Where is Home 

Awhile ago I wrote “What is home?” as a study of my emotional attachment to 25 acres that passed out of my grasp at 22.

Little did I know then, when I could have envisioned myself marrying Mom’s newly discovered yard man, I forget his name but can still see a glimpse of him in my mind’s lazy eye.

Yet, here we are.

Here. We are. 

We are present and accounted for. We belong to the beginning of light. We can only try to advance what is good in mankind with tremendous effort. 

Our DNA is simply not wired to be good. In fact, that moral Notion takes consciousness and will, when propelling mob mentality is more expedient and not only are there no free lunches but you can’t even sing for your supper.

Friday Report

From the drafts —

Telling that I chose to title Lost in the Shuffle and then went poof into the ether. Basically, cited Greek gods, a poet whose work I just discovered & Heather Locklear, who just ended up in trouble with pills and alcohol. 

The idea was that my ‘biggest’ days on this blog had to do with mythology, Ruth Stone and “a best of film” review. 

Therefore, it was concluded that I must work in more exorbitant taxidermy, a cinematic language flipping pictures & soundtracks, the employ of such tactics hard to express, suppressed, the same.


The light scatters

while darkness wiles away 

fills the passage of time 

Fills the minds of man 

Stone cold 

beneath endless blankets of despair 

This I cannot hold 

This has no place 

    here 

    beneath the still, cool night

     sky indifferent to our sorrows so soon realized 

so long to abide

silent suffering was never part of the appeal 

  • Anxiety was brought by on by a ticklish antichrist 
  • How do you explain — the list goes on & on but never feels complete, certainly far from over 
  • The vastness of badness – and, naturally follows, but what are we to do
  • There’s always holes in these effervescent arguments –  alright sleights of hand passed off as fun and games jejune responses to the problems of humanity 
  • Subterfuge complete 
  • This September there will be a projected showing, an unprecedented unveiling of the unholy ceiling where blood splashes make up 40% of the umbre these days…
  • How am I not to simply sit down and cry? Today is Saturday the last Saturday of July 

What I wrote was far more poetic but now I am hungry and way beyond what

–where I was 3 minutes ago.