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“I will not try to convince you to love me, to respect me, to commit to me. I deserve better than that; I AM BETTER THAN THAT...Goodbye.” 

― Steve Maraboli, Unapologetically You: Reflections on Life and the Human Experience

THE HOUSE DOWN THE STREET - - -

All we ever heard was the same record playing over and over again. Was it the little old lady who played it or the rarely-seen, dumpy-looking son? Every night, exactly at 8:30. A skip in-between to flip the record over and then the music continued. Every night for years.

One night, there was no music. We checked our watches, glanced up at our clocks. The neighborhood slowly trickled out into the street. Murmurs, whispers, nervous glances. Why wasn’t the music playing? The front door opened. The dumpy-looking son walked out, wiped his eyes, shut the door quietly and shuffled down the street.

We never saw him or heard that record again.

DIPS - - -

Fall. Stumble. Run. Walk. Crawl. Skip. Hop. Jump. Fast. Slow. Stand. Sit. Stop. Go. Through life’s Up and Downs.

BUDDHA WALKS INTO A BAR - - -

HEYHOWYA’DOIN’CANIGETCHASUMTHIN’?

Buddha remained silent.

WHADYAWANTAJACKANDCOKEMAYBEABEER?

Buddha closed his eyes.

C’MONYAJACKASSENLIGHTENME!

TIMEOUT - - -

My Mother ended up getting very old. Retirement homes are expensive. Locks are not.

FRED - - -

He knew that he was different. But he didn’t care. Sure, maybe he couldn’t walk as fast as the rest of them and maybe he sometimes got stuck and needed help but…a handicap is what you make of it.

Father would be proud.

You think you're old now.

Wait until later.

You'll be REALLY OLD and then look back on today with nostalgia, laments, mistakes/regrets, you'll look back on what you should've done, and the y's and the ynot's, etc.

But, hey - we were only babies years ago and we couldn't even feed ourselves or control our bodily functions. What did we know?

But, we'll be there again. Maybe we're there right now, going through those same things.

You think you're old now.

Wait until later.

YOU'LL BE DEAD.

FUCKING DEAD.

SUNSHINE

I

Am making peace with my life

And am putting together

Hopefully

Something better

More pieces

Towards

A full future

Iminbedanditsdarkandiwrotethisonmytinyphone

I'm Here...

In my office again. Writing about you and realize that I need to quit.

A Journey - By Edward Field

When he got up that morning everything was different:

He enjoyed the bright spring day
But he did not realize it exactly, he just enjoyed it.


And walking down the street to the railroad station
Past magnolia trees with dying flowers like old socks
It was a long time since he had breathed so simply.


Tears filled his eyes and it felt good
But he held them back
Because men didn't walk around crying in that town.


Waiting on the platform at the station
The fear came over him of something terrible about to happen:
The train was late and he recited the alphabet to keep hold.


And in its time it came screeching in
And as it went on making its usual stops,
People coming and going, telephone poles passing,

He hid his head behind a newspaper
No longer able to hold back the sobs, and willed his eyes
To follow the rational weavings of the seat fabric.


He didn't do anything violent as he had imagined.

He cried for a long time, but when he finally quieted down
A place in him that had been closed like a fist was open,

And at the end of the ride he stood up and got off that train:
And through the streets and in all the places he lived in later on
He walked, himself at last, a man among men,
With such radiance that everyone looked up and wondered.

future facebook posts

One home and then I'm going drink

I'm watching a J.K. Rowling biopsy movie on Amazon Prime

I think she's going to get pregnant (MY MOM)

I'd like to keep on talking to you but I'm asleep

GET YOUR OWN DEAD PARENTS

eht prey luhv

Please press NEIN if you mean NO

Please press NIN if you mean Trent Reznor

If you lost your camouflage pants in the woods? You WANT somebody to find you

I'm so glad that my name isn't BILL and that you know whom to pay

If you ever want somebody to donate to your organization? Don't call it, "S.P.E.R.M."

Sincere greetings to you...

Chân thành gửi tới các bạn lời chào thân hữu

Good bye.

God be with, ye'.

Bebe.

Sometimes...

I understand what you're feeling by what you write when I read it.

Is this normal?

I'm thinking that I'm quite the opposite.

There are people that have read more of my writing here and can only glean a gossamer of tendrils of who and what I am in real? life. That was a weird sentence.

I'm much more than my writing, even though it's a huge chunk of my soul. I WILL NEVER NOT WRITE.

I WRITE ALL OF THE TIME.

Not as much as I want to - but I do. Scraps of paper. Jot down things in notebooks, write things on other peoples shit.

It's waves, baby. I'm not you. I'm ME.

I'm a fucking tsunami. I sleep. And then. I'm a fucking tsunami again. And then i'm the quietly lapping pond. AND THEN I'm THHHHEEEeeeee tsunami. The little tsunami. A mini-tempest.

I don't know you better then you see me.

I can't decide what to wear.

snorkel
arm floaties
submarine
just drown

or get the fuck out of the water and stay on dry land
until another siren calls to me

Ahhhh...but you just made me write somewhat about you...

SNORKEL

Will You Walk With Me?

in an amount of painful, laborious and sometimes -
long strides...
i hope that my small steps in life
will be recognized
by true friends
            lovers
            God(s)
  all witnessess
  and ME -
  after this life......
          this life of mine......

will you walk with me?