My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

So, last month Amazon released their test version of Kindle for Mac, allowing Kindle eBooks to be read on Mac desktops and laptops. I’ve been reading eBooks since the beginning, and Kindle for Mac is definitely the nicest eBook software I’ve ever used. It’s not even feature-complete, yet the current feature-set is totally enough to crush other eBook formats. For example, the Kindle app is tied to a user’s Amazon account. If one purchases a book on say, Kindle for iPad, that book gets synced to Kindle for Mac. So, one can have their entire eBook library on-hand on any device running Kindle software. I have multiple Macs, so it’s really nice being able to have my library whether I’m on my home Mac or my travel Mac. The Kindle apps also have a feature called, WhisperSync, which allows one to start reading a book on one device, then pick up exactly where they left off on another. I love being able to read a book out on the town, then pick it up on my home Mac without losing my place.

The biggest attraction to Kindle, however, is the book selection. I’ve been able to find just about every book I ever wanted. Just about… Michael Cisco isn’t published in Kindle-form, which was quite a let-down, but he’s the only author I haven’t been able to find. Maybe one day, I hope.

At any rate, until Apple releases an iBooks app for Mac OS X, I’m all about Kindle for Mac.

Okay, so, I no longer particularly feel like hot garbage, which is a nice change. I don’t feel exactly spectacular, but I don’t feel all sickly and ill either. I don’t feel as exhausted, and generally ill at ease. I’m kind of forcing myself to write this nothing, trying to get back to some kind of “normalcy.” I haven’t felt like writing in so long, but the words are starting to dance around in my head again.

I feel well enough for another tattoo… I’m really excited about this one, my thirty-fourth, I can’t stop thinking about it. My artist, Colt, has been out of town since January, so I haven’t gotten a tattoo since. I promised Colt that he’d be the only person to give me tattoos until I run out of room, or one of us drops dead, and I meant it. So, now that he’s back, we have more words to dig into my skin.

That’s it for now…

So, I’m just getting back after two weeks in the hospital with a ridiculous sinus infection. I had to have nasal surgery. My spectacular anesthesiologist, Dr. Mangar, kept me asleep, and alive, for over an hour during the procedure. I’m out now, trying to get back into things, but it’s slow. I’m tired, I’m a kind of uneasy, sometimes really uneasy. I’m just not myself yet. I’m a little frayed, a little fucked up.

Bear with me, while I dig my way out of this mess.

So, Monday night my friends, Jimmy and Danielle, voiced four of my pieces at Sacred Grounds‘ open mic night…

Telling a story, The world outside is burning, One passing dusk, and He came with her.

So, if I don’t die during my trache change later today, I vow two things.

First, I plan to devote more of my time toward writing unicorn, and turtle focused erotica. 1xbet شرح موقع  I figure, erotica is very erotic, and unicorns are astonishingly beautiful, so putting the two together, well, I don’t think people will be able to sleep at night. At least, not without going heels to Jesus. موقع رياضي As for the turtles, just think about it.

The second something involves a woman, but that’s between me, and her, and the lamppost. Maybe one day this blog will know, but not today. الكازينو

I think if things don’t change, I’m going to become a Catholic nun. I’m going to break a gender-wall that has stood for far too long. I’m going to gay marry God, giving up my life of sin. I’ll wear my habit, and look totally hot, and live to love and serve the Lord. I’ve seen the movie, Doubt, and listened to Tori Amos’ cover of Like a Prayer enough to feel this calling.

A fellow can only fuck up so many times before he realizes that he should take a different road. For me, that road leads straight to the Catholic Church, and the life of a cloistered nun.

This just seems right to post.

I feel like this Nirvana song, like a stain.

The song goes…

Well, he never bleeds, and he never fucks, and he never leaves ’cause he’s got bad luck.

Well, he never reads, and he never draws, and he never sleeps ’cause he’s got bad luck, yeah…

I’m a stain…

I’m in that sort of rut, but I don’t blame luck, I just blame myself. The really fucked up part is that I can’t write about any of it, which goes against my entire philosophy of transparency. I can’t even write it as thinly veiled fiction, as I do so often. I have these things going on that I absolutely cannot put to words, but since they’re all that’s in my head, I can’t seem to write anything else. I’m frustrated, and exhausted, and I just want to feel something good again. I don’t want to feel like I’m a stain…

I’ve been pretty stuck in my writing. Nothing in my head seems worth the letters, and the words, and the sentences. It’s been this way for a solid while now, and I can’t seem to dig out of it. I love the craft, I love using it to create, I just don’t see anything worth creating.

So, if I don’t have any writing ideas just now, maybe you folks do. What would you like to see me write? Give me ideas, ask for anything. Give me suggestions, crazy topics, don’t be shy. I’ve asked this before, and it definitely helped then.

Just leave your ideas in my blog comments, please don’t leave Facebook comments or tweets.

Almost daily sometimes, I hear that I’m brave, or an inspiration. “Inspirational” is subjective, I can’t really argue with how I affect people. If something I write stirs something good, I’ll take it. If me riding around town with a little plastic tube in my throat helps someone do something they’re afraid of, great. I can’t tell people how to feel.

The thing is though, I’m not brave. I’m just not. I’m full of fear, and flaws, and damage. I fuck up all the time. I’m scared of being lonely, and scared that anyone I get close to will leave me because they might not like what I am, so I often push them away first. I’ve been known to enjoy liquor way too much when I get too uneasy. Two summers ago, I was doing fuckin’ vodka shots for brunch. I don’t do that stuff now, but I did, and it wasn’t brave. I have to get a fresh tube in my throat every five weeks, and the way I handle it is knowing that I’ll get amazing drugs for the procedure. Drugs to make me sleep through the hard part, and drugs to kill the pain and the nervous when I wake up. That’s definitely not brave. Nothing about this paragraph is brave.

I don’t see myself as brave, I’m just as fucked up and screwed up as anybody.

So, last night I went to open mic at a cafe in Tampa, Sacred Grounds. I met someone there on Saturday, Danielle, and we’ve been talking since. She really likes my writing for some reason, and asked if she could be my reader at open mic. So, we went and she read three of my flash pieces, Waking up someone who isn’t me, Driving in the dark, and Asleep soon.