Author Archive
Alone on a Sunday
Alone on a Sunday, in a place you don’t belong, never belonged. Lonely and broken, a cracked mirror reflecting nothing but damage. You’re darkness that’s not understood, that no one thinks to brighten. You’re constant thought with nowhere to go, buried under unsaid words. You want to go home, but you can’t, so you’re alone on a Sunday.
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Wasn’t honest
I write with one rule for myself, whatever I write has to be honest when I write it. I can change my mind, evolve, but everything has to be true in the moment. So, when I wrote that I don’t want Sara back, it wasn’t honest, and I knew it wasn’t honest. I want my feelings toward her to be that simple, but they’re not, at all. I love her, and I’m angry with her, and she hurt me, and I failed her, and I miss her, and I don’t want to miss her, and I could love someone else, and I don’t want to be alone.
Now I feel honest.
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Between the Bars
It’s really beautiful when a writer can take abstract feelings, like addiction and depression, and turn them into words that perfectly describe such abstracts. Elliott Smith was one of those writers, just honest and eloquent. I especially love this song, it’s a gorgeous description of the empty peace found in alcohol, and the reasons one might seek it. I’ve had my share of drinks, drinks to make me okay.
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Doors
I want to lose myself in blinding sex, or drugs that numb, vodka that burns going down, doors to anywhere but here. Here, my lifeless life, my endless lonely, where I drown in a stream of consciousness. Drowning without death, finding nothing but locked doors.
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What I want
I don’t want Sara back (the ex-girlfriend), but I want that life back, a life bigger than my little room in Tampa. I want that connection to someone. Nothing feels as good as falling asleep holding a woman I love, everything else is just a fix. Then, of course, I want to publish spectacular writing. Things that people will remember. My craft is absolutely important to me, and it’s brutal to feel like I’m losing it.
If I can ever effectively type again, I don’t doubt that I can have these things, and more. It’s amazing what I can do with words, words create reality. I don’t regret being depressed over Sara, such experiences happen, whether we want them or not. I ultimately value even the darkest experiences, writers are kind of sadistic that way. I do, however, regret wasting so much time while I was depressed over her.
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I’m getting published!
I may be depressed as all Hell, I may day-dream about bleeding out, but I do have some good news. I’m getting a piece of my flash fiction published in the poetry section of Weird Tales Magazine! It’s the first thing I’ve ever submitted to a magazine, so I’m pretty excited, and definitely surprised.
Happiness, loss, depression, anything can be good for writing if you let it.
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Patience
So, the NeuroSwitch is delayed until Thursday the 16th. I am Jack’s total lack of surprise. Give me patience. Flash!
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No tomorrow
If I knew there would be no tomorrow, if zombies finally paid us a visit, I’d tell you I love you. Why are such simple words more frightening than the walking dead?
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New trache, again, yay
So, once again, I go for a new trache in the morning. I’m pretty apathetic toward the whole affair, dying is really low on my worry list these days.
