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Not an Ode to Spring

It’s the hangman’s song of an unwanted winter’s first dance playing out across the face of another pale overnight.  Notes, heavy and hard, punch into my skull with predetermined regularity and there is much pleasure found in that particular pain.  But then, she never really did like the music, so I can only guess that she will probably disapprove of all of this, too. Not that the unique disparity of our discontent properly justifies anything- I simply have no proper excuse for myself so I will responsibly carry my share of that blame.  And given the turbulent nature of our histories so inconsistently intertwined, I honestly find genuine hilarity in that particular disconnect. But then, I have never been even moderately skilled at reaching out.  So …

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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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Leather and Lace

From deep within the confusion of a misunderstood isolation sprang an unexpected oasis of clarity, a glimmer of a future forged in the furnace of a friendship born in the before time.  The time before this suffocating quarantine blanketed a budding reconnection.  The time before a sea of masquerading strangers somehow became the responsible norm, parading by in socially distanced regularity to redefine the paradigm of this novel inconvenience. She asked unexpectedly; I answered without reservation.  In the briefest blink of an overdue text finally sent, the hope of possibility landed hard in the midst of another strange week, here in this unpredictably disordered City of Wayne. It was a week full of unexpectedly cascading change.  It was a thirty hour window filled with flirting and …

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Speech Writing 101

It is so very difficult to feel safe right now, when there is still so much virulent plague running rampant in our streets.  And when we see that our cities are still burning.  And that divorce and separations are unspooling the very fabric of our social unity.  And when a war that threatens to be anything but civil threatens and taunts from a not too distant future if we do not shift our course. People are understandably scared in these unpredictable times.  People are undeniably hurting.  People are becoming lost, struggling to find their way amidst all the confusion and disinformation that feed the cancer of a disenfranchisement festering at our very national core. It often feels nearly impossible to find a solid footing in the …

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Where There’s Smoke, I Am On Fire

I wanted desperately to believe her all through another catastrophically dark night of the soul, cutting jaggedly across a continent that I confess I no longer fully understand. I held a dispassionately slipping white-knuckled grip upon late-night promises hastily made in the midst of well-intentioned temporary empathy, even though I feared the very real risk of inevitable reignition because I had been left burning before. And I knew just how much it was going to fucking hurt. First, I was consumed in the flames of the bridges left behind as the conflagration caught hold and raced unobstructed through the tinders of my misunderstood heart, purging the possibility of structural integrity as my world collapsed all around me, leaving behind the undeniable realization that it was my …

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