragedy and strive for a society where diversity is celebrated and bigotry has no place.
What’s the biggest risk you’d like to take — but haven’t been able to?
PROSE – DAILY PROMPT RESPONSE
It’s interesting how something just pops up. As if the universe has something to tell you.
“Psst, come here, buddy. I won’t bite.”
In such cases, the universe represents that crush you never dared to speak to more than a few seconds at a time. For some reason, you believed talking to them would ruin the perfect relationship you had developed in your mind. In your mind, her voice caressed your inner ear, her smile melted away any doubt, and you weren’t an awkward guy who would write his thoughts in a notebook.
Then, sometime in the distant future, time folds back on itself because that’s what it always does. It comes around, so you face the moment you avoided all those years ago. It comes whether you are ready for it or not. Most likely not, but that’s the enchantment of time isn’t. You learned some time back not to question the universe because it will do whatever it wants. So it goes …
This time, in the grind of time, I decided to revitalize the blog I started over a decade ago. I did so without any faith in my writing. Truthfully, I didn’t have any faith in myself. Eight months in today, my doubt has begun to fade. Yet, I ask myself whether or not my doubt is over? Despite this, every night right before bed, I rant by the light of an LED lamp.
I don’t rant for fame or glory; I write for sanity. I expose my scars and whisper my secrets. Once, I held them close to my heart. Like that was the move to make. As if sanity resided neath the scars because I could trust myself and no one else. No one would understand my demons; I didn’t understand them myself. This is what I told myself. It was belief, nay, my conviction. This is how depression is; this is how it pulls you in.
I thought I could be a conduit for someone else pain, grief, and anguish. In reality, I’m confessing my sins of war. The war within myself. My biggest risk is releasing the insomniac rants to the public. Yet, I have been doing it, you say? I have a few short story collections and a few novels I’ve been holding back. I hear the senior editor’s voice in my head, “What are you waiting on?”
Insomnia is back. It was harder than usual this time as if she had something to prove. Like I had been two-timing her that slut Slumber, her word, not mine. The truth is Slumber has been good as of late. Her tender caresses lulled me into a much needed state. My body has been enduring a special kind of hell brought on by my devotion to Insomnia. In the wee hours of the morning, I lay there staring at the ceiling as if some cosmic truth would be revealed at any moment. The answer to an unasked existential question would materialize from the shadows. My notebook lay open at my desk. My Parker lay next to it.
“Psst…Psst.” I heard the Parker whisper.
I refused to surrender to temptation. I stayed strong. I am committed to the cause of what I don’t know. I’m so tired I don’t care.
Dawn’s arrived; her light caressed my body and whispered my name, “Mangus! Mangus!” Each time, a little louder in her honey voice. I raise my head, but Slumber pulls me back. I felt her warm breath across my ear, and then I felt a flick of her tongue on my ear lobe. I resist and sit on the edge of the bed. I look back at her. Her gaze is majestic, her touch serene.
“Go, I’ll be here when you get back,” she whispered.
I never thought I had what it takes to be a father. I felt I wasn’t caring enough. You know, those guys on television and movies make it so easy. They always knew exactly what to say at the proper moment. I’m not those guys. Constantly, I’m saying the wrong things all the time. Damn, an appropriate moment. If there is saying the wrong thing I’m good at, it is sticking my foot in my mouth. Shell-toe Adidas tastes decent, but I prefer Chuck’s. The more worn, the better.
So, I bet you are wondering if I’m a complete screw-up at being a father; how could it be the thing I’m the most proud of. It’s simple, I had to bust my ass to earn the title. I’ve put more energy into being a father than anything else. So, any accomplishments I’ve made were hard fought ones. So this makes their reward sweeter. However, I can’t rest on the fruits of my labor. Fatherhood continues to be challenging well into their adulthood. Their problems are bigger for some reason. What happened to the days of hair disasters, outfit malfunctions, and broken hearts.
I wish I had been around more for them. My occupation prevented the deep connections fathers sometimes have with their children. There are so many I couldn’t discuss with my family. So, I was an idiot and didn’t talk at all. That was a definite moment of brilliance (eye-roll). So, I provided them useless facts they couldn’t apply to most things due to the fact they didn’t live in the kind of world where knowledge of this sort was required. I ensured they didn’t have to deal with the madness I had as a child.
While raising my children, I suffered from PTSD. I thought I was tough enough to deal with the condition alone. Yeah, I was that jackass. Despite this, I’ve maintained a relationship with the children and the grandchildren. With the missed bedtime stories, Christmases, birthdays, and all the other things I missed I was trying to make the world better for them. I’m a lucky and blessed S.O.B., my sacrifices could have cost me the very thing I was trying to keep safe.
Where the Blackbird Sings: A storyline from the past I’ve been updating. I don’t currently have any intention on the purpose of this story. Whether it’s going to remain a short story or something more extensive. The most important aspect of this story is to continue writing until the story is complete.
Till the Sun Turns Black: An unfinished novel I’ve been playing around with for over a decade. Lately, I’ve been reexamining different portions of the manuscript, looking for new ways to make the story more compelling.
Unnamed Story: I’m currently working on a project initiated by another writer who could not complete it. This project is challenging because the initial concept wasn’t mine. In addition, it’s written from a female first-person POV. Since I’m not a woman, not having the protagonist sound masculine is complicated.
That’s all I have right now. Of course, I have several unnamed projects, but I have learned recently I need to prioritize my project to ensure completion.
Today, I realized I don’t have the mindset to have a lazy day and relax. I grew up believing you worked hard throughout the week and did chores around the house on the weekends. Saturday was the primary day of work. Sunday, I finished things up and prepared for the upcoming week. This logic has been the way, and I find no fault in its structure.
It’s strange how life can change your perspective on things whether you like it or not. I’ve mentioned my recent illness, which has caused me to change my lifestyle. Well, I am attempting to change it. Old habits are hard to break. I require much more rest than usual. I’m napping frequently and not getting a damn thing done. WTF, I appear to be getting soft. I can’t be having that. However, I must be honest with myself.
Honestly, I view my lack of progress in my chores around the house as unproductive, but in reality, getting a proper rest is very productive. I just need to be patient with myself.
It’s been a long week; I wasn’t sure I would make it. Work wasn’t particularly stressful, but I struggled mentally to get through it. I had a photoshoot yesterday, and I’d forgotten how physically taxing photoshoots can be. It was an open area shoot of a fantastic community event. I felt alive until the end of the day. My shoulders ached, and my legs felt like rubber. I fell asleep trying to process the photos from the shoot.
Despite the struggle, I got some beautiful shots I wish I could share but can’t. I didn’t have the opportunity to shoot any artistic shots. I was too busy, and I still haven’t regained all the strength from my recent illness. So today, I’m worn out. However, it’s through strife that we gain strength of character. Also, each day is a blessing and not a curse. Stay strong and keep fighting.
I can’t remember why I started this. I can’t see where it was supposed to go. I know there was reason, a pretty good I’m sure. I probably crafted some clever dialogue to explain my actions if someone were to ask. No one did. I must remember I didn’t start writing to post on a blog. Hell, I didn’t start writing to be read. I wrote as a means to understand the stirring voices in my head.
Yes, I understand how that sounds. I concede you might have gone mental. I assure you I haven’t. I’m a writer who is attempting to write honestly about a topic. You guys would sense me being full of crap in a heartbeat. Throughout the years, I tried to force the things I wanted to write. I fell pray to the …
“Hey, this seems interesting.” or
“I got a great response to this piece; let’s write more about this, you think?” Or
“This is my signature piece.”
Yeah, limiting myself, like it is the thing to do. I didn’t have to worry about being put in a box or labeled. I did it myself. Constantly, I waged war against myself about the things that ended up on the page. Instead of WRITING SHIT LIKE YOU MEAN IT! I wrote these quaint pieces trying to find the formula that works.
“Sometimes in writing we stumble into a story …other times we trip and fall over what we intended to write.
Mangus Khan – 2015
I truly enjoy the ability to create something out of nothing. Well, not really nothing, but more precisely, use everything to create a believable story. I’ve used a portion of overheard conversations, witnessed events, or conjured a scene from the splinters of my mind. Whichever the source, the joy is finding a way to string them together into something meaningful… I hope.
I’ve lectured about writers being time travelers of a sort. No one ever gets where I’m coming from when I make this statement. My point is simple, actually. We have the power to rewrite history to suit ourselves. As long as we make the story compelling. When we are making up stuff, it doesn’t have to necessarily be believable. Some of the most ridiculous stories are compelling. We laugh out loud or shake our heads as we finish the story.
I used to worry about what the reader would think about what I had to say. This is important to a degree. I used to worry about so much I would actually get stuck and stop writing. Or even worse, the idea would never see the page. I’ve told my writing team hundreds of ideas but never written. It was as if I whispered into the wind, hoping another writer in an unknown destination or time would hear it and write it down.
All this was before I began to believe in myself and the writing process. I stop trying to force my will onto the subject matter. I learned to let go and trip and fall into it.
Most importantly, I’ve learned to enjoy the entire process. For example, this very post I started writing it back in August. Of course, I had a lot to say about what I enjoy about writing. Oh yeah, let me tell you all about that about it. Let’s not. I’m good. Aren’t you?
This blog wasn’t supposed to be what it has become. I was ready to quit before I wrote the first post. However, I’ve kept going; believe me, this year has been incredible. I couldn’t imagine the success I’ve had here. You guys have taught me so much about writing as well as assisted me in realizing things about myself. Then, I wonder about stuff like this …
Will it matter how many doors opened, portals gazed through, or notebooks filled? Will we truly say all that we hear in the silence? Only you can answer these questions in the words you write. I wish words of kindness and love would replace the hatred lurking in the soul of man. I wish the tears that drench these pages were of joy instead of sorrow. I hope for a better tomorrow.
I wish what we find in our darkest hour, we embrace its truth. We have hid too long from who we really are. I wish that truth flourishes, providing the wisdom necessary as we bare our souls. It will be liberating to walk from behind the veil of another person’s ideal. I wish this unveiled soul speaks with passion and dignity, knowing by doing so, the words will be spoken with honor. I wish we could free ourselves and honestly speak soulfully.
“The essential thing is that you write about something you really care about. Identifying that something, however, is not always easy. Are surrounded by received opinion, a constant barrage of information, drama, ideas, and judgements offended us live, printed, and electronic. It is so much easier to know what we ought to think and feel then what we actually do. “
With that being said, I often find it difficult to find subjects I would like to write about. It’s challenging to make interesting content. However, I feel it’s critical to be honest with yourself as a writer. My favorite portion of writing is creating phrases. When I’m editing, I just want it to be over. However, I realize a properly edited piece can turn good writing into excellent writing. I didn’t always feel this way. Just ask my senior editor. I’m sure there were several moments when if she could have got her hands on me. It would not have been good for me. Sometimes writing is like …
The night whispers have faded as dawn stretches with one eye open and the other squinted. Caffeine burns through my bloodstream as I roll myself a cigarette in the early morning strain. Lately, my words don’t seem like mine; they are flat and lifeless as if my pen has lost its courage. The words tease as they linger on the tip of my tongue. Though submerged in this state of bewilderment, my face distorts into a smile. I realize that I have been preparing for this conversation for years. It became clear the difficulties never change. One minute, you stare blankly into the nothingness, and the next, you find yourself face down on your desk with slobber-drenched hair and coffee-stained lips. The result is a story about you, which is nothing more than a reflection about me, pulsing happily on a word processor.
While trying to remember, every word, sentence, or paragraph is another attempt for writers to learn to fly.
The other day, I was talking to a close friend, telling her I can’t expect many views because I’m not selling a product. Therefore, the SEO strategy should be different. She looked at me momentarily as if waiting for me to say something.
“The product you are selling is you. So, in this case, you have cornered the market; you are unique and exclusive.”
I look at this question and laugh. I know it isn’t intended to be funny, but it is. I don’t have a clue how to answer this question. Perhaps if I approach it in reverse. I know what makes a bad neighbor. I’ve had a few of those over the years. The kind of people who complain about the length of your grass. The polite suggestion of adding a coat of paint to your house.
However, I have neighbors bring baked goods to welcome my family to the neighborhood. I never trusted the sentiment. Perhaps, it’s my inability to understand the merits of strangers knocking on my door with a casserole. If you want to win me over, let’s start with a chocolate cake, a minimum of two layers. My wife asked once, “What kind of cave were you brought up in?” I looked at her before speaking. This time, I actually considered my response.
“It was quite nice. Quiet, low light, and no neighbors bringing random casserole. Honey, you know I don’t do random casserole.”
She looked at me momentarily with a smile slowly creeping to the corners of her face. She did her best not to laugh. There was even a flash of annoyance, but it didn’t hold. She walked away, muttering something about, “How crazy I can I be?”
As a kid, I spent hours watching a TV show, “The Man from Atlantis,” starring Patrick Duffy. This show was before he rose to fame as “Bobby Ewing” on the iconic drama Dallas. It was a horrible television show I barely remember. However, do remember spending time at the local swimming pool trying to mimic his swimming style. Now, I didn’t have much success in this endeavor. A fact I chalked up to me not being an Atlantean. I went to my mother and explained my plight. “Boy, you are crazy,” she replied as she shrugged on her coat, heading off to work.
Here’s a clip from the Man from Atlantis
I decided to give my explanation another try with my grandmother. She didn’t even respond. Well, not in a way I was accustomed. She sat me down for what would become one of the few shows we enjoyed together. I didn’t understand most of the show, but I thought it was cool. Swimming around underwater and whatnot is precisely what I will do when I grow up. Who needs superpowers or any of that stuff. Deep sea exploration was where it was at.
Here is Mimi’s show we shared together.
I hadn’t thought about any of this stuff for years. I’m almost ashamed when I think about how I jumped from career to career. But that’s what we do when we are young. We try out different opportunities before settling on a career that will last us a lifetime. Provide us fulfillment and joy. A career that, when we retire, we know our efforts made a difference.
Wow! I’m sorry, I have no idea where that bullshit came from. I guess since I was feeling nostalgic, it opened a portal to memories of people feeding me that line as they clearly wanted to be someplace else. I didn’t have the snark to call it on them then. It’s okay if I ever finish the time machine in my basement. I have enough snark now to handle the situation appropriately. Yep, I wanted to be a deep sea explorer and have all the cool toys. I would try it now if I was healthy enough and had a shot. Why the hell not!
Sometimes, the day just sucks. That’s how it is. No amount of positive affirmations can wipe away the stench of the day. Politics instead of actually doing something that matters. We can’t actually help some one. We play the role of helping and wait for the smiles of gratitude for your faux assistance. You drown in a vat of your own contempt.
A woman walking the halls we like she owns the place. Not because she is being rude or commanding, but because we are willing to give here whatever she needs. You don’t have an option, its just the right thing to do. I watch the plastic people trip over themselves and I continue watching, wondering …What I have to do?
I’ve always felt that people who do things as a matter of principle are full of crap. Typically, I’ve found they will remain steadfast with whatever the principal absence of any logical evidence. I don’t think they mean to do this intentionally, at least not right off. Sometimes, I feel they get caught up in the need to be right. Perhaps it is the fear of being wrong. Whichever the case, I find the result illogical to the point of insanity at times.
Most of us live by a set of rules, standards, or codes established based on a series of events that have occurred in our lifetime. Everyone has different standards because we process things differently. The crazy thing is that the standards we set change over time. Some things no longer have the Importance they once had. In these circumstances, we sometimes have difficulty accepting the changes. Honestly, accepting the changes is a demon most people face in various situations. Nobody is expecting you to admit this, not at all. Because denial is our next favorite thing.
Some common principles that people live by include:
Honesty: Being truthful and sincere in all interactions. This principle emphasizes the importance of transparency and trustworthiness in our dealings with others. It involves speaking the truth, keeping promises, and acting with integrity.
Respect: Treating others with kindness, dignity, and consideration. Respecting others means valuing their opinions, beliefs, and boundaries. It involves listening attentively, being open-minded, and refraining from judgment. By showing respect, we create a positive and inclusive environment for everyone.
Integrity: Acting in alignment with one’s values and moral principles. Integrity is about doing the right thing, even when no one is watching. It involves being honest, ethical, and accountable for our actions. We build trust and credibility in our personal and professional relationships by practicing integrity.
Responsibility: Taking ownership of one’s actions and obligations. Being responsible means fulfilling our duties and commitments. It involves being reliable, punctual, and accountable for the consequences of our choices. By being trustworthy, we demonstrate maturity and contribute to the well-being of our communities.
Compassion: Showing empathy and understanding towards others. Compassion involves recognizing and alleviating the suffering of others. It involves being kind, caring, and supportive. By practicing compassion, we foster connection and promote a more compassionate society.
Perseverance: Persisting and staying committed in the face of challenges. Perseverance is about not giving up when faced with obstacles or setbacks. It involves staying focused, motivated, and resilient. By practicing perseverance, we can achieve our goals and overcome adversity.
Gratitude: Appreciating and expressing thankfulness for what one has. Gratitude involves recognizing and acknowledging the blessings in our lives. It involves being thankful for the people, experiences, and opportunities that enrich our existence. We cultivate a positive mindset and enhance our overall well-being by cultivating gratitude.
Forgiveness: Letting go of resentments and granting forgiveness. Forgiveness involves releasing anger, bitterness, and grudges towards others. It consists in choosing to move forward and free ourselves from negativity. By practicing forgiveness, we promote healing and create space for personal growth.
Generosity: Sharing resources, time, and kindness with others. Generosity entails giving without expecting anything in return. It involves being selfless, compassionate, and supportive. By practicing generosity, we contribute to the happiness and well-being of others.
Humility: Recognizing and accepting one’s limitations and imperfections. Humility is about having a modest and humble attitude towards oneself. It involves acknowledging that we are not perfect and being open to learning from others. We foster humility, respect, and collaboration in our interactions by embracing humility.
These are only a few examples of the types of principles we use to define ourselves. I use a combination of some of these principles in varying degrees. I think it is crucial for me to do my best to be true to the person I strive to be.
Sometimes, it’s difficult to decide what things have the greatest priority. Everyone has so many things going on in their lives the only thing we can seem to do is breathe. Sometimes, we can only take quick and shallow breaths. Despite my daily tasks, my primary priority must always be doing all it takes to make a difference. I concede this priority is challenging, and perhaps I should choose a smaller task. One easier to complete, but this isn’t how I roll. It never has been.
When I wrote full-time, my writing team constantly accused me of procrastinating. We created several blogs, writing workshops, and countless other writing-related things during this time. Due to this, I wondered why they would say such a thing. I admit I might have been a little wounded. Just a tad. Then, one day, my senior editor had a conversation with me. If I’m being honest, it was more scolding. I felt like a child in the corner, sucking my thumb. Ready to blurt out, “I’m sorry, and I will never do it again,” at the proper moment. You know, timing is everything when it comes to apologies.
It wasn’t about everything we had accomplished; it was a single question about one thing. I hadn’t done. She wanted to know why I hadn’t finished my novels. She had every right to question me; I was writing a novel when we met. I couldn’t answer her then, nor can I answer her now. Worst of all, I have no answers for myself. Oh, I’ve several excuses for not finishing. However, none of them had any iron. It was like there were empty promises we tell ourselves in the moments of doubt. Despite this, since my reemergence, I have continued to write. My progress has been slow, as each sentence brings me closer to finding my way.
Recently, she expressed her delight in my bringing new light to some old stories in the archives. So, she hasn’t been giving me a hard time lately. I’m incredibly grateful to my imagination and Ursula, my muse, for assisting. She can be a pain in the ass when she doesn’t get her words. It’s a whole story by itself. I don’t have a reason why I have finished writing my novels, but I’m writing again. Right now, that must be enough. What I do know, it feels good to be writing again. I feel stronger than I have in some time.
Some of my close friends may say I’ve never grown up. It’s almost like I’m clowning around all the time. Then, a group of my closest friends entertain the thought I was born old. A small faction questions whether or not I was born fully grown. I must admit there is a lack of any photographic evidence proving my suspected childhood.
I contend I have an old soul. Yes, let’s go with that phrase. I fondly remember several elders in my childhood using it, referring to me. With this, I conclude that I must have routinely conducted myself well beyond my years. As such, I can’t put together a confirmed time when I first felt like a grown-up. I say it wasn’t the time I kissed a girl or anything. In fact, I don’t even consider when I first entered the military as an adult. I certainly do adult things, but whether I was a grown-up, nah!
However, I was in the military when the haunting moment of adulthood crept into my psyche. Something about facing your mortality tends to snap the child right out of you. It wasn’t the first time, but several events happening in 12 months did the trick. So, there I was, living in another part of the world, trying my best not to take anything seriously. Then, BOOM! It happened I was a grown-up.
Manu Jenkins and Maury Lawrance faced off back in the 1950s. This face-off changed how things were at The Paradise drive-in. Manu Jenkins, “Jinxy” people called him, and Maury weren’t gang members, just guys who couldn’t back down. Only to find themselves in a situation that lasted a lifetime. This face-off leads to the development of the neutral zone. The neutral zone is no gang activity at the drive-in. Anyone caught fighting at the Paradise was banned for life. That was the law of the land for as long as anyone could remember.
According to Jinxy, “The Paradise” was the only place in town where you could walk around without anyone beating you senseless. Old Lonnie Lawrence, Maury’s father, had everything: swings, slides, cotton candy, and make-out spots. Jinxy nudged me with his elbow, smiling. “That’s where I met my sweet Pearl.” He said, staring off as if trapped inside a memory. Then, finally, he leaned back and smiled. I wondered if he was watching the movie from that night. Praline Madsen “Pearl” was his wife of forty years before going home to glory. Jinxy didn’t make it to the following fall. Jinxy and Pearl, PaPa and Nanna, seemed to me to be a love story, exactly like one that played at “The Paradise.”
Forty years later, My little brother, Trey, wanted to see a double feature playing there this weekend. Bruce Lee’s Chinese Connection and The Game of Death. I was 17, and hanging out with your 12-year-old little brother when you were supposed to be chasing tail wasn’t ideal, but I loved Bruce Lee just as much as he did. To get to the “Paradise,” we had to cross enemy territory. The Paradise may have been the neutral zone, but the surrounding neighborhood wasn’t. I knew the 6th Ave boys owed me a few beatings for jumping a couple of them when they got caught in my neighborhood. Trey didn’t know anything about my part in the beating, but he had witnessed a few as they happened.
“Moe?”
“Yeah, Trey.”
“Why are they beating that man? What did he do?”
“Nothing, Trey … Just in the wrong place; wrong time…you know?”
What’s a topic or issue about which you’ve changed your mind?
DAILY PROMPT RESPONSE
It isn’t easy to change a person’s mind once it’s been set. It’s a matter of principle, I suppose. Some may call it stubbornness. These words are thrown about when we have questions like these. I was brought to believe I mustn’t be afraid of anything. There is no way you should be scared. Especially if you’re a man. Men must be fearless. We are celebrated for bravery and courage. As a man, we know there will be times when we may experience fear, but we mustn’t allow it to consume us.
Throughout my life, I witnessed several men plunge into danger for the sake of the appearance of bravery and courage. These situations diminish with age. Yet, what I come to discuss today isn’t the outward expression of bravery and courage, but I want to talk about when we need to internalize those traits to battle the most brutal enemy we will ever face: ourselves.
As a man of a certain age, we were taught to be tough. For me, this meant I swallowed my emotions. I mustn’t express any feeling that wasn’t acceptable. I did this rather well. At least, I believed this until the things I buried began to rear their ugly heads. I’ve made several posts where I mentioned battling demons or my monster. It’s easy to believe I have something inside of me that I can fight and possibly defeat one day. The tricky thing is to admit these demons and monsters are a part of me. It’s even harder to admit I’m a part of them.
In the aftermath of the unintended consequences of my errors in judgment. I realize and believe it’s okay to be afraid.
I sighed heavily as I sat down to partake in a meal scarcely worth the coin. This meal is just another example of something we have little control over. I was eating because you’re supposed to, not because I was hungry. We are creatures of habit, products of routine, drones of a cosmic age. Moments ago, the sun was beating on the back of my neck, warming my entire being, As I sat alone in silence, lost in thought, waiting. Unsure what was to come. Yet, I sat waiting. I open my notebook.
It’s incredible what one hears in the silence. In this world, there isn’t any silence, not really. The noise is deafening, televisions blaring, but no one is listening. Humanity seems lost in the world of tiny screens and wrapped in the lives of make-believe. We are judging reality with contempt for having the nerve to be unfilling. We are having conversations that we aren’t paying attention to. Only to become offended for being misunderstood. We are spending our time poking fun at the unfortunate. Secretly, thankful we aren’t them.
It’s funny how one can never control when the words come or what they truly mean. We write and write until the movement has passed. Now, the once empty page; full. Turning the page, waiting for the next word to appear from the nothingness. Waiting for magic!
Throughout most of my life, I have been a detail-oriented person. I suppose I been this way due to a fear of making a mistake. I’m unsure if I realized that fact before I sat down to write this post. However, if success is to had by examing the merits of today’s prompt; honesty is paramount.
What I find peculiar about this whole affair is that I usually don’t miss a thing. All my bases are covered. My backup plans are worked out and in place. I habitually have a contingency for most situations I find myself involved in. So typically, the answer to questions like these is “I’ve squared away.” However, being squared away today is the furthest from the truth than it has been in a very long time.
I’ve mentioned in several posts I have been experiencing some health issues. With this comes a series of lifestyle changes. I’m not exactly pleased by this development and tend to demonstrate the “fuck it” attitude. However, my circles of friends, or better yet, the family I have chosen, have made abundantly clear they are seconds from kicking my butt if I don’t start taking things seriously. I’ve been on this earth long enough to recognize when the threat is real.
So what does all this actually mean? I need to make the appropriate changes to my lifestyle. I need to use my ability to sweat the details to ensure I doing it the right way. I do this for myself and no one else. Well, that’s the right thing to say, yet there is truth and iron in these words. However, it isn’t lost on me that, My family and friends would appreciate my presence as long as possible. There’s nothing better than love felt from your people. Plus, I’m getting a little too old to take a beating.
When considering today’s prompt I think about all the things I cram into my head regularly. I’m passionate about learning new things that interest me. I believe I have always been this way or at least, as far back as I can remember.
My mother called me a “curious little fella.” She had these eyes that summed you up in a glance. So, there was no use lying to her. Just, tell it straight. It was better for anybody in the end. She brought a bunch of those Curious George books. Wow, do you remember those things? I read them a couple of times.
Then came the dictionaries and then the encyclopedias. I spent hours reading and scribbling in my spiral notebooks. Here is the funny thing I can remember a single thing I learned from reading those books. I must learned a great deal, obviously. Yet, I can’t remember a moment reading them where the light bulb in my mind lighted up.
My ability to absorb information and apply information has served well in over the years. However, this ability comes with a cost. Sometimes heavier than others, but a cost none the less. My obsessive nature for learning, causes stress and anxiety. To look at me, I display no outwards signs, I assure you I’m emotionally compromised.
This attitude of mine has taking its toll on my mind, body, and spirit. With all this, the skill I need to learn: is the ability to relax. I know that sounds easy enough, but its not.
Daylight slipped into the darkness. The streets have begun to empty. People have started to enter the safety of their homes. A mother is sipping a cup of tea after a hard day’s work. A father making dinner for his children and a sister reading a story to her brother before bedtime.
Hoyt Curtis sits in the dark, staring at nothing in particular. A disassembled .45 ACP on a table in front of him. He and his .45 never met a problem they couldn’t solve. At least, that’s what he would tell himself every time it pointed at its target. However, the truth is it caused far more problems than it ever solved. A picture of his family lay on the window sill. A family that walked away from him 10 years ago. That’s when his wife had reached her limit. The man she loved and became someone else.
Hoyt couldn’t blame her. It was true. The safest thing was for her children to leave. His demons were taking over. They had taken up residence in the front room of his mind. The bastards had the nerve to put their feet on his hand-carved Italian coffee table. He believed his family was better off without him. It was his job to keep them safe, even if it was from him.
It’s foggy outside, but I’ve never been clearer I’ve failed you in the worst possible way I became something other than what I needed to be I felt I needed to be something other than who I am If the failure to you isn’t bad enough, the greatest failure of all is to myself .
Which topics would you like to be more informed about?
PROSE – RANDOM THOUGHTS/REFLECTION/MINI-RANT
I’m always studying something. Constantly scribbling in my notebooks about whatever strikes my fancy. I scribble so much that I spend an enormous amount of money on quality notebooks. No way, I lower myself to use a regular notebook. So what do I do? I discovered how to make my own notebooks. Yay, for me and my ridiculous obsessions.
However, in light of my current health status, I believe I don’t have a choice but to research my conditions. So, let’s take a look.
Hypertension – precisely the long-term effects of uncontrolled hypertension. What are the possible holistic techniques for controlling it?
Insomnia – I have suffered from this condition for years. Perhaps a deeper understanding of the condition will assist in its elimination or minimalization.
Sleep Deprivation – results when one has been an insomniac for decades; who knew?
Gardening – Vegetables, herbs, and sunshine.
I’m looking to discover the wonders within these topics. I have already written two articles concerning sleep disorders.
Will you remember me when your famous? It is so lovely for you to say so, but I know that you wont. To be honest, I would probably forget me too. So experience, conquer, and live shamelessly.
You see I know that I am nothing more than…. A whisper of a stranger A smile from a fond memory We all know that memories wither and fade
So I add another log onto the fire of life Every so often I poke it To see the spark, hear the pop, and feel the warmth While I sit in admiration and silence …
Name the professional athletes you respect the most and why.
PROSE – OBSERVATION
Regarding professional athletes, we as a society tend to look at them singularly. I never understood why that is, but only to say primarily, I wasn’t any different. However, I’ve read articles telling the exploits of some of these athletes. I cannot name all things done, but I can highlight a few things that have caught my eye.
Nice
Sweet
Four Icon’s
In the above photo, we have NFL legend Jim Brown. He’s featured with Fred Williamson, Jim Kelly, and Richard Roundtree. In their own right, each of these gentlemen justifies the use of the word legend. Probably, they were photographed together because of the filmOne Down, Two to Go (1982), in which they starred. Let’s take a moment to discuss these men.
Jim Brown(1936 – 2023) was an NFL legend who played from (1957 – 1965). Brown is considered one of the best running backs of all time. My introduction to Jim Brown is through his movies. I remember watching his films, but I was unaware he was an athlete then. My uncle sat me down for a long talk about “black heroes” in America. The only thing you can do during one of those talks is keep your mouth shut and nod at the appropriate times. It took a few years to get my timing down, but I eventually got it down cold. I could talk forever about Jim Brown, but this is one last thing I want to point out. Jim Brown had a love scene with Raquel Welch. RESPECT.
Fred Williamsonwas a former professional football player from (1960 – 1967). I discovered him in a B-Movie martial arts film with Cynthia Rockroth. He was the definition of confidence for me at the time. He was just cool. Later, I found he starred in the Blaxploitation films of the seventies. I remember watching many of those films with my aunt. Where I had to sit there in complete silence under the threat of banishment if I opened my inquisitive mouth. A tradition I passed along to my children. I’m happy to see they continued the tradition.
Jim Kellyto me was the ultimate martial artist. Perhaps because I could identify with him. To have a serious set of skills in the arts, but ridiculously cool. Earlier, this year, I wrote a post called Bruce Lee Saved my Life where I mention Mr. Kelly and he influenced my studies in martial arts, which ultimately assisted in shaping my life. I didn’t have the opportunity to grow an afro like he had, but I embraced the improvisation approach to martial arts. Well, at least I tried. My sensai wasn’t having none of that.
Richard Roundtree is the only one pictured who isn’t a professional athlete. Mr. Roundtree became the titular character of the 1971 screen adaptation of Ernest Tidyman’s Shaft. His portrayal of John Shaft has lasted over fifty years. There were 5 films and a short-lived television series. There were seven episodes. Mr. Roundtree was the epitome of cool among my friends. Leather jackets, turtlenecks, and afro were a fashion staple. Thank goodness sideburns were out of fashion before I could grow them.
As a child, I grew up watching Muhammad Ali destroy his opponents. He talked so much trash. I remember some people used him as an example of arrogance and conceit. I told some of the older gentlemen playing checkers in the park. They responded, “Yeah, and he can back it up.” Though I always had profound respect for his athletic prowess, I realized I didn’t know much about the man. If I’m being honest, I still don’t. However, I read an essay discussing a moment in Ali’s life. I found a different sort of respect. I began to respect the man as well as the athlete.
Kareem Abdul-Jabber Earlier this year, I wrote a review about an essay Kareem Abdul Jabber wrote. This essay has a story about an event involving him, Bill Russell, Jim Brown, and Muhammad Ali. Here is a link to the early post: The Knucklehead Report #5. As a basketball player and the shortest center in the game, I watched much of Kareem’s style of play. Mostly, he had court poise, which I was seriously lacking.
I hear your laughter as I write this. I hear the sound your disdain makes as it oozes from your lips. Who I am isn’t enough to satisfy you. Who I am is nothing more than a source of laughter. Certainly, nothing to be respected or loved. I knew who I was when we met. Somewhere along the way, I began believing I was more than I am. If you think about it, the notion is rather pathetic. I realize and accept dealing with me was something done in desperation, something done as a last resort.
I don’t have to guess why this occurred. There is a preponderance of evidence. Yet, my denial is commodious. Foolishly, I opened my heart, knowing I had nothing to offer. I’m a destroyer of love on so many levels; what right do I have to be loved. I suppose, in a way, I’m a selfish jerk who forgot what they had done. Do you believe in fate? Do I have the strength to pull the trigger? Do I have the courage to accept the truth as it stares right in my face?
Standing listening to the whispering darkness as they perforate the perpetual silence. I taste the blood of the wounds neath my scars. I bathe in the memories of the delusion of us I created. I remember your smile, and for one second, I’m hopeful. I wish I could write away the pain of truth. But I have never been that good.
Your silence speaks the truth…
Yet I believe in the lie, it’s safe. Its warmth is soothing like only a lie can do. I wanted to be there for you. I wanted to be someone you could count on. However, your expression speaks the unspeakable. Still, I sit letting the thoughts free flow. I swallow the tears of beautiful lies. I’m praying somewhere in between delusion and reality there is something there. Something telling me I haven’t been lying to myself all this time.
Whatever it is; I’m accountable. I must be strong despite myself. I used to be afraid of the light and noise. Now I must embrace …
It’s ridicolous to ask a writer to choose their favorite word. I’m sure many of us have one, but to call us out. Is that even cool?
Of course, it isn’t. So, I’m going to pretend you didn’t even pose such an absurd query. What’s that now? Let’s not waste time with such foolishness.
It was the sixties, I made my entrance with a bang, if I so myself. We listened to peculiar jiggles that were designed to attach themselves to whatever portion of the brain that allow you to forget it. I wish I knew the name of it, perhaps, I wouldn’t have forgotten her name.
It started with this nonsense
Somewhere along the way, words become essential. Yeah, of course, words are important. They are how we communicate. Perhaps the word I’m looking for to explain better the intensity I’m trying to convey. Should I pull out my dictionary and thesaurus?
It’s hard to concentrate because there aso many wonderful words to choose from. I guess I need to speak plainly. I became obsessed with words. I badgered my mother into purchasing a dictionary larger than my head. She finally relented and brought the dictionary with my first journal.
I hadn’t heard of a thesaurus when I started my quest to learn every word. A student teacher, whose name I forgotten, began to explain about the dictionariers mythical companion. She smiled with her eyes and her eyes were the kindest I can remember seeing. She also discussed Schoolhouse Rock with me.
My Secret Superhero
Looking back, I don’t she was very old. At the very least she was still in touch with her inner child. Her guidance helped shaped the writer I eventually became. I just wish I could remember her name.
Write about your most epic baking or cooking fail.
PROSE – RECOLLECTION
I’ve been cooking ever since I was about eight years old. I’m not a chef, but I can hold my own in the kitchen. I often find myself complaining about the local cuisine. So much, my lady questions me every time I get takeout. Plus, there have been some mishaps concerning my dietary restrictions. So, she believes to resolve these issues is to cook at home.
Now, did I ever tell you about when I tried to add MRE’s dishes to my menu?
My main food source for years.
Meals Ready to Eat (MRE) has been a source of rations for the military for a number of years. I and several others have learned to make these meals taste a little better than how they come out of the package. If you look online, I’m sure you find thousands of recipes. When I started eating these, there was a different package, and I don’t remember there being a heater. There may have been one, but I honestly can’t remember.
We learned to eat a lot of meals cold. My unit was on the move, and cold meals became the standard. When we were able to stay stationary, we heated things up. However, this wasn’t very often.
So, I got married, had kids, and all that. The kids wanted to know what I ate while I was away. So I brought a few home and told them about them.
Over time, you learn which meals contain the different sides. Apple vs. grape jelly, peanut butter or cheese spread, things like that. Obtaining the ingredients and getting the portions correct can be a delicate process. We had all the ingredients. Then, we started putting everything together when my pager went off. I hurriedly gave my middle daughter the instructions, grabbed my go-bag, and headed out the door. As I walked out, she repeated everything to me, and I assured her she had it down. She did, except for one thing. Heat.
I returned a month later, but I never did get the full story of what happened. I was summarily banned from the kitchen. It took decades before I was granted access to the kitchen on a provisional basis. I thought the whole affair comical; being blamed for something, and I wasn’t even there. Honestly, I think me leaving in the middle of fun time with the kids with the problem.
I beleive its important to point out I’m some pansy running boo-hooing. However, acknowledging the presence of tenderness or innocence displays reserves of strength that can’t be adequately described in words. I know I been trying for years. Yet, I suppose one of you may have come up with something by now.
When I close my eyes thinking of innocence, I have a moment of return. I was child running through the snow. On my way to no place in particular. The idea of freedom after the storm was enough. Soon, I’d run into a friend and another random child exploring freedom.
We’d play until our fingers were numb. Because everybody knows waiting any further, you know, waiting until they start to ache. It was bad enough to sit from the oven with your fingers stretched out. They ache, hell that wicked pain. The kind of pain that brought tears to your eyes. There’s no shame in it. We weren’t old enough to understand that kind of foolishness.
Some day, not long from then, we were introduced to foolishness. We stopped expressing our feelings. We swallowed them like they were a plate full of double cheeseburgers. We just shovel them down one after another. I suppose that’s the price of manhood. Well, at least it was that way when I come up.
I miss the age of innocence because life tends to rip it away unexpectedly. Leaving you standing there with a gapping hole where innocence l
Or an error in judgment. Me thinking I was going to live forever. Me, thinking my body was going to remain in its current state. Somehow, I believed I was tougher than I am. I remember making fun of the older generation when I was younger, saying stupid things like, “That will never be me!” In some ways, I was correct, and in others, I was utterly wrong. It turns out I am worse. Some of those folks are still around. They look at me with those tired eyes that have seen far too much. Yet, there is an understanding behind them. This understanding, a nod, and a slight smile welcomed me to a group I never thought I deserved to be a member of.
Here we are, three weeks into it. My life changed forever. I have to make some adjustments in how I do things. That ought to be fun. I have new prescriptions, new doctors, and new challenges. I never much thought about dying. I figured it was one of those things that came in the night without warning. You know, the reaper sneaking up on you because he was too much of a punk to face you head-on. Turns out the reaper is no punk.
So, this evening, I sit writing about the madness I’m in the middle of. I’m thinking about how foolish I’ve been. I’m thinking about how it began as a mistake. How I wish I could tell my parents, I got it. It makes sense now. I just hope they read my blog wherever they are. I’m thinking about how I had my whole life to prepare for this moment and why aren’t I ready? Yeah, the shit just got real!
REO Speedwagon’s Ridin’ the Storm Out sets the tone for the morning. I’ve no idea what going on, but I feel like writing. Of course, this happens while I’m at the office. Ursula, my muse, is sitting here in the office like she is a client or something. Knowing, damn well she’s being a pain in the ass.
She’s looking me pouting as I type these words, like there is heat in them. She knows if she keeps whispering, I’m going to write a story or a bit of prose.
Really? the twirling the hair thing? It’s like that?
She smiles and snaps her fingers
Malcolm Young playing rhythm …
Here comes Angus’s power chord … shit
I look over at Ursula and her eyes are sparkling and her hips begin to sway as Bon Scott begins to do his thing.
I sit here trying to fight off the tremors that come every time I hear this song. I know there is no use, but its adorable I try.
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.
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
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 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.
Memoirs of Madness 