I will be putting links that I deem fit for your consumption here for you to peruse. They will be thinks that are funny, fascinating, poignant, or maybe even completely “what the fucky” in nature. Enjoy.
That effervescent sadness that walks with me.
I wish it would go somewhere else…
But it continues to tread alongside me.
I tire of this rock.
I have felt this way for far too long.
I do not know how to quit.
It is near impossible…
For most to know
the pain and effort
that goes into
You think that you have
Thank you for
Serves me right.
of being tired.
only shows up
I will fight you,
I will win
until I am ready.
I am stalwart in my resolve.
And I detest that.
I want to quit.
I am tired.
that will not
so very tired.
I’m a writer.
That’s what I do.
I have written most of my life, in one form or another.
Lots of Poetry.
I sometimes miss the simplicity of writing poetry.
I could write whatever came out of my head, and then walk away.
Then one day, I tired of being lazy.
I say lazy, because I knew I was ready to move past poetry, if thats what you want to call my verse.
That is something altogether different.
For me anyway.
The story elements careen off of the inside of my skull like rampant wombats, and the mill just churns out ideas and facets.
So much so, that…
I can sometimes get mired in a pseudo fugue state.
the characters I create are (albeit temporary) alive, and…
That being said, The two worlds, the real, and the imagined fuse together for a short time, and
it’s easy to get pulled between the two, but the story needs to be written regardless.
My awesome and patient wife puts up with my seemingly aloof cycles, and I am grateful for that.
I feel that way, because I know for a fact that I would not have written as much as I have without her presence in my life.
I wonder if this happens to other writers, or maybe I need some meds… heh.
If it does happen to others, how do they handle it?
Not that it is an issue, mind you…
But more of an observation.
I just completed sorting through what amounts to almost 40 years of poetry…
That’s quite a bit of material to sift through. And it was pretty cool seeing missives that younger self had written to older self. Like, “Yo!!! Older self!” (I’m paraphrasing here, as I am pretty sure that’s what what to be conveyed in the writing. Anyway…) “Yo!!! Older self! How are things? Do you have most, if not all of what you want? Was it worth it? Lemme know.” I remember writing that, but I don’t remember forgetting all about it. Yep. That made sense. Anyway, what I am trying to say is that it was interesting to see things like that. There is quite a bit that will make it into the three volumes, (Entitled Book 1: Admit Nothing, Book 2: Blame Everyone and Book 3: Be Bitter. Kinda going for that Little House on the Prairie Feelz) and a good bit that will not. Why the segregation? Well… I did a lot of rhyming in the early have of the poetry jaunt, and while some of the sing song stuff will find it’s way between the pages, I dunno… I seemed so easy to write, it feels lazy. Ok so… Rhyming and self pity. Now, while I am willing to admit that I was going through the process of dealing with a metric fuck ton of child abuse from my seller childhood, it seems as if I should have been manning up a little more, but who am I to try and tell someone what to do with themselves, even if it is me, and besides, it is a long way back. Nothing to be done from this vantage point. None the less, there is still more than enough to fill enough pages to sate your voracious appetites. Lots of love, pain, loss, blood, broken smiles, good times, thoughts, rumination, lamentations and the occasional off beat humor that my stilted wit has to offer. So, now begins the tedious task of transcribing the drunken, stoned and sometimes delirious rantings of the some time mad man into the cold, unfeeling Baskerville serifs font on a nice cream colored page. I may be good, it may be bad, but what the fuck… It’s my life and it’s the only one I have. I really don’t care how many see it, even if none do. My dream has been to see the words that have been, and always will be my lifeblood on the afore mentioned page, but secretly, I do hope you like it, but I will not admit that I just typed that.
-Off to work…
Mr. Mann, (my latest novel) is now available in audiobook format! The crowd goes wild! No… Seriously, I can hear the crowd.
It is voiced by the indomitable Todd McLaren, and it’s available at any of the links below.
This project has been a daunting undertaking and this audiobook release signals the end for the moment.
In other words… Break time!
Thank you for your support!
This is the actual text of an email I sent to guitar center…
Be excellent to each other.
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