It’s called the American dream

Because you have to be asleep to believe it. That’s one of my favorite quotes from George Carlin.

Working for a local office, going on about 2 weeks, now. But I don’t seem to have much time to do more than watch tv and drink.

I stopped writing my short, sci fi/horror fiction for a minute. Writer’s constipation, again.

I can’t figure out how to maneuver the new “block” thingamajig that WordPress has going on. I wanted to insert a pic of this wicked nice beer coozie one of the Rons from my part time job gave me.

I have no poetry this week. sorry. So I’ll end with another great quote

“Time to make the donuts”

A short poem without a name

I was running from an ugly existence
I was digging up all sorts of novel ways to
modify myself
So many ways but still the same person as yesterday
Steadily moving at an absent pace
Frame of thought is dawn’s precious victim
alone, stranded in pieces
Tired of giving this curse something it can feel
Those I want. Don’t want me. And those I could give a fuck about
won’t let me be
I decided the world was a pool of piss
and the only thing I can do, is keep you at a distance
Until, I am ready to jump ship
I may gripe and moan, and if I could stop thinking about nothing
War and etiquette?
There is something that can be said for an anonymous mentality

Conjuring Lovecraft

It’s been a long week and I am still the writer who does not write. Watched a Lovecraft doc on YouTube tonight and I couldn’t help but compare myself to him when the narrator described how Howard didn’t work because he felt a gentleman should “be” not have to “do.” Yeah well it’s 2019 and that shit don’t get you followers/people willing to buy your books. I decided long ago to start playing the lotto when I decided to give up on making a living like any other person. Currently working on a short story about love, and the awful shit people do to each other because that’s what love makes them do. I’ll hopefully share a line or two soon as I can stop being so depressed that I am able to. Don’t hold your breath.

and as an added bonus here’s a bit of prose/something to start a story. No title

Waking up can be difficult. The indecisive nature of how I operate makes for an easily self-contained person. A science experiment in the idea of not wanting to better myself yet going through weeks were all I do is obsess over bettering myself.
Writing short stories is harder than I expected. I thought I could just take my rotten experiences and my juvenile hijinks from my life and apply them to some sort of literary coup.
The junkies in the streets fair off better than you or me, the reason is because there’s nothing in what I see that can force me to change what’s wrong with me