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.
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.
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.
Yesterday, when I was working on the post, Bedlam & Mayhem, I had no idea what was going on in the world at the time. I met a woman once who talked about the world being connected by what she called vibrations. At the time, I was too young to understand what she meant by the statement.
I’m unsure if I understand the statement now. I must admit when I encounter things that fall in this category. Let me be clear: I’m referring to when you feel strongly about a subject and write something about it. Whether or not you publish your thoughts about the subject. The important thing is writing about a subject that’s happening, and you have no prior knowledge of its occurrence as you write. This reminds me of the title of Norman Mailer’s book on writing called “The Spooky Art.”
Honestly, this has happened more than I care to admit. I don’t have any special powers or anything like that. find it peculiar you can write about something so moving, and it’s actually happening. It’s almost like every story is waiting to be heard. If you allow me to be a little more hippie-dippy for a moment, I remember hearing once that magic still exists, but we as people forgot about it and forgotten how to tap into it.
After some research, I discovered there had been a mass shooting in over seven major cities over the past weekend. I don’t have the words. Perhaps we can start with spooky. For both the events and the writing about them.
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.
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 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?”
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.
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.
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.
For most of my children’s lives, I was a soldier doing what was required for God and country. Because of this fact, I’ve always felt they didn’t have the father they deserved. This feeling didn’t stop there. I also felt their mother should have picked a better man to build a family. I didn’t feel this way because of anything my girls had done or said. It was just me looking back over things. I wouldn’t change my decision to marry their mother. I just wish I was around more. Yet, I always asked her to kiss the girls for me.
I can certainly say with confidence the hardest job I have ever had has been being a father of daughters. I often wondered if God was trying to get me back for my youthful indiscretions. I learned as much from them as they learned from me. They have made me a better man than I could have been without them. They had to endure a moody stoic who would rather write down his thoughts than verbalize them. A man suffering from a condition I didn’t know existed.
Despite this you still love me, so on this day National Daughter’s Day, I thank you for your assistance in making me a better version of who I am. I apologize for not having the courage to get help sooner. I love you, and you must never doubt this …
Today’s been a good day. There were a few moments where I felt like crap, but they were temporary. Perhaps things are returning to normal. I’m a little fearful to say it aloud; I might jinx it. I was walking into the store to pick up a few items, and when I got to the register, I realized I wasn’t tired. Smiling, as I returned to my truck, I looked up and saw this strange sky.
I couldn’t help but wonder if this sky represented my current state. I spent the weekend listening to a lot of hippie-dippie stuff. I think this hippie-dippie stuff might be affecting my brain; someone give me a cigarette. That’s right I’m supposed to be quitting.
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 …
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.
Lately, I’ve become aware of the hazards of holding on to grudges. However, we can not ignore that they often are the catalyst that shape us into the people we are today. There is a darker side of holding on to grudges.
So, don’t hold on to them for they may eat you alive.
But, one must never forget the situations that cause them…and you gain the wisdom from them…..its 4am
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.
If you won two free plane tickets, where would you go?
PROSE – CHALLENGE
I’ve mentioned before I hardly take any time off. When, I do I typically don’t go anywhere. I sit at home and get lost in the pages of a good book. Yet the idea of winning tickets to go anywhere is tempting. Immediately, the old song of Eddie Money pops into my mind.
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
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.
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.
What change, big or small, would you like your blog to make in the world?
PROSE – INTROSPECTION
I completely misread this question. So, I spent the last few hours formulating an answer to a question that hadn’t been asked. I’m taken back a bit by my actions. I’ve ranted at great length about people’s responses about the things I say. Especially when they miss something or don’t allow me to finish my statement. To their defense, I’ll admit there are times I can be a tad loquacious. So, tuning me out may be a survival mechanism. I get it.
Over a decade ago, the trend was every writer needed a blog or website if they were serious about writing. I haven’t met any writer who wasn’t serious about writing. No matter the degree of skill or dedication, no writer wants to be excused for not being serious about the craft. I suppose there may be some. I haven’t met them, and I’m okay with that.
If you’re still reading, I know it’s taking a minute to get to whatever point I’m trying to make, but I’ll get there as soon as I can. I think the problem resides in the fact I wasn’t aware it needed to be anything more than what it is. However, now that it’s been brought up, let me work my way through this sticky wicky.
Now, I’m going to give a bit of history of Khan before he was Khan. If that even a thing? I dated a girl once, and I believed she was my girlfriend. I say I believe because when you’re a teenager, the girls set your relationship status. You have no say in the matter; even if you had something to say, I doubt they actually pay attention.
There was a lot of talking on the phone and promises made with the purest intentions. If I’m not mistaken, love might have been used on occasion. It was all quite innocent, really. Cute even, TV movie cute. I wrote her a letter, we did those things back then. We wrote down our thoughts and feelings, put them in an envelope, and mailed them. Then, waited on pins and needles, hoping their response was something favorable.
Her response wasn’t ideal by any stretch of my imagination, but what it did do was unlock Khan. For this, I’m indebted.
As it relates to the question…
What change or impact do I want my blog to make? This can’t be my focus. The change or impact of my blog has very little to do with me. My focus must be this…
My focus must be to write these feelings, ramblings, and rants. I’ve committed myself to sharing them. Their impact is beyond my control.
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…
How would you describe yourself to someone who can’t see you?
PROSE – RANDOM THOUGHTS/CHALLENGE
When I read this question, I thought about Raymond Carver’s short story “Cathedral”. I remember by the end of that story, I wondered who was really blind? The sighted man? Or the blind man? What doesn’t a sighted person really see? In so many regards, there is a tremendous world available to us, yet we limit ourselves to very little of it. As I write this I still wonder.
A physical description will do you no good. However, allow me to take a few moments to tell who I am, not what I look like.
I’m the one who broods silently in the corner. You know I will be there if needed, but I will not impede you. You get sense of my size by the depths of my breathing. You’ll get I’m a troubled man by my breathing tempo.
I tell you I live by a simple code, this may seem ludicrous, but it’s true. I will lie for another, yet I won’t lie for myself, despite the cost. I’ve lost everything, yet I’ve gained so much.
One who walks the halls of darkness, leads this troubled soul to the light.
For years, I acted a certain way because I thought that was the expectation. Sadly, I discovered no matter how you act or what you do, people will complain about something. By my rationale, if they’re going to complain anyway, you might as well be true to yourself as much as possible. I concede there are situations where being yourself is not the appropriate action. If you have no idea what I’m referring to, be thankful, and you are blessed.
Typically, health is addressed with a proper diet and exercise. I agree with this mindset overall. However, some things cause me concern. I feel every diet and exercise program should tailored to the individual. Yes, there are tried and true methods, yet we are different. So why should we attempt to place everyone in the same categories? I think we should be mindful of these things, developing a program for ourselves or others.
I tend to focus on the mental aspect of things: mind, body, and spirit philosophy. I have found consistently over several decades if I work to maintain a proper mindset, everything else falls into place. This state of being isn’t automatic; it’s consistent enough to keep using. I admit I fail miserably at times. We are human, right?
I remember attending the matinee and watching Bruce Lee do his thing. This fueled my newfound obsession with the martial arts. I learned about Jim Kelly. He was in one of Bruce’s movies. I was blown away. The whole “Black guy” doing karate thing. Then we had that song “Kung-fu Fighting,” just finished me off.
I never saw a video for this song until today…wow
What I learned from my studies is to exercise patience and restraint. I’ve considered this concept to be one of the keys to success in life. I found it works despite your social-economic standing. Over the years, I have heard a multitude of phrases or slogans covering various aspects of life. However, I have found patience and restraint provided the most significant measure of success overall. I am a self-proclaimed knucklehead and, at times, a jackass, so this hasn’t been the most effortless journey for me. Yet, I keep trying.
In conclusion, I feel a person’s mental and physical health are connected. I have to remember that. It’s such a simple thing. When I think about the numerous times I have lost sight of that, I feel idiotic. Yet, I maintain faith in this practice.
I have no future plans for traveling; I have entirely too much work to do. This place will fall apart without me. I said something similar to that to my lady during a conversation about me taking a break. Mind you, I was snapping over the slightest things and just an all-out pain in the ass. Now, my lady isn’t above giving me a good dose of what for if it calls for it. But that day, she simply reiterated her previous statement but put a little stank on it.
I caught the tone but went into a whole thing about my old truck not being road trip worthy. I thought it would end the conversation, and I could return to preparing for the next day’s work. Looking back, I wonder why I ever thought that reason was fly. It’s not like we started dating and we ridiculously understanding about everything. Nope, we’ve been at this for a while, and then I received the patented, often lamented, you’re a jackass look.
Her response was simple, “You know there are such things as rental cars, right?”
It took me over fifty years to get to this moment. Some think I’m crazy to continue trying The ones who quit are somewhere lying & crying justifying the stories they feed themselves I guess that’s okay on some level As long as they lie like they mean it
Typically, while working at my day job. I listen to a book whether it be a short story, novel, or essay. I do this to assist in practicing my active listening skills. I listen to both fiction and non-fiction. I pay attention to the story, plot, and structure.
This habit also assists in writing. On breaks I sit and close my eyes. I try to create an image in my mind. I’ve found in incidents where I can’t create in my mind. I stopped the book and tried to create the scene on paper. This is a writing exercise I’ve found useful in my own writing.
I read somewhere if you can’t see; delete it. Since I started working on screenplays several years, I found advice to be quite accurate. Happy writing everyone. If you’re a different sort of creative type leave your techniques in the comments below. I’m interested in learning new things.
The pulled me the arms of my vision. I say vision because it felt than a dream. Nana always said if you can remember your dream, it was a premonition of what was to come.
I’ve lived long enough to develop and fine-tune my daily routine. I’ve lived long enough to have grown tired of said routine. So, you spice it up by changing your brand or flavor of coffee. Get your muffin from a different bakery. There are so many acceptable variations to the daily grind.
However, as we fine-tune things, we discover certain things that are acceptable variations under any circumstances. An example of most things concerning my cat, Sophie. Sophie really isn’t the hissing kind, so when she does, there’s trouble in Demark, as some folks say. Then she typically gives Ghost, the neighborhood cat, and swat with a calibrated hiss for effect.
Soph’s is a little perturbed because I switched to bargain cat food to save a little coin, but dealing with grief wasn’t worth it. I made matters worse by switching to a Jamicain blend of coffee. As it brewed, she sniffed the air, gave me a short hiss, and whined. So I dumped the pot and made her favorite.
You’re probably wondering why I would dump a perfectly good pot of coffee. I didn’t care much myself. I picked it up in the clearance basket right after I thought I caught a deal on the cat kibble. It appears I missed on both accounts. So, being quite pleased with myself, not, I belt out a healthy dose of expletives, capping it off with, “That’s that bullshit!” I continued muttering something under my breath, what I’m not sure, I’m always running my mouth, and no telling what passed these lips.
We do this routine every day. Coffee, curse, and repeat
In this world, everything is shiny and new in 5 easy steps. It is hard to see or understand what is real and what is fake. People can flash an award-winning smile without even thinking about it. It is almost second nature. To be clear, I’m not referring to the genuinely happy people. They are special and shouldn’t be confused with the others.
I’m also not talking about the people who we know are obviously fake. They are easily spotted; they have plastic smiles and spew prattle like its a lifestyle as if they get a few dollars off for the crap that comes out of their mouths. Only to be recognized at the end of the banquet hosted at HoJo’s. I heard it isn’t bad; the continental breakfast is to die for. I hear they have real eggs and fresh pastries.
I’m talking about the people we wouldn’t suspect. The people we trusted got to know and had over for cards. They have babysat your children and you theirs. They have been such a positive light in your life. If anyone were to say different, you have words. However, there are times when you discover something unnerving about them. Something so unsettling it’s simply unbelievable. Cognitive dissonance comes to mind when thinking about this scenario.
Cognitive dissonance is the mental discomfort that results from holding two conflicting beliefs, values, or attitudes. People tend to seek consistency in their attitudes and perceptions, so this conflict causes unpleasant feelings of unease or discomfort.
PROSE – RANDOM THOUGHT asked this question earlier in the week. I would have a list of things I’m an authority. I would have said it with a level of confidence, leaving you without doubt of my ability to perform or know whatever I said. Good thing I wasn’t asked earlier I’ve never been a fan of lying to people.
First, I would have rattled off being to your passions. Explore them with enthusiasm. Don’t hold back for a moment. When it’s all said and done, you can you did it right. Some would include having no regrets; they can shut up now. If you have no regrets, you ain’t doing right. Now, cut that shit out. It’s okay to be truthful; it’s okay to be authentic.
Secondly, Love Hard. I mean, give it everything you got, full throttle with 1000hp, baby! If you don’t understand the metaphor, put simply, if you love someone? Mean, that shit! Don’t half-ass a second. Trust me; you’ll regret it even if they break your heart and grind you into the sand, blow granules in your face. You will know you have done it right.
Alas, the question was posed much later. Although, I still firmly believe everything I previously stated. Damn straight! Every word! However, I’m no longer an authority in such matters. As of late, I’ve unwittingly become an authority on disappointment.
More precisely, the disappointment of others. I see their looks as I pass by. I hear the contempt in their voices when they utter my name. It isn’t something I set out to do. It just seem to happen.
So many things flood my mind when thinking about this question. I literally sat down and made a list. After laughing about the ridiculous nature of the things I listed. I remembered how I was as a young man. How every little thing pissed me off. The monster and I had reached puberty. It’s bad enough to deal with teenage emotion on its own. However, I had an accidental passenger, think Venom, from the comics and movies.
MTV had become a thing, and many evenings were spent listening to the music of the time. One of these nights, I heard a song that changed my life. Yes, I know how much that sounds like a cliche, but I’m serious. Elvis Costello was on the screen doing his thing. I’ve been a fan ever since. He accompanied me on every deployment. His music has gotten me through some tough spots. What does this have to do with the question?
The song that changed my life is “What’s so funny about (Peace, Love, and Understanding).” I understand it more and more as I get older. It’s not that the song has gotten better or changed; I did. I realize I have more peace, love, and understanding as I get older. I hope society gains more of this than I did.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way, not even close. What was she doing here? She knows the rules. Absolutely no distractions while I’m drafting a novel. But I was glad she was here. I needed to see her. I longed for her touch. Fuck that; rules are rules. Scam! I wanted to say but couldn’t.
Her gaze, her movement, and her presence were everything I needed. Every strife has begun to dissipate from being. My racing thoughts calmed, gently flowing and controllable. My God, where has she been? The hell with the rules. Finally, I was able to mutter.
What could you let go of, for the sake of harmony?
PROSE – RANDOM THOUGHT/ DAILY PROMPT
I constantly think the monster I reside within is in control of every decision I make. I’m aware this doesn’t make sense to most, but I will my best to have make sense. Before I’ve blogged about being my monster’s prisoner. However, in that post, I wasn’t exactly truthful. I didn’t exactly tell it straight. I played with words rearranged them for the sake of cleverness or for the sake of attempting of being cool.
The truth can be the hardest hammer known. Or touch with the gentliest touch. The gentle touch, part is something I read about somewhere. I’d would like to think it exists, but unfortunately it hasn’t been my experience.
Today, I realized something about myself. Accepting the truth of is one of the most painful things I’ve experinced in awhile. I’d like to walk upon a Djinn, so they could grant me three wishes. However, I only need one. I’d wish I could someone worthy of respect and be treated with dignity.
Yet, I know it. doesn’t work that way. I can’t rid of my monster side. Nor, can I even hid it. For it’s all that I am. I would gladly surrender it for the sake of harmony
It’s sometimes hard to come up with one name. To narrow down contributions to humanity to a single name. I have categories where people of history fell into. It’s an organizational thing, something I picked up from watching Sesame Street.
This is where it started. Now everything is a category. So to answer this question without driving myself completely crazy, I’ve chosen the writing category. Now my favorite across all forms, genres, and types of writing is Gwendolyn Brooks.
If you had to change your name, what would your new name be?
PROSE – SHORT FICTION /MAYBE?
Allow me to start here. Most of you have gotten to know Mangus Khan. It’s a little much, I know, at the start, but it kind of rolls off the tongue once you get used to it. However, I feel it may be time to reveal my true identity. My name is …
Before we move forward, let me provide some context to avoid confusion. I am an immortal.
As an immortal, I have lived for centuries and witnessed many events in history. I have gained knowledge and experience beyond what any mortal can imagine. I can see the way you’re looking at me. If I were you, I would looking at me in the same manner. I suppose you have watched some of those movies attempting to discuss immortality. No? let us assume you have seen at least one and allow me assure you my life has been that glamourous.
However, my immortality comes with a price. I have watched friends die. The chap the Raminez character was based on, he too, was an immortal. He loved life more than anyone my path has crossed. I was present the day … well, he crossed over. I died that day as well. You see, when I came back from the darkness I found my friend headless leaning against a stump. It was then I knew I was destined to be alone.
Yet, I was blessed and fell in love that year. Our love was forbidden and certainly unwise. When she crossed over I was broken. Yet, I remain unchanged. well at least outwardly. It can be a lonely existence at times, but I have learned to appreciate the beauty and wonder of life despite its fleeting nature and shattered heart.
Throughout my many years, I have seen the world change in countless ways. I have witnessed wars and revolutions, the rise and fall of civilizations, and the evolution of technology and culture. I have also seen the best and worst of humanity, from acts of kindness and compassion to unspeakable acts of cruelty and violence.
Despite all of this, I have remained a mere observer of history, a passive witness to the events that have shaped our world. It is only recently that I have decided to again take a more active role in shaping the course of history, using my knowledge and experience to make a positive impact on the world.
And that is where you come in. As an assistant, I am here to help you achieve your goals and make a difference in the world. Whether you are an individual seeking personal growth and fulfillment, or an organization working to make a positive impact on society, I am here to support you every step of the way.
So, let us work together to achieve greatness and make the most of our time in this world. What can I assist you with today?
There is something about taking a drive. A full tank of gas packed lunch, and your camera and notebook. It’s a sense of freedom; at least, that’s the phrase I’ll use as I sit here talking to you. I suppose it’s as good as any, to really explain this feeling I get when taking a drive. It’s a chance to explore, clear your mind, and, just for a moment, set aside the stresses of everyday life. And having your camera and notebook with you allows you to capture the magic.
There’s no better way to appreciate the beauty of nature and the world around you than to take a leisurely drive, at least I don’t know if any. Maybe one or two others come to mind if I think on it a spell. But, nothing beats a drive. Whether through winding country roads, along the coast, or through the mountains, a scenic drive can be a truly unforgettable experience. Let us not forget, a drive through the city after dark. Another side of life seems to come alive in the night; after dark. One must be careful you may see things you may never have known existed.
But it’s not just about the destination; it’s also about the journey. Taking a drive can be a chance to reflect on your life, think about your goals and dreams, and enjoy the present moment. It’s a form of self-care that can help reduce stress, improve your mood, and boost your creativity.
In fact, many writers, artists, and photographers have used driving to inspire their work. The freedom of the open road allows them to escape the distractions of everyday life and focus on their craft. And with a camera and notebook, they can capture their thoughts and ideas as they come to them.
But even if you’re not a writer or artist, taking a drive can still be a valuable experience. It’s a chance to unplug from technology, connect with nature, and appreciate the simple pleasures in life. And with the flexibility of driving, you can make the experience your own. You can stop at a roadside diner for a classic burger and fries, take a detour to visit a local attraction, or simply park by a scenic overlook and watch the world go by.
So next time you’re feeling stressed or overwhelmed, why not take a drive and see where the road takes you? You never know what new experiences, sights, and insights you may discover. Perhaps, a fond memory or recollection will be unlocked evoking a smile.
Here is a glimpse of my world in response to Pensitivity101“s prompt
Here are this week’s questions:
If you could reinvent yourself, how would you like to be? I wouldn’t change much about myself. Each success and failure has been a learning experience I’ve found them useful in a variety of situations. However, I think it would be nice to live without the nightmares.
Would you like to be a pet in your household? Yes, of course, I believe pets make us better. They can be messy, but the emotional support they provide is crucial. At least, it’s that way for me.
How many house moves have you had as an adult? I have moved a lot as an adult. A few countries and several states. I’m going to guess and say, maybe 15 times.
What was your favourite home? I don’t have a favorite home was whereever my wife and children were. It’s literally that simple for me. 
Gratitude: It costs nothing to be nice. You may even be remembered for it.
Harold Shea is an ordinary fellow, as fellows go. He has no grand stories about this girl or that girl. He is a simple chap who eats tuna on toasted rye. Harold and I are clerks at the Ministry of Useless Facts and Random Memories. A person becomes a clerk if they have a knack for remembering and cataloging trivial information. Our job is to sift through old documents and archives, searching for forgotten tidbits of knowledge that may one day prove useful.
Harold is a diligent worker, and he takes pride in his work. He always arrives early and stays late, poring over old manuscripts and dusty tomes. He has a particular fondness for historical trivia and, from time to time, found regaling his coworker Venus Milo with tales of obscure battles and forgotten rulers.
Despite his unremarkable nature and unassuming demeanor, Harold is a valuable member of our team. Without his tireless efforts, many of the useless facts and random memories that we collect would be lost to the sands of time.
Harold is also a kind and thoughtful person. He is always willing to lend a helping hand to his coworkers. Last week, for instance, one of our colleagues was struggling to find a particular piece of information for a project. Harold spent hours searching through old records until he found what she was looking for. He did all of this without expecting anything in return.
Despite his many admirable qualities, Harold is not without his quirks. For one thing, he can be a bit absent-minded at times. On more than one occasion, he has misplaced important documents or forgotten to submit reports on time. However, his forgetfulness is more than made up for by his enthusiasm and dedication.
Everything changed about six months ago. I came into the office, and everyone was in a tizzy. It isn’t like it was the first time the office was in this state. Harold usually got things in order rather quickly. However today, no Harold. He has never been late a day in thirty years. I tended to the disaster but never took my mind off what could have possibly happened to Harold. Then I was called into the Director’s office.
“Thank you for sorting out that dreadful mess.” said the Director
“It was nothing, Ma’am,” I replied.
“Harold?” She asked. I shrugged and walked out.
After stopping by Harold’s weekly for the next six months, I received a package at the Ministry. The package sat on my desk for another month before I remembered it. When I opened the package, there was a letter from Harold.
Dear Seamus, I know this package has been sitting on your desk for about a month. I’m well. Venus and I have retired and living in my favorite place. Do you remember? Of course you do, you don’t forget anything. I miss you, ole chap. I haven’t had a decent conversation in months. Perhaps, you can down and keep Venus and me company.
~H
Well, that rascal, I thought. I had no idea that he and Venus had a thing. Why wouldn’t he tell me?
I guess there are a lot of things to consider when you’re thinking about “Pulling the Pen.”
I wasn’t exactly sure what taglines meant. I looked it up and discovered it means catchphrase or slogan. Huh, ain’t that something.
So I asked a few friends what they would consider to be my catchphrase. Of course, when you involve humans everything becomes more complicated than it needs to be. After, listening to them chuckle to countless number of catchphrases I subject to blurt out at any moment. I decided I needed to change the question.
If you were eulogizing me, what phrase could you say that everyone would recognize?
Instantly, everyone I asked this question had the same answer. This confused me, surely I figured I would a bit of variety, right? Nope, they had the same answer. They also said it wasn’t so much what I had to say, but how I said it. It was even suggested that I write out my facial expressions so people could get a visual on the effects.
the number friend response is …
Kick Rocks!
I considered their response and asked, “Ahh, come again?”
What are the most important things needed to live a good life?
When it comes to living a good life, there’s really no correct answer to that question. It’s really a subjective matter that depends on the individual. Each individual defines what they consider a good life and what it takes to live it.
It seems like it’s a made-up phrase. A slogan found on a t-shirt or in a fortune cookie. As I sit here writing about this subject and you reading it, does this fit your definition of living a good life? Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it? It certainly feels good writing about it.
I’ve always been held to a higher standard. I’ve never been allowed to release the monster inside. Unbeknownst to the masses, their actions feed him, and he’s full. Due to the fact others don’t live by the standards they set. So, I sit here trapped in a case. For I’m my monster’s prisoner.
She could have been here; if she wanted. She could have been here; if it meant something. I knew her words were hollow when she spewed them; I heard their echo, such a haunting sound. Still, I hoped that I was wrong. I hoped what I heard was some psychotic break. Is there a sound you hear when this happens? Is it something dismissed, resolved, or mocked with six hundred dollars an hour, a sofa, and a pill? Yea, you know that shit that gets you hooked, but you need to believe you are free. So I sit here, waiting for the doorbell to chime, waiting to hear that familiar melody. The melody, which ends the silence, ends the loneliness. Yet the silence thickens, and the depths of loneliness have no bounds.
With a click, strike, and spark, the tobacco crackles as I take a drag to forget about the pain.
Yeah, she wanted me to get up and come running. She wanted me to stand in line like the others. Suitors plenty, but real men are few. She wanted me to be someone I had never been. She wanted to be someone; if she took the time to know me, she’d know I could never be. Yet, in her delusion, she wanted me to fall in line, like the wiry snake-eyed fellow whose lips were in a constant state of pucker against her gluteus maximus. Her leg would shudder when he kissed it just right. Often, I wondered if he was part fish, Bluegill. Trout?
Then there was the portly fellow whose clothes were two sizes larger than needed. An attempt to hide his predilection for Ho-Ho’s and Ding-Dong’s, but their melted remnants on his lapel and in the corner of his mouth told the tale. I couldn’t resist imagining him as Wimpy from the old cartoon; I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a Ding-Dong today. Since he was always eating them, I wondered how he pulled it off. But, of course, everyone knew he didn’t have a job.
Perhaps, I was the well-dressed fellow who would unleash this girlish giggle every time he hit the blunt. I couldn’t help but picture him in pigtails with pink ribbons in his mouth, chewing on the ends. He sported a five o’clock shadow like it was still something stylish. Maybe for some, but him not a good look. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was wearing socks with lace around the top. I do believe it would complete the look.
I exhale to relieve the strain. I exhale to let go. I exhale to be one step closer to the sanity to which I cling; I exhale.
But I wasn’t any of them. I was a man whose name was spoken in reverence barely above a whisper. There wasn’t a need to speak; people were satisfied with a nod. I know what it means to love a woman for your entire life and be the better. I know how it feels to grab hold of someone, and they grab you back. Never letting go, hearing what their eyes speak when their mouths fail utter a word. Our bodies trembling from its power, our souls quivering, like the Earth shaking beneath your feet. I know one can only get there with love and respect for one another. No plastic smiles, and hollow sentiments can take their place—an honor reserved for the special and the elite, Real men and women. For anyone else, your attendance is futile. Perhaps, one day she will understand. But I know what I really want to know. What has my curiosity stirring? How the hell did she ever get things so twisted?
I stub the cigarette out; the embers glow bright, then fade, and the smoke dissipates.
I know the answer. I had a momentary lapse of reason.
Perhaps I’ve reached an all-time low. I spent considerable time sending out a barrage of inbox marriage proposals. In these proposals, I removed the obligation of sex, hoping to sweeten the pot. I figured taking sex off the table would increase the number of acceptance. I figured surely one of these candidates would say yes, right? The next morning, my inbox was overflowing with responses. However, all I got in the inbox was filled with laughter.
I received several images of women’s reactions to my proposal. I even got a sexually explicit image with block letters informing me I would never get what was displayed in the image. Sitting back, thinking as I closed my laptop, the whole affair was rather hilarious—the idea of someone marrying a guy like me.
The first time I heard this phrase, I thought it fell into the hukum jazz people say. Yeah, but something about it grabbed hold of me. So, I sat down and let it speak. I felt ready with a pack of Luckies and a cup of java. I added a notebook and pen, just in case. Because you never know what will happen when you sift through fragments of random memories.
Taught to carefully example each fragment; I’m a dutiful student. I came up with the following:
The truth; the world is full of lies we are willing to accept.
Society acts as if we are okay when poverty is an addiction, and there’s rehab on every corner. Right next to the package store and across the street from the church.
On the bench at the bus stop was a man with a two-tone beard singing a melody of the Pretenders, Tom Petty, and ELO with a Gregory Issac flavor. A member of “the gap,” those who make too much money for benefits and not enough to live, stares straight into the madness of their existence.
Perhaps, Denial and Distraction are Huey Lewis’s new drug. Take a hearty dose of Denial, a familiar favorite, while waiting in line for the latest and greatest in distraction served happily in this free tablet.
Describe a decision you made in the past that helped you learn or grow.
A few months back, I was talked into something; if I had thought about I would have never done it. However, my lady has a way of getting me to do whatever. She simply shows me her elbows, and I’m putty.
She wanted me to increase my online presence. “It will be easy,” “Tweet a couple of things – make a couple of posts,” she said. Like I ordered a pizza with pineapples on one side or a cheeseburger with extra cheese. Though I was filled with skepticism, I relented. This time she gave me that enchanting gaze she used to get to kill a spider when we first met. Still putty. So I upped my Twitter game, regaining the followers I lost. I know this process is ridiculously simple, but it was only the beginning.
At the end of February, I breathed life into my blog and shifted things around on other sites. I discovered I needed to learn about marketing, SEO, trends, and all other things I didn’t believe mattered when working on a blog. As I researched blogging, most of the articles weren’t about writing. I found this to be odd, especially since some research was provided by writers.
This week marks just over sixty days of consistent blogging. I learned so much in the last 48 hours, not to mention the last 60 days. I can’t wait to see what adventures are in store. I’m having a wonderful time writing and growing as a writer and content creator. Man, it is hard work, yet very rewarding.
This has been one of the best decisions I have ever made.
I’ve concluded that arguing with negativity-oriented people–those who use creativity and rationale to consistently redirect focus back onto negativity–is a waste of time. Nothing you say or do will be good enough; the best you can do is temporarily quiet them with tangible results. Even then, they’ll eventually find a way to rationalize your efforts […]
Memoirs of Madness 