I will no longer think I must be mute lest I offend a coward who has neither courage nor tongue nor mind.Continue reading
We fell asleep and let them ruin our world,
Murdered the heroes, lionized the swine.
Taught us shame for who we will always be
Cavaliers who will die with kings, while regicides seek glory.
Roundheads always claim to sing the people’s song, but we know they are in love with only their own voice.
Run away, if you will not fight your duels like a man.
During all the turmoil of our time, it seems only fitting we remember Elvis Aaron Presley on his birthday. Elvis may have left the building, but he will always remain in our hearts.
What do I say? How can I say it? The rubbish pile I call home is too much for me. After sleeping on the same sheets for God knows how many months, I decided to change them. While doing so, I fell into a pile of “stuff” on J’s side of the bed. No harm done, physically, but there was an old hurt it aggravated.
“This house is not a home, at least not my home.”
I don’t live here, I merely exist here, but I can’t let myself breathe or relax or enjoy even the smallest pleasure. This is a place where my dreams die.
And so I must break the stranglehold on my creativity, my imagination. It sucks. It is daunting. The anger and hurt I feel from the alienation that characterizes this clutter, must go into what I write.￼
Crazy stories, dirty stories may come from me. As if ass-licking and sodomy were the embodiment of alienation. That wound of hurt offers no promise of healing.
Enough for now.