Day 75: Head In The Clouds (Of Tear Gas)

Thankfully, my city did not burn last night. But, we still marched. It began as a quiet and peaceful protest at the courthouse green, the nearly spontaneous gathering of a multitude of different genders, races, and generations from all across the City of Wayne, brought together in united solidarity to mourn the tragic murder of an innocent man.  It ended in a sea of misinformation, tear gas, and more arrests. The vibe was initially a mournful one, the chants of “we can’t breathe” and “justice for George” echoing hard off the court house walls, the universally American symbol of justice and unbiased decisions made for the sake of the common good.  For the briefest glimmer, skin color, economic backgrounds, and the other divisions far too often …

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Day 74: I Can’t Breathe

I am going to break a promise that I made to myself when I first starting writing about these confusingly difficult times in which we are currently living. From that initial post, some 74 days ago, I pledged to myself that I would do my very best to focus only on the emotions I was experiencing during the grind of this quarantine and to make an honest, conscience attempt at keeping the divisiveness of politics out my writing for the sake of either not offending those reading who might not necessarily agree with my perspectives, or unintentionally causing more unnecessary separation by speaking my mind. But tonight, it is time to speak out. Because this country is so fucking broken. There is something so fundamentally wrong …

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flyover

Day 73: Flyover Follies

I really hate the term flyover country. And yes, I do realize that I have often used that particular phrase here quite frequently in the many fits of my quarantined literary insanity.  But that was intentionally conceived as my attempt to somehow reappropriate that offensive phrase, trying my best to gracefully redefine the once insulting connotations, and accompanying implications, that all the hard working people who choose to live in this part of the country are somehow second-class citizens, living hopelessly out of touch from the supposedly hip and happening world out on the coasts. That is just some either-coast elitist self-aggrandizing bullshit. Because so much real life happens here, every single day.  And those over-indulged oceanside dwellers do not have even the slightest inkling of …

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Day 71: Never Look A Gift Fox In His Words

They often call it a gift. Far too often over the preceding years, when I have allowed myself to be so brashly ignoble as to actually share some of my haltingly hesitant words, I have heard that particular phrase being uttered with what I am sure were genuinely earnest intentions.  And I always struggle to hold my tongue and simply make awkward acknowledgement of the objectively unwarranted good graces of their kind intent. But it is not a gift. And yet, neither is it wholly a curse.  It instead finds an elusive definition somewhere in the middle, seldom seen and running deviously unnoticed in the encroaching shadows, just like the mischievous fox, slinking his way cunningly cautious through the darkness of another Indiana summer night draped …

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bridge

Day 70: Buy the Ticket, Take the Drive

I had to get the fuck out of this town before I burned it all down. Again. The memories have lingered unwelcomingly hard this year, ignoring the many good graces of my sacrifices and availing themselves nightly on the wings of a pandemic’s socially-isolated cough.  Everything inside pushed me to leave behind my tires this little part of that infected world, wheezing and sputtering and still dying with predictable statistical regularity.  Everything I touch these days becomes a gamble anyway, so why not just lean into it in a last-minute chance to go and chase down other parts of that same world now growing green again at the start of another Indiana summer. I selfishly used the excuse of possibly locating a new typer as motivation, …

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