The Gambler

The compulsion is to just get on the road and drive. Thoughts of forward momentum creep into every moment that I am unable to keep myself properly distracted in rational, adultingly productive containment. They constantly consume my sleepless overnights, that predictable collection of empty hours spent tossing and turning, like a hastily rented car pin-balling south through the mountains. This stagnation is choking my hesitant possibilities. The cookie cutter repetition of each day spent alone melts into the next, just like the limp and deflated traces of the last of the winter snow whimpering just outside the windows of this little blue house. They combine predictably into this tick-tock symphony of stale blandness that bores me to the point of ridiculous self-harm and the compulsive looping …

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The Bunny and the Fox

I missed her before she had even left. It had been a four day whirlwind chaotic dance of ridiculous experience ultimately responsible for shifting my stubbornly black and white world view into a canvas filled with brilliant colors I honestly haven’t seen in decades. And though she is driving farther away from me with each moment that passes as I sit writing this, I simply refuse to let that former blandness fester or linger- I am instead choosing to revel in the light she lovingly left behind for me. We rolled together, through good and bad. We bonded deeply through the momentarily sad and the hilariously unexpected. Because despite the very best of my gentlemanly intentions, it was a challenge actually keeping her on the mattress …

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Stay Drunk, Ponyboy….

Another cold, empty winter is fast approaching- I feel it tonight in aging, creaking bones and I can smell it clearly on the winds blowing in hard from the west.  Memories of humid summer Indiana afternoons disintegrated under the blanket of an early darkness falling.  Thoughts of a hopeful spring rejuvenation, growing lush and green and virginal, are nothing but a distant mark in a rapidly crumbling recollection, bullied away by invasively invisible invaders all out on the hunt. And the final kill knows no season. Above me a limp, unimpressive skyline of an increasingly infected and judgemental City of Wayne tries unsuccessfully to hide itself behind the skeletons of trees blown bare from the incessant crawl of an isolated winter’s fatal touch.  Too many punctuating …

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Year 48…

I am not going to write the words. Not this time; not tonight. I am not going to write about the glaring disappointment.  Or the blatantly pointed and tenderizing dishonesty.  Or the near total lack of basic human compassion intentionally withheld for the sake of robbing a pauper’s empty purse of elusive emotion. I refuse to document the transparent, familiar injustices. Not again. I am no longer playing an uncontested part in the deceitful games designed to just fill this passing pandemic’s echoing, wheezing crawl. Because this infection isn’t going anywhere.  At least not for the foreseeably temporary future and as that disparaging truth burrows in deep through the isolated confines of yet another fucking inexcusable quarantine of the heart, I feel the compulsion to ask …

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Jumping Fences

The direction of the evening had already been predetermined by the time the late fall darkness fell down around the day, enveloping this City of Wayne in November shadows, despite the brightness of a waning moon above. The stresses of an uncalled election and social feeds full of divisive disinformation had already polluted the day.  Texts, spanning three countries on two continents blinged and blooped on my phone, forcing me to focus in order to keep track of the conversations for fear of somehow sending a ridiculously inappropriate response to the wrong recipient.  And that shit gets exhausting. I needed space to think and an unguarded moment to just process the seemingly overwhelming avalanche of churning change and possibility.  I needed perspective and quiet solitude to …

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