Who Ordered the Folgers?

Blatant toxicity is ridiculously contagious- and literal distance seems to be the only reliable vaccine. Once identified and isolated, not from a still raging pandemic’s deadly grip, but from within the rhythms of a friendship’s heated implosion, you can never be afraid to walk away from unhealthy situations- it always leads to better things.  Besides, grudges are just…dumb. And the perniciousness of their seductions can be a hard addiction to break, once caught in their cycle. But I did walk away and I am breaking that habit to stroll in the healthier embrace of a genuine heart, not fake and foney ones, with their stupid little games played as a distraction from their own moral decay and glaring inconsistencies. The story of that “break and block” …

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Duality

The hilarity of opposition tickles me tonight, as I sit and begin to drink type away another Friday night here in this nervous and twitchy City of Wayne. Creatively, things have never been better.  My first book is out in the wild– and doing surprisingly well, considering both the subject matter and the fact that it was written by an emotional toddler, banging away unsupervised on an antique typewriter for the seductive amusement of his fickle and fleeting muse. But it is out there.  And that is something. The heat rising up from the Smoky Mountains intensifies with every rekindling text message sent and eagerly received.  It’s been a hilariously intense reconnection, making it ridiculously difficult to keep those early promises made to not catch feelings.  …

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Broken Lace and Fraying Angels

There is inside of me a growing, insatiably relentless simmering, ceaselessly stoked by the taunting heat of unexpected peculiarity boiling and steaming just under the fiery implications of my better intentions. Smoke rises high and hot from the mountains down Tennessee way, clinging to the hills so stoic in their perceived immobility as bare passions rekindle under the threatening storm’s electric, sparking touch. The jagged peaks of less gentle mountains beckon from the rockier west, out in the Centennial state which holds the unique typographical distinction of being where my heart so cleanly divides down Interstate 70’s winding slopes. But then the rhythmic lullaby of a warm gulf’s waves cresting against clean, uncomplicated sands echoes hard enough to be heard over new music played to fight …

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