Thoughts on a Cancelling Culture

It is impossible to write a captivating fairytale when forever cast as the scurrilous villain.     From the constriction of that perspective, the script inevitably shifts into blandness.  The story gets muddied beyond what could ever be considered reasonable.  Or inspiring.  And that fatal miscalculation breeds a lasting contempt for not being free to tell an honest story.    Mediocrity reigns supreme on a stage built to never offend.  Sterility has somehow become the baseline for accepted artistic integrity and the swing of that cultural pendulum causes a cookie-cutter motion sickness of repetition, leaving us grasping for an elusive artistic anchorage.   Always pandering to the lowest denominator.  Always dumbing down the sharp edges of controversy because uncomfortable voices are no longer welcome in a society …

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I Got Dem Ol’ Bubblegum Machine Blues

I woke up far too late in the day after having had far too many beers late into the night.  The spring sky was grey, threatening rain as I sat getting myself caffeinated, and had it not been for my voracious appetite for tobacco, I most likely would have stayed hidden away safely in the boredom of my little blue house for the day.  But, knowing the half of a pack that I had on hand wasn’t going to be nearly enough to get me through the night that I could already feel barreling my way, there was no choice but to head out into the world.  The local neighborhood market was its usual version of awfulness.  It was more crowded than normal, filled with pinballing …

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Sunday Schooled

I will never be called to the river. I will never be washed clean. Sorry, Preacher Man.  There is just no saving my soul. Some sins simply defy absolution.  Some mistakes linger irreparably in their durable definitions.  And some regrets rage and fester, like an undiagnosed cancer storming unchecked through the soft tissues of an untimely surrender. The wrongs I have committed far outweigh the rights; the karmic balance remains stubbornly shifted forever in favor against me.  And I have neither justification, nor diligence, against what is ultimately coming due. There is no defending the indefensible position- therein lies only exhausting madness.  There is no justifying the indiscreet indiscretions- therein lies only more lies.  There is no forgiving the unforgivable- therein lies the undeniable tragedy of …

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Total Ellipsis of the Heart…

It seems the whole of my existence is bound by the rigid principles of punctuation. All these tiny marks punched into thin paper help to anchor me, late into an unseasonably snowy spring night when the muffled blanket of unexpected purity strains to cover this sickly City of Wayne shivering alone in the dark.  Little tangible reminders, peppering the fragility of an entirely different whiteness, deeply regimented and somehow keeping time with the lullaby piano music echoing through an empty blue house teetering on new collapse, stand out to me and I realize just how deeply I am caught in their embrace.  Sometimes, they hit harsh and unforgiving.  Sometimes, like a heated, diasterous love affair tragically crumbling into that inevitable bittersweet nothingness, you simply cannot escape …

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Southern Kisses, Northern Practicalities

The red of her lips matched the burning tip of my lullaby cigarette glowing hot in the encroaching twilight of our day.   The smell of her sweaty sex, so recently defiled and satisfied, married itself to a cool evening breeze tickling the mountaintop.  The caress of a strong hand, so deceptively delicate in appearance, shared more than just the last of the day’s cigarettes with me.  And it sparked the insatiably of my passions all over again.  Her words tempted the appetite of my critical intellect.  The beautiful disaster of her catastrophically tousled hair tickled my fancy.  The shadowy outline of her compact form, casually leaning against the front porch rail, tempted the fire of my seductive demons so ravenously hungry to relish in the warmth …

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