Leif Erikson

is one of my favorites by Interpol

It was the second time Charlene threatened to kill herself. We had been dating a year. It was turbulent but I loved her. That night she said she took a handful of expired pills and asked me to feed her children the next day. I lay there. Angry at her. I thought, ‘how dare you try and put your kids’ tears on me. Puta Madre.’

I tried to hold the anger in but that only made things worse.

She was suspicious of me because I lied to her early in our relationship. The lie was a mistake, but at the time I didn’t see it that way. I didn’t consider how hard it must have been for her to trust me again.

To prove I was sincere about never lying again; I cut myself off from everyone, let her check my phone, spent all my time with her-or on the phone with her. Did that work? Nope.

The night of the pills, I just wanted to not fight. I knew jealousy, like a lot of people do. I was accustomed to being the jealous one in a relationship. But this was different.

Its as if she used my one mistake to excuse her fucked up behavior.

Bettie Paige in a suitcase

“if her life is such a big joke. Why should I care?…It’s like learning a new language
Helps me catch up on my mind(mime?)
If you don’t bring up those lonely parts
This could be a good time…
You come here to me
We’ll collect those lonely parts
And set them down
You come here to me”

I was innocent but my innocence clouded my understanding of what she believed. And that’s very important to understand. I wanted us to be right. I thought I found my wife.

After a certain point I just stopped taking her accusations seriously.

Some people talk of recycled arguments that never get set to sleep. Arguments wailing at night, like a witch colored copy of an old resentment. Something that both of you can’t kick.

I’ve been thinking about the movie, “Leaving Las Vegas.” But I can’t remember why Nicholas Cage is trying kill himself with booze.

I mostly remember “Leaving” for the gorgeous Elisabeth Shue. Her blonde, wavy hair makes me wanna not comb my hair. But fuck! There’s no way mine would look that hot. Shue and the lovely, Sheri Moon Zombie kinda look the same. It’s their jawline smile. They have a similar beauty I find irresistible.

Charlene viewed my unwillingness to talk as a sign of guilt. The constant arguing was draining the life from my smile. I just wanted to show her. Get her in bed and rub her clit all over my face. Flip her over and eat her from behind.

But none of what I did got us back that way again.


What the fuck does that really look good? Really? Really.

My wallet looks like it belongs to a bum. Holy fuck have things been…weird.

The job is going well. I just survived a baptism of fire. Ask me what being stuck in a well hung room full of smarmy sales fuck tards is like. Not happy about the pay but the job does provide me with a semi stress free work place and plenty of free time for writing.

I finished my first sci fi horror story. Now it’s time to see about publication. Shopping my work around has been a slow, brutal process. I don’t like it. But until things change, I guess it has to be done.

This week I should have a set of poems and pics available on Amazon. I think there are more platforms to publish on besides Amazon and…

Name a few if you know of any.

Keep writing. I love the stuff I’m reading here on WordPress.

Inert Velocity — The literati mafia

Transcription Beta (low confidence) “Hey you, Apologies for taking so long to return your call, I’ve been lost in America, MIA. I haven’t been able to think clearly, although maybe I’ve been thinking too clearly and that’s the problem, after all clarity is a matter of perspective. Thank goodness for humor, almost everything is funny… […]

Inert Velocity — The literati mafia

We got that loud Saturday Sunday,

I really like Mia’s work. The part about Dramamine makes me think of that song by the Sparks – Angst in my pants. I’m probably the worst about explaining the fine details of why I think a piece of art is good but Mia’s writing in this piece is something I would like to read more of.

Work has been going well, it looks like next week they are going to order me a more ergonomically efficient chair, which is like, the best ever because who wants to fuck up their spine while they’re hunched over slaving away as a typist. A typist!

Mia I hope this share does your work justice, if you think it looks funky in any way or you want me to change anything just send me a message.

Have a happy eastersss everyone

Working on this curse

Over the past month or so, I have read some really great writers on wp. So in the spirit of goodwill, the two more holidays left in the weekend, and my general eagerness for sharing. I’m in the mood to share some work that I favor quite a bit. This first one is by Rimbaud who influenced people like Jim Morrison, Patti Smith, Bukowski (I think) and probably alot more. I just can’t confirm because at the moment I am half in the bag. Work has been going well. My supervisor at the job site told me that she didn’t normally offer people jobs before their 90 day probation period ends but she wanted to inform me that she was planning on offering me the job on a permanent basis because she felt confidant in my work. I came up with another idea for a story. I’m super psyched about. The writer’s block seems to be dissolving. I’ll post more soon. Have a fabulous pass over everyone

Sorry it’s crooked but my hands shake a bit

A Figurative Paradox

When I came up with the idea for Confetti and Coffee, I wanted to write about the more humorous aspects of my life.  I wanted to expand my skills as a writer and show that I can write more than just poetry that deals with the darker passages of this world.  However, since today is 911 and I just wrote an essay for my English class ( not to mention that I haven’t posted an essay in months).  I have decided to post the essay I wrote for class.  The assignment was for me to write a rhetorical analysis about the descriptive devices and appeals the song uses.  I wrote about a song that reflects on  PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).  As always, I welcome feedback left on my FB page and if the mood should suit you click that fancy share button on your device.  Cheers

Joy Division, “Decades”


The song, “Decades” by the band Joy Division is a song that reflects on the profound effects of war on service members who have engaged in combat.  Due to the stress of war these soldiers often suffer from (PTSD) Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  The song is not a political argument but a song that is a social argument.  There are no anti-war slogans being thrown around in this tune but the theme the song reflects on is the tribulations faced by service members who are struggling with their mental issues having returned from combat.

Through the use of a synthesizer, “Decades” uses auditory appeal to evoke sadness akin to that of a funeral.  Singer Ian Curtis also applies auditory appeal through the somber use of his vocals.  Auditory appeal can also be found in the combination of lyrics and vocals of the chorus, “Where have they been?”  These lyrics and begging tone of Curtis’ voice portray the distraught moaning of the family member of a GI.  As the family tries to understand the brutality their loved one has been a party too.  “Decades” is an argument of pathos.  It has an emotional appeal that vibrates through the melodic combination of synthesizer and Curtis’ dreary vocals.  The lyrical content is embedded with figurative language device, such as the lyrics, “we knocked on the door of Hell’s darker chamber.”  The soldiers are not literally knocking on Hell’s darker chamber but going through the emotional stress of combat which equates what they are experiencing, as to that of being in Hell.  The use of visual imagery can also be seen in the lyrics, “We knocked on the door of Hell’s outer chamber.”  This summons the idea of men standing at the foot of Hell, waiting to be let in.  The next line in the song, “pushed to the limit we dragged ourselves in,” is a paradox because it is not physically possible to drag yourself into anywhere.  Someone would have to be doing the dragging to be able to use the word in its traditional sense.  Finally, the use of alliteration can be found at two points in the song.  The first is, “watched from the wings as the scenes where replaying.”  The second point would be, “the sorrows we suffered and never were free.”

Beautiful Distraction

Its five minutes till midnight and I can’t come up with a decent concept to write about.  I’ve been lugging around writers block on my shoulders for the past few months and have been going stir crazy sitting at home trying to deliver the goods for this month’s essay.  11:57 P.M. and time is running out.  I thought about how much television I’ve been consuming over the past few months and how I equate this to a woman I use to know, a woman I referred to as a, “beautiful distraction,” but I couldn’t paste two sentences together to make a decent paragraph, so I dropped that idea.  I thought about how my writers block and my lack of gainful employment could somehow be connected.  Half way through my second paragraph I realized that I hate work, or should I say I don’t care much for the types of jobs I am qualified to do.  That idea was tossed.  Then I thought about addiction. How a constant revolving maelstrom affects not only the sufferer but those around them.  I thought about the fight that many endure 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  What promises they make and break on the daily; just to wake up and exist.  Just to quiet their nerves.  I thought about the junkies and drunkies I know.  The shopaholics, gamblers, TV addicts.  The porn addicts, the sex addicts and the rage freaks.  I thought about these concepts profoundly.  Trying to make sense of the dilemma at hand.  Trying to write a few days worth of work into 5 minutes.  Trying to beat the demons of procrastination. Trying to kick start my brain without succumbing to the addictive glow of TV and Taco Bueno.  Then I realized it was almost 12:30 A.M.  December 1st.  I had missed my deadline.

An Addict in the kitchen

It was the final week of my 60 day juice cleanse; I was exhausted and craving junk food. My brain knew by the end of the week I would be eating solid food and gluttonous nightmares began infesting my sleep. I dreamt of raiding candy dispensers at the local market. Dumping neon colored, sugar-coated, gummy bits into my mouth, head tilted back, eyes kissing fluorescent lights as I choked on candy. I was spooked by dreams of pastry possession and drowning under tides of Thanksgiving gravy. I became afraid to sleep at night. I began to sleep with a light on. It didn’t help.
I got the idea for a juice cleanse after watching a movie where this three hundred pound guy lost hundreds of pounds juicing fruits and vegetables for 60 days. I became more and more comfortable with the idea as I thought about it. Like the man in the film I hoped to reset my eating habits and lose weight at the same time. I began to question what I was eating and how it affected my mood. Generally speaking I mostly consumed carbs and would often drift into a coma like stasis after each meal.
During my 60 day campaign I reflected on my habit. I realized that eating is something I often do uncontrollably and without the sensation of hunger being present. Like a flesh-eating fiend from a George Romero flick I often wandered the kitchen in search of food. Not hunger but an urge. It was a frightening realization. I began to equate this idea to that of someone dealing with addiction.
While I juiced I made sure to use a recipe that would give my body all the nutrients I needed so that I would not starve. Starvation was not appealing to me. I wanted to be able to appreciate food. During the 60 days I noticed I was hardly ever hungry. However I quite often fought with the craving of certain foods, Chick-fil-a’s meal number 4, pizza, Chinese food, mom’s homemade tacos. But there was never any real hunger. The words, “I’m starving,” never crossed my lips.
The first 30 days went by fast as I noticed the weight vanish. Success bred confidence and I increased my cardio to twice a day. Then I lost my job but I didn’t let the stress derail my movement. I was near the finish line. Only one more week left and I was down to 157 pounds. Within two pounds of reaching my goal. Then the nightmares came. Like a possessed child in need of an exorcism I was being haunted by junk food. Would I over throw the food junkie that pressed cupcakes against my face, like a fat stripper pressing her gut up against me? The last night of my fast was a long one; my mind went back and forth contemplating all the irresponsible food I would indulge in. I wanted to be a food junkie again and as I sat there I wondered if I could look myself in the mirror if I ordered Dominos but didn’t eat it till after midnight?