Mitchell Sandpits.

I walk. The wind hums. Frogs sing.

Through the sky flies a V.  Canada geese.  A beaver swims into a concrete pipe.  Waves wake behind it.  Green shoots rise among  the tall dead grass.I walk on. Purple tainted clouds set behind me.  Concrete turns to gravel. Two willows stand in the field. Yellow whips veil breaking bark. I walk. The gravel leads me around a pond.  Across the water a dog runs.Trees obscure my view. Oak, elm, maple. Pink and blue line the sky. Two dudes fish on a patch of sand. Jeans and a black tee-shirt. Dirty, torn khakis and a blue tee. I walk. The gravel crunches a soft crunch.  Black shoes, grey scuffed toes push it into nicotine colored sand.  A crane peeks from the junk yard behind me. Clunk, clunk the sound of a train skips across the water. I walk.

I look at my watch.  Ten to eight. Damn. I light a smoke and take a sip of beer.  Fuck. I turn.

The sun sets to my left. Car lights herd the highway. I walk home.

I walk through the door. I turn on the light. I take off my clothes. I walk to the shower. I walk to bed.

 I work in the morning.   

Bernie. ISIS. Trump. Hillary.

This post isn't about any of these.

:) Then what's about?

I don't know. 

:) What you mean you don't know?

Come. Come with me. Come and see.

:) What if I don't want too?

Come. Come with me. 

:) Why?

I don't know. Are you coming?  Lets go.

:) But what about Bernie, ISIS, Trump and Hillary?

Fuck 'em.  

:) But...

Fuck 'em, I say. Fuckity fuck fuck 'em. 

Five dead smokes rest dead in the ashtray. A coffee cup and a harmonica chill next to it. A sunbeam escapes the blinds and chills on my desk. Pink and black headphones don my ears. 

:) Don? 

Yah, don.

:) Doesn't don me to put on?  Why not just used cover? Or rests. Or...

Pink, black headphones snuggle the bare spot on the top of my head. Spotify is dead. 

I got to get me a new computer. This one's all messed up. 

:) Get a new one.

Fuck you. 

:) Right hand?  Left hand?  Porn?  Or  imagination? 

The sun spot has moved to the floor and the damn coffee cup is empty. A sixth smoke lays in the skullcap. A seventh is smoldering.

:) What about Bernie, ISIS, Trump, or Hillary?

What about them?  My coffee’s empty. I’m outa smokes.  I’m done

:) But…

Sorry dude. There’s enough words littering that there screen.  Besides, I told you this wasn’t about Bernie, ISIS, Trump, or Hillary.

:) What’s it about?

I don’t know. You tell me.

Inside the Skullcap Ashtray.

Inside the skullcap ashtray two smokes lay dead. Yellow, purple, red, and pink flowers circle the edge of  a white dinner plate. A bottle of Sam Adams and can of Bucsh Light hang close by. A used match chills, torn from the end to the middle. A strip of cardboard stands erect casting a shadow across a purple flower.  I have no idea what I'm going to write.

Those of you who follow my blog, one as far as I can tell, may know that I am not the most avid blogger. Well, folks that's gonna change. Ok, so I've said that before. Well, perhaps I haven't. I think I've implied it.  I do believe at one time I've said that I was going to write in this thing everyday. Um, guess what? I haven't. Damn.

The thing is, I'm tired of not being a writer. I'm tired of sitting on my ass cashing in on something besides who I am. I'm tired, though I will continue to do it, of using my shoulders, my back, my eyes, my muscles, my bones to generate cash flow.  I'd much rather write. Write and....damn it...I hate to say it...brand myself so create cash flow. I'd much rather tap my fingers along keys to create content than to tap a screen or lift a box (or to make and delivery pizzas like I used to do) to pad my wallet. I'd much rather learn how to create an image of myself online, network, and hock my words instead of looking at lines of pajama people, butt pants people, kids, and weary travelers wanting to gas, candy, hot dogs, corn dogs, beer, burgers, cigs, pop, pizza, and lottery tickets. It's not that I hate my job. It's a nice place. Cool people. It's just that I'm 45 and thinking to myself WTF am I doing?

WTF am I doing? Well, I'm not writing. Sorry folks, it's the truth. I'm not secretly offline jotting down lines or editing lines already written. I'm watching Vikings, Outsiders, Agents of Shield,Thor, CNN, MSNBC, and...you get it.  Most of my down time is spent gazing at tube instead of placing words upon a page or screen.  Okay, so I also read. I read Facebook posts. I read links from Facebook posts. I get distracted. I get curious.  Reading is supposed to enhance one's writing, or so some folks say. I'm reading War and Peace. Sure its long. But for the the most part, it's not that hard of a read, if you can get past the first 150 pages. I'm also hiking.  And drinking beer. I'm not writing. I'm wasting.

Wasting time wishing. Wasting time wondering. Wasting time thinking that I wasted time for far to long. Wasting time wondering what I am doing wasting time. Wasting time peering at pages and screens wondering about writing. Wondering if I should give it up, give up the dream. The dream lingers even if the actions, as of late, seem to not support it. Wondering if my college years reading literature and writing academic and creative pages was a waste. Wondering if my after college years traveling, reading, writing, drinking, exploring ideas, working at pizza and retail have been a waste. Wondering if I, twenty years ago, should have dove into something like computers and kept lit and writing as sides. No. Yes. No. Argh.

I loved lit, in all its forms.  I still do. I love stories. I love to hear them, read them, create them, and learn from them. I love poetry. I love a well done essay. I love words that take you in. I love flow tap rhythms and images that pop like whispers, licking the mind.

I pause. I light a smoke. I put my glasses down. I take another sip of Busch Light.  I take a picture. I'm done not writing. I'm done not branding.  I'm going to become a writer. And I'm going to do all that it takes to do it in this digital world. That includes blogging. Blogging displays my talent and help brand me to the world. If that what it takes then...fuck it. Lets roll.

By the way if you like this post please share it on Facebook,Twitter, or whatever. If you like any of my past posts share 'em. If you so happen to read any of my future posts, and like them, share them too. And, if you like my blog feel free to follow the damn thing. Thank you and have a nice day.

Cheers.

The Lesson.

“Crawl, creep, and walk from this place. You have lingered far too long.”

20 years ago, as a young man, words exploded from my fingers. I ran without restraint along the trail, mindful only of the trees and the path before me.

Scholars dressed  in philological drapes gazed at the flames and bid me to stop.

"Too much," they said. "Too free. The fire is fine; however, no one wants to be burnt by your Promethean debauchery.

I gawked at their words and gazed their fine linen.

"Teach me, " I said and peered into gray eyes.

"Come," they said with twinkles and winks. "Come let us teach you the world we think."

So, off I followed. I learned many learned things. 

Along the way, my fingers burned less and less. My heart sought and yearned for knowledge. I learned how to gather. I learned how to discern.  With facts and ideas my head did swell. And the further I walked the more my fingers quelled. Until one day the fires went out.

Learned darkness surrounded me. I stumbled. I saw that I was alone. I did not know how to find my way home.

So, I there I lay, my mind all swollen. The ideas and facts, though given, felt stolen.

Then one day, whilst I was eating loam, I heard an inner voice peep and moan, "Crawl, creep, and walk from this place. You have lingered far too long.  Crawl, walk, and creep. Your fingers are fine. Nothing is wrong."

That idea with the others swished and swirled. My fingers lit up. I stood to my feet as the fire twirled.  I smiled and walked with swagger and sway, the fire from my fingers lighting the way. 

10 minutes..

Okay folks, once again I've put myself in a position where I am limited by time.  10 minutes. Yep, ten. How can I post anything in that amount of time. I have no idea. But here I go.

1:16 pm.  I've spent the whole day wasting my time. I awoke around 6 to see my wife off to work. At about 7:30 I went back to sleep.  I didn't have to work until 2 pm, so why not? I awoke again about 8 am or maybe 9, I don't know. I didn't look.  I set my alarm for an hour but snoozed it quite a few times, say over 6 slaps.  After waking, I took an shower, ate some frosted shredded wheat, and made coffee--Gevalia of course.

1:22 pm. Six more minutes. At about 9:30, I sat down on the maroon La-Z-Boy in the corner, turned on the lamp with pink and white shades, and started reading the last chapter of a Universe from Nothing by Lawrence Krauss.

Then...

It's 1:26. Time's up. Shit. Oh, well. Cheers.

Let's try this again.

 Alright folks, let's try this again. 

A few days ago, I stated that I was going to jot jittles, jangle tittles, blango blittles in this blog on a daily bases. Um, shit, I forgot. Well, not forgot. I just didn't make time. 

Time? Shit, you had time. You just didn't sit your ass down. Why? Because you were too busy fighting with your wife. You claimed to yourself, and her, that were too upset to write. What a lame ass.

Hello folks, I'd like to introduce you to my mind. He's a wonderful fellow.

You told the world you were going blog daily. You didn't. You were too upset. Come on man, tell the world about the shit you pulled.

Shut up dude. 

Ass.

Okay, so I'm an ass.

You let your anal side take over.

That ain't nobody's business. 

Damn dude, you need to chill.

Well, folks that's my mind.  Ain't he grand?

It was about money.

I said it's between her and me. 

Shit...

Hey, would you mind? I wish to get on with this. Okay?

Okay. Carry on. 

You sure.

Yep.

Now where was I? I was saying that I didn't write in this blog due to time.

I am conducting an experiment. What is this experiment? Writing in my blog daily. What do I wish to accomplish?  I wanna see how my writing progresses and how the public responds to it.  Does this mean I will box myself in, adhering to public opinion?  I hope not. I wish to grow as a writer. I wish to learn how to make my writing more digestible. By digestible I mean, through daily practice and feedback, I wish to create better flow, glow, form, and phrasing. I wish to entice, inform, and/or entertain. I wish be myself. I wish to discover an audience.  I hypothesize that I can do this.  Please excuse the occasional excrement. 

Occasional?

That's what I said.

Okay. 

Shut up. . 

Sorry bro.

It's all cool. Let's end this entry.

Okay.

Time for a smoke. Cheers.  

15 Minutes

          Okay, here I go. I have only fifteen minutes to write this.

Fifteen minutes to tell you all that I'm conducting an experiment. I'm going to blog everyday. Yes, everyday. Why? Well, because a writer gots to write, right?  Why fifteen minutes. Well, that's the time I have right now. The oven's on, a smoke's in my mouth, and my wife gets off work at four. It's 3:30. I still have cut up the potatoes, cut up some brats, add some garlic salt and Cajun seasoning, and stick it in the oven. Then get into he car and pick up the wife from Hardee's.  Oh, by the way my wife's name is Melissa.

Okay, it's 3:37.  Eight minutes left. Shit.

Ah, my mind's going blank.

The oven just beeped. It's preheated to 350.

Okay, now what?  My mind is still blank. Don't you hate it when that happens. I do. Damn, damn, damn.

My feet are cold. I got 6 minutes to finish this. No time to put socks on. No time to find a blanket. For if I took time to do that then my minutes would be up. Um, so I'll just let them chill. One must make sacrifices. Cold feet are okay.

3:41. Um,... 3:42. Correcting typos takes up time. In fact, if I could type better I'd be able to write more. Spending too much time deleting and retyping. Oh, well. I guess the more I write the better my typing skills might become. I say might because I've never been a good typist.

3:45. Times up.

Cheers.