April 25th, 2017

April 25th, 2017

I walk around with a bug zapper and a dreamcatcher strapped to my back at all times as if I was the human incarnation of a drowsy midsummer porch. The dreamcatcher’s use is pretty obvious. It catches daydreams before they can flit away, decompose in between grasping fingers too thick and unwieldly to hold smoke. The luminous, droning bug zapper is less obvious. I wear that strapped to my back because thoughts that care only for a shiny neon light…

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Routine – Spoken Word Poem

Routine – Spoken Word Poem

Everybody has a differing level of appreciation for the routine. On the more pessimistic side you have the monotony of the mundane, of the perennial. On the optimistic side you have the safety and reliability of a path well-worn, understood. Perhaps a good balance is to make daily forays off the well-trodden path, little excursions that keep safety in sight while walking on cool grass that creaks when pressed down for the first time. Then again, I have met a…

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Six Feet Tall – Spoken Word Poem

Six Feet Tall – Spoken Word Poem

When I was in middle school and high school I set the bar for success in terms of growth right at six feet. That was the magic number. That was the vantage point that would change everything. Suddenly dunking would become plausible and not every damn girl would be taller than me. Clearly self-confidence issues abounded during the time. I eventually got over it, both the self-confidence issues and the six-foot mark. However, I have always had the superstition that wanting…

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The Collector – Short Story

The Collector – Short Story

Picture a street. Picture asphalt glimmering in the noon sun with heat shimmers roiling like hundreds of tiny flags in a light breeze. The sidewalks running parallel to the street are webbed with innumerable cracks, weeds fighting to break through. Now picture the people stepping heel-toe amongst the web-like cracks of the sidewalk. It’s a smattering of the regular roles, though even a modestly busy street such as this one sees different faces playing the parts. To one side, a…

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After the Door Closes – Short Story

After the Door Closes – Short Story

After one door closes, another one always opens up. That phrase makes it sound so easy to waltz on over to the other door and amble on through. Sometimes locks exist, or the alternative door is miles away. Or there are mountains, rivers, and bridges with angry trolls blocking the path. Now that I have you in the right state of mind. Check out the story below. Is it an allegory dressed in fantastical clothes? Perhaps, but then again perhaps…

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Sometimes I Wish I Would Dance – Spoken Word Poem

Sometimes I Wish I Would Dance – Spoken Word Poem

I am severely late in posting this thanks to the one two punch of a power outage followed by an interminable period of extremely slow internet. Normally I aim for around two to four in the afternoon, but such is life. When it comes to accomplishing tasks, my aim is generally better than my aim with a gun. Unfortunately sometimes the wind throws dirt in your eye and your aim goes far wide. But dancing is what this post is…

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Proof of Memory – Short Story

Proof of Memory – Short Story

I think it’s fair to say memory loss sucks. Human beings are a bundle of habits, instincts, selective neuroses,  colorful blemishes, praise-worthy accomplishments, and whispered secrets. And I wonder how much of a person is tied up in hazy high school memories of thumping music and limbs awkwardly letting loose, pinwheeling in time to America’s top 40. I don’t doubt that crossing out certain memories would boost the self-confidence meter a few notches. But I also wonder if it wouldn’t just…

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From Woden to Thor – Update

From Woden to Thor – Update

I’ve decided to switch my major post day from Wednesday to Thursday, thus the title from Woden to Thor. They are the old English namesakes for these two most estimable weekdays. From an old Germanic god to a Norse god. Or really from Norse god Odin (the Norse pronunciation of Woden as best I can tell) to Norse god Thor. From father to son. Given the astonishing amount of superhero movies funded in the past couple years and their tendency…

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The Boy Named Hero – Spoken Word Poem

The Boy Named Hero – Spoken Word Poem

I’m not exactly sure why a fear of the dark is so widespread. I know I used to fear the dark, this story/poem is as much truth as it is fiction. Though now I have somehow reversed that trend. Who doesn’t enjoy going caving and shutting off the lights, taking in the absolute stillness, the steady drip of water building sediment layer by layer, vision blacker than the back of eyelids? There is something peaceful there. People smarter than me have postulated…

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After The Cryonics – Short Story

After The Cryonics – Short Story

This story is at least in part a reaction to realizing I had never watched the movie Blade Runner, which of course instigated an immediate Amazon order of the source of inspiration for the movie: the book Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick. I read the book in a day, spending a night curled up in bed with a headache throbbing at my temples from reading for so long. It’s always been hard for me to put a book down…

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