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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Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

It is abundantly clear that over these past 25,000 or so words, so earnestly written and spilled out unabashedly throughout these front two months of an unexpected pandemic’s first wave, that I have a profound propensity for the ponderingly introspective.  That I far too often turn the night hours back in upon myself, focusing hard on the catalogue of my many experiences and misadventures, all for the sake of hopefully capturing some words somewhat meaningful in their candor. And I used to see that, through eyes both bleary and more times than not, tragically hungover, as my biggest fault.  Now, though, I am no quite so sure. Not when the world- at least my favorite part of it- is still locked down behind masked barriers and …

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We Can’t Stop Here, This is Buggy Country!

I spent the majority of today out on the back roads of my county, dodging the thunderstorms rolling in unusually hard from the east and the clip-clopping traffic of the black buggies full of grey beards.  There was no particular destination that I had in mind, other than to just… move.  I just needed to steal a clear breath free from the stagnant air of isolation and to see myself somewhere other than my couch so precariously poised to hold the indentations of my body permanently fused into its fading fabric. With time to kill free from a virus trying its best to kill me, I set out in search of both some clarity and some perspective, two qualities I have found running so low through …

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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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