The fear is always there, regardless of how you try to repress it. It follows until it finds the most opportune moment then draws itself over you like a rain cloud.
Fingers fiddle with the phone. The dailer remains on screen, the number entered and awaiting the final confirmation.
Make the call.
But what if the truth turns out to much to bear?
Are these days limited? Will I soon begin to waste away? Will I depart and leave my children with barely developed memories?
Will I leave never accomplishing something great?
Or will this all be a scare?
There was one, now two more accompany it.
Please let this be a false discovery.



An attempt at poetry from last night. Trying to get back into it and work more on my writing. Comments and criticism are welcome.

The warmth of your skin
As it brushes against mine.
The happy hum you make
When my cheek rests against your back.
Nothing else reminds me I’m home
Not a step though the door
Or a place to set my things.
Only the privilege of crawling in this bed
And embracing your body with mine.


Ugh- that is all. Can’t wait to go home to my loves. Oh, I’ll put together a more in depth post later on. I promise I’m still alive.

The Hollow Men – T.S. Eliot

Mistah Kurtz-he dead
A penny for the Old Guy


We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us-if at all-not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.


Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer-

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom


This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.


The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.


Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Grand Theft Auto Less Likely Than Candy Crush to Cause Violence – Study

Well, that’s interesting…

A Great Feat

Yesterday marked the two year anniversary of the magazine I write for. I am proud to say that since its beginning, I have been contributing to the pages. I’ll admit, I have a lot of days where I think my writing will amount to nothing but I forget that I have already done something I have always wanted to do.
I may not get paid for the job and it may not be the number one magazine in the nation, but it’s something. I hope the magazine has a long run and I plan to keep on writing for them because I enjoy it immensely.
If you want to read the new issue, the link will be below. My article is on page 6 but give the rest of it a read, too.

Metrovida 13th Edition

Diet Day One

Dinner time at work. Half-way through my shift and trying to keep busy is preventing most of the urge to snack. Doesn’t help I work in a mini-mart and most of the products here are snack foods. I really want to get this weight off.
Work is alright. Tomorrow should be better. We will have a truck come in and lots of product to put out. Hopefully some of the work will still be here when I come in.
Another three and a half hours and then I will be out of here and back home. I can’t wait to get home and see the peanut, although she’ll be asleep.
About time to go back to work. I’ll try to stay away from the candy aisle.

The Second Coming

In high school, I read a book for my English class called “Things Fall Apart”. It’s a good book- worth a read. The title of the book comes from a line in a W.B. Yeats poem- “The Second Coming”. Here’s the poem below.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Mentally preparing for Sleep

I wonder if my wife has dreams about crickets. Every night we play crickets for our daughter to help her sleep and I sometimes wonder if the noise gets into my love’s head after she falls asleep. She’s a deeper sleeper than I so maybe not.
I need to go to sleep.
Work tomorrow evening- not too excited to go back. Going to miss all the peanut and family time. Being a responsible adult is kind of lame sometimes.
Starting a diet tomorrow as well- not looking forward to this week. Need to lose this excess weight though. Need to get back into shape and be healthier.
Almost one.
The weekend went by so fast. Not ready for Monday but it’s already here.
Okay time to go to bed- probably going to be up in five or six hours.

Need an opinion (or a few)

Doing one last draft of a story I have been working on for many years. Need an opinion on the writing style of it and if it seems like a promising read. Comments and criticism are encouraged and accepted. 



December 11 
The thoughts locked inside
Sealed away from the world
Do not read, close the cover
Unless I am no longer of this world
Then, welcome you are-
Take a look, a closer look
Confessions unspoken
Truths unheard
Welcome to the story of a troubled mind

“You’re having problems sleeping?”

Among other things.
A visit to the guidance counselor’s office. A hesitant pass through the windowless, closed door. The lesser of two unfortunate choices. The comeback of my haunting dreams calls for a return to my old therapist. A visit to a room where a woman sits writing and picking apart the matter of my mind or a visit to one who will give me advice and clear her thoughts of me following my departure.
I nod when her eyes target me.
“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
Yes, but what other choice do I have?
“The end of the semester is coming- are you worried about not passing any of your tests?”
“Is there anything going on at home? Any family issues or changes?”
She waits for me to meet her stare once more. “Is there anything else- anything you’re having trouble with?”
I shake my head as my mind screams yes.
The counselor leans back in her seat and exhales. She taps her fingers against the desktop.
“How about this- do you like to write?”
I nod slowly, unsure of her point.
“Maybe you should keep a journal. Write down all the thoughts in your head instead of letting them build until they become unbearable.”
A journal lacked the ability to take back the past or change the terrible events into more pleasant ones. It gave no solution to the great problems of the world nor probably even my own.
But what other choice do I have?
A small sound echoes from the other side of the wall. The woman across from me fails to acknowledge it.
“I know you’re not going to tell me everything, but I think it’s best if you-“
A thump comes from the other side of the wall. One then another. My counselor looks towards the wall, slowly standing.
“Excuse me for a minute.”
As she leaves the room, I grab my backpack and search through it. I pull out the first notebook and flip to a blank page near the back.
I guess I can give this a shot.
Now begins the story.
A flashback
Or just another terrible dream?
A room
Then pain.
Someone help me- someone save me- someone mourn me
When I awoke from my dream, the darkness had greeted me. Red digits emerged from the shadows to remind me the night had yet to pass. Fearful of returning to my demise, I watched the minutes tick away until slumber caught up with me once again.
Another nightmare
Or the past?
The bedroom reignites the fear
I feel the presence near.
He stands within the darkness
Lingering with only the silence as witness.
Closer he comes
The distance between us diminishing to none.
“Pretty girl,” he whispers,
“Don’t scream.”
Even in my dreams
I can’t fight this terrible scheme.
The door opens and the counselor returns. “Sorry about that. Now where were we?”
The bell rings. I have spent enough time trapped in this room. I let the notebook slide in my backpack and zip it closed. “I should go to class.”
She nods. “If you need anything else, you know where to find me.”
Maybe this was a bad idea.