Day 96: The Grind

96 days. 42 posts. 41225 words and counting. Lots of tears and an almost embarrassing amount of whiskey went into the creation of these pages. And lots of beer.  And scotch.  And other convenient little helpers ingested just to temporarily ward off the loneliness and the echoing fears of a tomorrow unfairly promised and never quite arriving. There was also tear gas. And bullets, both peppered and rubber, fired at me in anger. And an almost insurmountable isolated isolation suffered for the sake of the common good. There was this pandemically mandated quarantine, locked down tight, here in this little flyover town. And finally, at last, the City of Wayne is opening itself back up, though in measured, impatiently hesitant steps. But, I’m not sure that …

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Day 88: Will Write for Friends

She asked me, with an almost heartbreaking sincerity, to use my words for her and write something about why life has to be so hard.  And I’m not sure that I will be able to find any satisfactory answers for her. All that I know for certain is that there is just… life, with all its frustratingly intricate nuances and endlessly cascading curtains of change.  There is just this existence, so pandemically temporary, on this ridiculous blue marble dancing its repetitively circular journey through the vast emptiness of the great black void.  Sometimes, if we are lucky, we find ourselves graced in the beneficial embrace of an easy existence too often taken for granted.  Simple times.  Times when the equations add up neatly into the sum …

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burningheart

Day 64: It Was Another Dark and Stormy Cliché

My city of Wayne burns quiet tonight. The skyline stands distantly muted, not illuminated bright in the hopeful colors once shining down in a comfortingly familiar palette through the gloom.  Maybe it is the persistent haze of the unnecessary recent spring rains, soaking the city grey and threatening to anger the creek gods.  Perhaps it is the grind of this expensively lingering isolation finally catching up, the bills coming due because even though the world might be soon end, apparently the electric bill still has to be paid on time under threat of another tangible disconnection. Whatever the reason, it is so very here dark tonight. At least there are always the beers and other little helpers conveniently on hand, consumed shamefully in the shadows of …

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plague

Day 45: Play That Fiddle Music, Fool

The City of Wayne is burning tonight. I can feel the claustrophobic heat of the ever-encroaching flames, sitting here under the dying gasp of the twilight’s last gleam.  I can hear the chorused coughing cacophony of a city’s choreographed death rattle rattling.  I can smell the cloyingly unique stink of the pyre’s smoke blowing in through little windows originally opened in a last gasp attempt to finally breathe free.  Little did I know that it would only let in the muffled wheeze of distracted bad decisions, sharpening the precision focus on the desperately unmet desires of a single solitary guilty man. Many mutual mistakes were made that night, behind the masked bandit kiss of a pandemically inspired stolen embrace.  Harsh lessons were learned hours after, blowing …

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