That Sunday night feeling before school

I’ve been working on writing my version of the song Melody Lee. But my version wouldn’t necessarily be a song. Maybe a poem or a short story. The lyrics, “a broken man and a broken dream… your life was cruel but they called it art. I like the concept of someone facing destitution.

I worked at this job once, I had this supervisor who’s last name was Frued. No one ever pronounced his name right. While I knew the guy I heard him called Froodo. Frodo. Fruoed. The face of this poor man. He died a little inside, every single time someone struggled horrifically to pronounce his name.

By coincidence, years later I worked with a gal who’s last name was Jung.

Self publishing poetry or any other writing-I would assume, is a time consuming process that is not always easy to grasp.

Amazon’s easy to use process isn’t atm very easy to use.

My friend Ian gave me the Roy Orbison box in the pic. It’s a bunch of comics he left my nephew (for my nephew when he got older). Ian was a tall, gaucky white guy with punk rock spikes and pants way too tight for any man.

We listened to similar music and drank similar beer. He was a crust punk and had this brilliant side gig. He went to thrift shops and bought cheap Jordache jean jackets from the 80’s. Ian and his girl cut them down to vests. Added metal spikes, leopard print, punk rock propaganda, and sold them to rich kids for 80 to 100 dollars a pop. Genius.

Eventually Ian got a job with me and we spent many summers laughing and talking trash to our up tight customers.

We once smoked this powder that made the present slow down until we shrunk to the size of our shoes. I still have no idea what that was. The effects were brief and lasted a few minutes but it really turned my shit upside down.

Right Now I am reading, “An Editor’s Advice to Writers-The Forest for the Trees, ” by Betsy Lerner. Betsy is a badass. She knows her shit.

She says,”(c)hances are you want to write because you are a haunted individual, or a bothered individual, because the world does not sit right with you…”

I went to the library, picked up Betsy, a bio on Merle Haggard, and the Dictionary of Classical Mythology by Jenny March.

I’m fucking with writer’s block again. I found this docuseries on Tubi-an app on the Roku stick in my room. It’s about Greek mythology and I’m about to watch the episode about Dionysus. The series is called, “Great Greek Myths. ”

I’ve been using Dionysus as the God who poisons earth in the short story I’m working on but after watching the show, Orpheus seems more fitting.

I’ve been listening to some great stand up by comedians like Chad Daniel’s and Tom Segura. Trying to develop things like pace, tone, voice and as many literary devices I can conjure to finish this story.

I’m looking forward to starting the next story about possession.

Spatan and Becks are two of my favorites. Drank with a few shots of Tequila and the summer heat is no longer an issue.