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
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.
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.
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.”
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?”
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!
When I look at questions like these, they are so simple on the surface. I answer them in a few short lines: a witty remark or snarky comment. The simple answer for me is my world be so quiet and peaceful. There is no constant notifications of sales on anti-virus software, no Cialis sold at cost, or the lonely mature women needing to be serviced who are waiting for you just a click away. There are no ads from Classmates.com urging you to reconnect with people you don’t remember or are desperately trying to forget.
I would sit back in my easy chair and recall life from a different time. Something so long ago, it sometimes feels like a fairy tale or bedtime story. I stayed up late with my flashlight, reading the latest installment of Conan. My auntie kept my supply stocked. I read them exactly once before stacking them neatly in a trunk. I’d hear my mother coming down the hall to ensure I was in bed. I’d quickly shift to my side and pretend to be asleep. My mother never bought my act but never called me on it. I returned the favor when my daughters would read Goosebumps and The Babysitters Club.
When my children were young, I would sit quietly, reading by the light of the fireplace. My dogs were nestled nearby. They looked as if they were asleep like the children, but they did a lot of pretending as well. Yes, these simplistic scenes are nice and pleasant as we look at this question on the surface. So, let’s be bold and take a peep into the abyss. Before we get started, let me put on a little mood music. Led Zeppelin’s In Through the Out Door will do nicely.
Let’s begin with the basic survival needs. My life without a computer would be dark, cold, hot, or anything else that occurs in the absence of electricity. A computer system manages the current power grid. No computer, no power, it’s that simple. With no electricity, my refrigerator and freezer would unthaw. My food supply would take a drastic hit. I couldn’t keep my medication at the proper temperature. So, it diminishes my survival chances with each second that ticks away.
You figured I could go to the store and purchase more food, right? Say the grocery store has a backup generator, so their products have survived. However, I couldn’t ring up my purchases because a class 2 laser reads the bar codes, and they feed information into what? That’s right, a computer. Let’s remember the use of electronic funds. We could go to the bank and get cash, but wait… the tellers use a computer to access your banking information…oops!
Soon, we would run out of gas, so there goes the backup generators. No? Well, a computer-assisted system runs the pumps of today. Not to mention, computer systems run all the refineries. Oh yeah, I forgot, computers also run the food processing plants.
Do you want to hear something strange? The things I listed in this post are just scratching the surface, like the question. Despite this, we can get a glimpse of how deeply computers integrate into our daily lives. Yeah, if things were that simple.
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.
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 .
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 …
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!
Share a story about the furthest you’ve ever traveled from home.
PROSE – REFLECTION
I wish I had a wonderful, delightful tale about this title, but I don’t. Unfortunately, I’m unable to offer the sorted adventure due to one fact. I don’t remember a thing from that night. I went so far as to ask friends for their account of the evening’s activity. Nothing!
The overall opinion of the everyone involved that night is the following:
“Man, I can’t tell you,” one said, as he shook head with I can only describe as look of shame on his face. I immediately thought the worst.
“Man, tell me.” I exhaled deeply squaring myself, “I can take it.” I assured him. He shook me off.
He sat there quietly for several minutes as if he were trying to decide if he was ready to be the herald of bad news. Then, slowly, he began his tale. Quickly, I realized what he was holding back had nothing to do with me.
As I talked to the rest of my buddies their tales were similar. One work up in a tree. Another in a ditch with a woman.
“Really, dude?” I asked. He just nodded
“Name?” I asked, he shrugged.
“Japan, huh?” he asked, I nodded
“Cool, you made out better than we did,” he said, looking up towards the sky as if it had some universal truth waiting to be discovered behind the clouds. I also found myself looking up, searching for what I imagined to be the same thing or some truth completely different. Neither, I can be certain about. Then I heard his voice bringing me back.
“You can’t remember anything, brother…blessing…no shame” he said.
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
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.
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…
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.
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.
Last night I dreamt of the innocence of writing before the hoopla, deadlines, word counts, etc., when we hurriedly crafted sentences in chalk on sidewalks before they got washed away in the rain. Good luck today; write clean, true, & honest ….it’s 5 am
So many things flood my mind when thinking about this question. I literally sat down and made a list. After laughing about the ridiculous nature of the things I listed. I remembered how I was as a young man. How every little thing pissed me off. The monster and I had reached puberty. It’s bad enough to deal with teenage emotion on its own. However, I had an accidental passenger, think Venom, from the comics and movies.
MTV had become a thing, and many evenings were spent listening to the music of the time. One of these nights, I heard a song that changed my life. Yes, I know how much that sounds like a cliche, but I’m serious. Elvis Costello was on the screen doing his thing. I’ve been a fan ever since. He accompanied me on every deployment. His music has gotten me through some tough spots. What does this have to do with the question?
The song that changed my life is “What’s so funny about (Peace, Love, and Understanding).” I understand it more and more as I get older. It’s not that the song has gotten better or changed; I did. I realize I have more peace, love, and understanding as I get older. I hope society gains more of this than I did.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way, not even close. What was she doing here? She knows the rules. Absolutely no distractions while I’m drafting a novel. But I was glad she was here. I needed to see her. I longed for her touch. Fuck that; rules are rules. Scam! I wanted to say but couldn’t.
Her gaze, her movement, and her presence were everything I needed. Every strife has begun to dissipate from being. My racing thoughts calmed, gently flowing and controllable. My God, where has she been? The hell with the rules. Finally, I was able to mutter.
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.”
Do you remember your favorite book from childhood?
The only thing I can remember about my childhood reading is the name of two books. Surely I read more; however, their titles escape me presently.
Encyclopedia Brown – Boy Detective (1963)
Though I can’t read anything significant about the book, I can remember my friends and me running around trying to solve mysteries. We had little notebooks filled with ciphers and observations. It was all quite innocent, really, perhaps a little comical even.
The Westing Game (1978)
I can’t recall whether or not I ever finished reading this book, but I remember enjoying the experience. Recently, I considered rereading the book to satisfy the gap in my memory. I’ve been thinking of revisiting some books from the past. I wonder if they will have the same effect they previously had.
Snowball fights and Snow Angels playing for hours, we never seemed to get tired. Never seemed to get cold. Our mothers told us to come inside and warm up.
There’s something about the winter
There’s a stillness that comes in the winter night the sir is crisp, it’s chill prickly Yet, there’s a peacefulness in the hush though we not know what lurks in the dark.
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.
I’ve spent most of my life conquering fear; at least, I thought so. As a child, we are taught to be tough and not be afraid of anything.
“Are you chicken?”
“What you yella?
Phrases like these quickly appear in my memory when I think of fear. I remember I wanted to be brave, strong, and courageous. For the most part, I feel I accomplished it on some level. I followed the rules and worked hard, volunteering for every crappy assignment to prove to myself and those around me that I feared nothing. Unwittingly, I was actually making a fool of myself. My friends and superiors felt my actions were to curry favor, not prove my courage.
One day in the barracks, I discovered this when I overheard some soldiers discussing my actions. There I was, staring into the face of what I believed to be my greatest fear, mockery. As this continued, I became numb to everything. My attitude damaged my relationship with my wife and children. I had no idea I was suffering from the effects of PTSD. To be honest, I’d never heard of it. Something I regret, I regret it still.
Tragedy and disappointment became my watchwords. However, facing death from something that didn’t carry a rifle became the catalyst of my new mindset. I realized something. I don’t control anything. Then I asked myself, “Why am I trying to conquer an emotion that innate.” So I began to embrace my fear. I took a decade digging into myself, trying to understand my fear. What I figured out was the following:
Once you begin to understand one’s fear, one realizes there is no shame in being afraid. It protects us; keeps us harm.
So, my greatest fear is I’m afraid of being afraid. How I conquered it? I didn’t. I embraced it. Once I accepted this concept, I began to find peace.
I never dreamed I had what it took to become a writer. It was more than the usual self-doubt, more like an evaluation of my skills. My mastery of the language was smattering at best. Writing for myself was the only way to feel the joy I desperately desired. My sketches were rudimentary, but I still enjoyed the process occasionally. However, writing is the thing that gets my motor running, as they say. Even after becoming a widower, I kept writing; I began my first novel within the first month. Over the next three years, I took loss after loss. Though wretched like a tsunami with no quarter, I continued to write.
Despite all this tragedy, I created a poetry show and taught workshops about writing poetry. In many ways, my writing career had begun to take off. Then one day, I felt a little off. It felt different than previous experiences of this sort, so I went to the doctor. I was fully prepared to be told I was suffering from several underlining symptoms of my PTSD. It’s peculiar how once you have a diagnosis of something, it becomes the cause of EVERYTHING that ails you. However, today was different; the physician stated
“although unlikely, but it is probable.”
Really, bro? This is how you’re going to start things off? I screamed in my head but gave a tempered response, “I see; when will the test results return?”
A couple days later, I got the news. A confirmation of something I already knew to be true. The doctor had a lot to say, but the only thing I heard was
~You have Cancer~
He was still talking. Still, I heard nothing. Then, my once-decent vocabulary was reduced to one-syllable words.
“Well damn!”
“Fuck!”
“Okay, Okay”
“Fuck!”
The doctor finally stopped talking and ended the call. There was a numbness that took hold, and I can’t quite remember feeling much after that. It seemed as if this feeling was my permanent state for the next couple of years. Even through everything, I was just numb. I befriended people I would never have and shared things usually kept private.
It was as if I didn’t recognize myself. It was me talking to these strangers and sharing these private things. Something was wrong. It wasn’t just me, for I share the wisdom of their secrets in the lines I write. As if it is my duty or something I can’t quite name or describe, to share what is learned in the space between clarity and confusion.
Even now, years later, I can’t tell what I’ve learned. Perhaps, as I write these lines and others like them, lessons will become clear. It took me years to talk about my experience, years to write, and years to share.
I could talk about this experience forever; perhaps I will share more one day. However, for now, I’ll share my feelings about the news that day. Tell you how it stripped away my courage. Slowly tearing away the essence of my existence. I barely wrote a word after that. Somehow, I felt I’d had this coming. I deserved this fate.
Somedays, I hear the echoes of the haunting memories of that man. I’d love to say I’ve shed its torment and walked around free. That wouldn’t be honest. It took me years to regain my courage. With a bit of luck, I can maintain it. We all know luck is all a person needs if their courage holds.
How do you know when it’s time to unplug? What do you do to make it happen?
Typically, in conversations like these, I have a long, drawn out story. However, today there is no need for a long bowl when a short one will do.
I can’t imagine a day without reading. Yeah, it’s just that simple. I’ve traveled through time, been around the world, and fell in love without leaving my home office. If I couldn’t write another word, I would just pick up a book. The ability to walk away from a world filled with hollow sentiments and plastic smiles feels amazing. In the words of Tina Turner, “Simply the Best.” To feel that , even if for a little while, means so much.
Like most of us here, we’ve had plenty of jobs before finding the one that stuck. I cringe, thinking about some of the things I did to make money.
However, there is one job I think of fondly. I was a paperboy. If it’s hard to imagine me being a paperboy, let me provide a visual; think of the paperboy in the John Cusack classic “Better Off Dead.”
Let’s take a look, shall we?
Sighs … Me and the gang chasing down deadbeats. The things you remember … The good times…sighs
I come from a time when workaholics ruled. This isn’t spoken from a place of pride but rather a place where, thinking back, I wish I would have made better decisions about the use of my time. There are events I missed out on. Moments I can’t get back. Though I wish I could, but it doesn’t work that way, does it?
One minute, my daughters are playing with dolls, and next, I’m staring into the face of some goofy-looking chucklehead. Who has the sand to mumble something like
“Nice to meet you, Sir. I’m”
I never seem to catch their names. The wife swore it was because I’m a certified asshole when it came to my daughters. When she first said it, I felt wounded. I’m not an asshole; I’m a dick, asshole, no. One day explained this to her for clarity. Her response,
“Yep, you’re a dick, alright.”
I sighed, feeling vindicated. Then she went into a rant as she walked about something I can’t remember. I read somewhere this happens to people who suffer traumatic events. However, I do remember feeling maybe I should have let that one go, and from that point, asshole was just fine.
I was gone a lot for work, then one day, I became Papaw. The oddest thing. Who is this little creature pulling on your finger because their little hands are so small that’s all they can grab ahold of.
Where did the time go? Man, I learned a great deal about life.; its triumphs and pitfalls. I even had an opportunity on occasion to take part in some and prevent some of the others. I’m an old man trying to do his part to make a difference.
So, when it comes to finding the balance? If you figured it out. I mean really got something, don’t say a word until copyrighted and patented. Then, put it up for sale and become an instant millionaire.
Oh yeah, post your links, so I can get my Pre-order in.
The perfect opening line seldom comes at the perfect time, You’re anything other than being prepared to write Hang on a second … Hang on! You’re ready now. Then just like that
Poof
Get back here! I’m not done with you, you shout!
It’s a game we play; between them & us Such a cruel game
But when it’s good; it’s damn good
There we are, writing the words are flowing They fly above your head each one chirping like birds
Each chirp a note in the unwritten symphony, and we are the composers
Ladies and gentleman I’d like to thank you for coming
In the next few moments, we will return to 40 years ago. Then I will speak in a language that hopefully everyone can easily understand
From my ice cream castle I stared into the purple rain While I had starfish and coffee I saw a bird caught in an oak tree
Prince said he was so confused. However, I sat chuckling, only slightly amused He was just another owner of a lonely heart That’s right; gigolos get lonely too
From that ice cream castle I saw Judas Priest screaming for vengeance The death of Orion, some thought was a disposable hero Yet, Iron Maidens search for a piece of mind, while chanting the call to Ktulu
Benatar chronicles the crimes of passion. Preparing us for that next anthem Billie Jean was on the scene and swore she was a thriller It turns out all she wanted was a little paradise by the dashboard lights
Red leather jacket, a new edition It got me ready for the world Man..I was cool, I mean C-O-O-L! I know I could definitely stand the rain.
I started wondering about that candy girl What’s her name? What’s her number? 777-9311??? Jenny or 867-5309 ….Roxanne Oh!! That’s right, that’s right …Sheila.
I left my ice cream castle in the summertime To meet a concrete blonde in the cold part of town She started spinning me right round like record And all I wanted was to find myself a brand new lover
Sh-Sh –Shaking, I fell into a wall of voodoo Then woke up in Tijuana wanting some barbecue iguana The next thing I knew, there was a cheap trick Talking bout if you want my love, you got it
I shook my head. NO!! Knowing she wasn’t ready for this jungle love So instead, we drank some brass monkey Listening to some Mexican radio
Now, back in my ice cream castle Listening to watermelon man and sipping bitches brew Thinking they call it Stormy Monday And Tuesday is just as bad
In my humble opinion, one must be willing and able to follow before they can lead. Leaders are not born; they are developed. For those who have or had the honor of leadership, make no mistake to lead another is a definite honor, you may not be a leader in every situation. Those who don’t understand this concept aren’t ready to lead.
She could have been here; if she wanted. She could have been here; if it meant something. I knew her words were hollow when she spewed them; I heard their echo, such a haunting sound. Still, I hoped that I was wrong. I hoped what I heard was some psychotic break. Is there a sound you hear when this happens? Is it something dismissed, resolved, or mocked with six hundred dollars an hour, a sofa, and a pill? Yea, you know that shit that gets you hooked, but you need to believe you are free. So I sit here, waiting for the doorbell to chime, waiting to hear that familiar melody. The melody, which ends the silence, ends the loneliness. Yet the silence thickens, and the depths of loneliness have no bounds.
With a click, strike, and spark, the tobacco crackles as I take a drag to forget about the pain.
Yeah, she wanted me to get up and come running. She wanted me to stand in line like the others. Suitors plenty, but real men are few. She wanted me to be someone I had never been. She wanted to be someone; if she took the time to know me, she’d know I could never be. Yet, in her delusion, she wanted me to fall in line, like the wiry snake-eyed fellow whose lips were in a constant state of pucker against her gluteus maximus. Her leg would shudder when he kissed it just right. Often, I wondered if he was part fish, Bluegill. Trout?
Then there was the portly fellow whose clothes were two sizes larger than needed. An attempt to hide his predilection for Ho-Ho’s and Ding-Dong’s, but their melted remnants on his lapel and in the corner of his mouth told the tale. I couldn’t resist imagining him as Wimpy from the old cartoon; I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a Ding-Dong today. Since he was always eating them, I wondered how he pulled it off. But, of course, everyone knew he didn’t have a job.
Perhaps, I was the well-dressed fellow who would unleash this girlish giggle every time he hit the blunt. I couldn’t help but picture him in pigtails with pink ribbons in his mouth, chewing on the ends. He sported a five o’clock shadow like it was still something stylish. Maybe for some, but him not a good look. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was wearing socks with lace around the top. I do believe it would complete the look.
I exhale to relieve the strain. I exhale to let go. I exhale to be one step closer to the sanity to which I cling; I exhale.
But I wasn’t any of them. I was a man whose name was spoken in reverence barely above a whisper. There wasn’t a need to speak; people were satisfied with a nod. I know what it means to love a woman for your entire life and be the better. I know how it feels to grab hold of someone, and they grab you back. Never letting go, hearing what their eyes speak when their mouths fail utter a word. Our bodies trembling from its power, our souls quivering, like the Earth shaking beneath your feet. I know one can only get there with love and respect for one another. No plastic smiles, and hollow sentiments can take their place—an honor reserved for the special and the elite, Real men and women. For anyone else, your attendance is futile. Perhaps, one day she will understand. But I know what I really want to know. What has my curiosity stirring? How the hell did she ever get things so twisted?
I stub the cigarette out; the embers glow bright, then fade, and the smoke dissipates.
I know the answer. I had a momentary lapse of reason.
Do you have a quote you live your life by or think of often?
I immediately refer to this quote whenever I consider conversations such as these. Due to the current social climate, this quote is a little dated. However, with a few modifications, it fits quite nicely within the current climate. Let’s take a look.
Original
“Waste no more time arguing what a good man should be. Be one.” – Marcus Aurelius
“Waste no more time arguing what a good person should be. Be one.”
Now, that’s a little better; let’s get on with the conversation.
I look at this quote as a personal challenge. To dismiss the unwritten standards, for they change depending on region or person, and attempt to conduct myself in a manner befitting how I was raised. From this, I formed the code I live by. The difficulty lies in changes that occur within the individual. Put simply, I don’t feel the same way about things as I mature—circumstances of life change, whether you realize them or not. Nevertheless, I attempt to be the best person I can be within societal limitations or guidelines. Forever cognizant I may fail. Failure is acceptable as long as you retain the wisdom that accompanies it. I must be clear here wisdom accompanies both success and failure.
I also realize someone other than me determines whether I’m a good person. My conduct will be weighed and measured by the people interacting with me. They described what kind of person I am in their description of me to others. If I’m considered a bad person, then I’m as such. If they refer to me as a good person, then I’m a good person. I have no control over their opinion of me. I’m who I am. So, I waste no more time arguing—this action I can control.
Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self.”
[The New Statesman, February 25, 1933]”,,-― Cyril Connolly
As a writer, I feel this quote should be the standard for writing everything. What am I doing if I’m true to myself in my writing? I can only fulfill the first quote if I’m true to my writing.
This is how I measure myself; no one else. You are who you are and I respect that.
I was taking night courses working on my degree back when that was a thing when I exploded on the instructor during a lecture. She made a comment about the intent of man during times of war. Looking back, I realize it was merely a generalization, a device I’ve had on numerous occasions then and now. However, her words were like white-hot searing to my depths that night. This incident may have been the beginning of my psychosis.
My emotional wounds of war were still fresh, and I overreacted. The next morning, I was summoned to my Commander to answer for my conduct. Though filled with shame, I had nothing to say in my defense. I stood firm and took the verbal assault I had coming until my entire being felt as hollow as my soul. Then the oddest thing occurred.
They sent me to get help…
On this day, I heard the letters for the first time. Nonsense, rubbish, bullocks, “Get the F*@K outta here, wit dat!” And other such phrases were my expression. Knowing me, I probably said them and more. Yet, the counselor remained steady and explained my plight.
I felt better when leaving their office. Better than I had in a very long time.
I never saw them again…
Decades later, I’m destroyed by these four letters, consumed by them. It was the first time I had the courage to utter them without disdain. Yet, having applied to me, I bore the weight of their shame.
P
T
S
D
Everyone involved said its okay, but their expressions said otherwise. Their whispers were louder than an announcement over speakers. The Memoirs of Madness had been started for years, and now I know the name of my affliction provided the memoirs’ direction. Writing the memoirs provides my direction. They provide a smidgen of peace.
Things are better now, I can say those letters. I have accepted, and with understanding, I can move forward.
I’ve asked myself this question numerous times during my life, I never allow myself to honestly answer the question. Generally, I agree with whatever trending topic at the time. I did this because I didn’t want to be the person who went against the group.
As I wrote the previous sentence, I realized something. I’ve never been that person. I’ve always been a rebel, if you will, against anything I deemed foolish.
In the stillness of any time of the day, I can find my way of doing anything. What I mean by the stillness is quiet, tranquil, and relaxing. I do my best work during these times of the day. I suppose the reason is simple I’m able to think.
Perhaps I’ve reached an all-time low. I spent considerable time sending out a barrage of inbox marriage proposals. In these proposals, I removed the obligation of sex, hoping to sweeten the pot. I figured taking sex off the table would increase the number of acceptance. I figured surely one of these candidates would say yes, right? The next morning, my inbox was overflowing with responses. However, all I got in the inbox was filled with laughter.
I received several images of women’s reactions to my proposal. I even got a sexually explicit image with block letters informing me I would never get what was displayed in the image. Sitting back, thinking as I closed my laptop, the whole affair was rather hilarious—the idea of someone marrying a guy like me.
As it stands right now, I can’t be with you. I think too much of myself. I have too much pride in who worked to become
In order to be with you, I must cease to be the man I am. I must allow myself to be disrespected. I must forget all that I know about; what it is to be a man I must forget all that I know about love; how it makes me feel
I must cease to care about my well-being; for I no longer matter I must be willing to surrender my will to another; without question I will do all these things to prove my love. Willingly change who I am; because I love you that much.
Hmm… You aren’t even willing to change a dress for me. So how much did you really love me?
Memoirs of Madness 