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Showing posts from 2014

Grenade (a short story)

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      Alison tilted her head back and held the dropper steadily above her left eye as she pumped the gas pedal repeatedly to keep the car she was sitting in from stalling. The revving motor created a gentle sway to which she timed perfectly with each squeeze of the hollow rubber handle. She seldom missed. After applying several drops to each eye, Alison screwed the dropper back into its glass port and returned it to her purse. Using the rear view mirror, she dabbed her eyes with a small swath of tissue. She noticed Shawn standing across the parking lot, on the sidewalk hugging the building, sheltered from the drizzling rain by an overhang that ran the entire length. His arms were outstretched, pumping up and down, and looked as though he were comparing the weight of two imaginary objects.  He was mouthing something in her direction. She cracked her window.       "Leeeet's go, already!" "C'mon, let's gooooooo!" He stopped yelling long enoug

Saturday Song Salute

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It's time for a Saturday Song Salute (a day late). Yesterday after work I hurried home, took a shower, fed Snuggle McFuck Stick, grabbed my tent and bedroll, attached them to the back of my motorcycle and headed south to Lebanon, Oregon for a concert called Guitars Under the Stars. It was an outdoor concert lasting from Friday to Sunday, but I was only staying Friday night so I could see, once again, one of the greatest bands of all time: Floater. I avoided I-5 by taking the back roads through several small rural towns and provided myself with a pleasant one hour motorcycle ride to the venue. Once there, I set up my campsite next to some other friendly concert goers and proceeded to unwind via the flask of whiskey I hid inside of my bedroll. Actually, bear with me while I plug a certain brand for a minute. Over the past few months I have gradually weaned myself off of gin and switched over to drinking whiskey and in my attempt to locate a favorite bottle, I have

"My People"

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Each day that passes feels more and more like a slice of wasted time that I cannot get back. While it's true, I can't get them back, I honestly wouldn't want them anyway. That's how I've felt lately. The brightly lit red arrow still flashes through my bedroom window keeping me up at night. My skin still bubbles when I stare at it long enough and my veins now carry question marks throughout my body. I can feel them; especially when their curled tops get caught on various entryways into major organs. Sometimes, when I sneeze, strangers turn and stare at me with quizzical looks on their faces and I suddenly wonder if the question marks have learned how to escape. Have they become airborne? Are they infectious? Will everyone around me now wander aimlessly through their day questioning everything currently happening in their lives? I certainly hope so. You people need an awakening. I said "you people" haha. Fuck, that's fun. "My people" are

The Mountaineering Bug (For Newbies)

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I've lived in the pacific northwest for nearly ten years now and have been into backpacking for some time. I've hiked and camped some beautiful backwoods over the years and every once in awhile I would catch a remarkable vista of one of the surrounding snow-covered peaks that famously dot our horizon. Well, it was just a matter of time before the same invisible force that inspires my long walks in the woods would be coaxing me up those mountains. Last year I went up Mt. Adams with some friends and that was my first taste of what it was like to travel up to 12,000 feet in elevation via my own two feet. Now I can add Mt. Hood to the list. Ever since the Mt. Adams hike, I have been on a mission to properly prepare myself for a more technical mountain. Even though Adams is just a basic walk-up (on the route we chose) it still is a mountain, and when we were there it decided to prove it by producing a severe white-out snow storm with 50mph sub zero wind gusts at the summit. You

Brightly Lit Red Arrow

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What is a blog page if there isn't anything new to read on the regular? An empty womb incapable of providing life. A cracked glass unable to hold its liquid. A ghost town on the edge of extinction. I no longer write. I no longer keep up. I no longer read. I no longer care. I have a stack of unread novels dick-deep that I am nowhere near getting through. They just sit there piled up in a corner... awaiting my interest. I'm sitting down now for the first time in awhile, fully expecting to complete a new blog entry, but I'll be honest... I have no idea if I'll complete it. Nor do I care either way. I'm not writing for you and I no longer write for me, so that doesn't provide much hope for either of us. Ghost town, baby. That's where we've found ourselves. Why the sudden shift, guy? You seem to have been on a positive path recently. Sure, sure. I do not discount the fact that I've made remarkable strides toward future tranquility, however, I find no

Peace And Love... It's Not Just Hippie-Dippie Bullshit, Man

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Today is Saturday Song Salute, but before I get to that I want to first talk about a few things that are on my mind and heart. I don't do this much anymore, as many of you who follow my blog already know. I used to fasten my heart to my sleeve via life update blog entries, but stopped doing it awhile back. I'm trying to be more professional even though I still think it's important for people to know what's going on in the hearts and minds of their fellow humans. I like to believe that by writing about the serious thoughts in my own head and allowing others to read them, that I become an avenue of learning and healing for those who choose to read. I am grateful for everyone I've ever read who took the time to write something down that I desperately needed to hear at a certain moment in my life, so I guess I feel like I'm returning the favor when I do it. So what's on my mind then? Yep, you guessed it: love/relationships. I've been going out again. Yes,

Blog Tour: My Writing Process

I've been asked to join something I know nothing about. It's called the Blog Tour. Apparently a group of writers have come together and decided to share their process of writing with anyone who is interested in learning more about it. You know, from the people who already do it. Turns out I am one of those people. What is my main motivation? My extremely unreliable memory. This is why I didn't do very well throughout my schooling years. I have horrible retention skills and my brain is constantly erasing life as it happens, so I got in the habit of writing my thoughts down early in life that way I could always "check my notes" if I wanted to remember past events. People who know me will immediately recall how often they'd see inked words on the back of my left hand, on the fleshy part near the thumb joint. That's been my daily post-it pad for years. A little about me: I am a thirty-something middle class garbageman living in Salem, Oregon. I wrote my fi

Two Writes Don't Make A Right.

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I've allowed my blog page to become an empty wine glass left atop a mantle and forgotten. The lip stick smears are still there as are the faint traces of oily fingerprints all around the belly of the glass, but the contents have long been downed and the good time that followed is nothing more than a sex stain on bedroom sheets. Where have I been, you might ask? Around, I would answer. Around this town like a lonely lover looking for a warm place to stay each night. Sure, I still have my own place, but these walls seem so much closer now and I feel somewhat claustrophobic. My place was already small enough before the walls started closing in, now it's damn near impossible to breathe. My cat, however, doesn't seem to mind one bit. Actually I take that back, he does mind me being gone all the time. He sits by the door waiting for me to return while I'm out on the town seeking friendships, aka, full glasses of wine. I deleted my account profile at All Poetry. I had been a

Saturday Song Salute

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Do you know what today is? It's okay if you've forgotten, it's been a long time. How about I remind you with.. a song! That's right, it's Saturday Song Salute, ladies and germs. For this salute I've chosen a song sung by a lady who's voice can be the rivets that hold a ship together at sea or the waves that crash that same ship apart. Same holds true for the song you're about to hear called L.A. Song. Quite honestly, I don't know if anyone other than Beth Hart could deliver this one as powerfully. It is the perfect example of a voice matching the mood that the lyrics set and the accompanying music just takes you right where you need to be. The piano part is divine, might I add. I'm a sucker for a great piano song and this one has that in spades. Let's move on to the lyrics. What can I say except... WOW. She tells a story that many of us can relate to on varying levels. It's a story of a girl trying to find her place in an out of place w

Club Music

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I've ceased all wireless transmissions; have hardwired the lines between all the electronics and the mainframe of my heart. There are no more signals here, I'm pretty sure I eliminated them all. They were disgusting little creatures, invisible beams of sickness that crept through me at night while I slept. Now they are gone and I am left with an eerie stillness that can be felt if I hold my fingers out just right. At a soft angle, adjacent to the floor like this. I still stand on aluminum foil every night before I sleep. It discharges the static freckles that litter my internal frame and make me self conscious with my own soul. It is shaped like a West Virginia golf course- the aluminum foil, not my soul. But both are worth playing on. In the other room I have club music playing loudly and I am pretending there are girls on my sofa getting it on. They are still clothed, but not fully. If I walk out there and peer around the corner I would most likely see exposed breasts

Magic 8 Ball iPod

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I have loved before, sure, and I have watched love go right out the window like a whistle in the wind. None of this is new, it's merely par for the course in my long life of dead-end relationships. I am hardened by this shit by now, but I still cry because it still hurts. I still scream because it still makes me crazy. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm still human, though I would love to change that fact. What would I be if I could step away from my human frame and don that of another? Hmm, let me think about it... Ah yes, I would become the Hawkline Monster that lives in the ice caves beneath the basement! Rawr. Earlier today I decided to play the Magic 8-Ball iPod game. If you don't know what I mean, here's the gist of it: you use your iPod as a magic 8 ball by asking it a question (backed by a lot of emotion) and then hit shuffle. Whatever song it plays for you is supposed to give you all kinds of deep, spiritual insight to the question you asked. Ob