Tag: ideas
Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Unmasked Foxes

- by Typewriter Fox

In this carnival of broken souls, I have worn many masks. Friend. Lover. Scoundrel. Writer. Soldier. Artist. Failure. And I’m still not certain which one fits the best.  I just know that I’m running out of time to choose a final variation. Through it all… through every breaking of the heart… every scarring caress… every mournful upheaval…I followed what I felt was right. Fought for the ideas in which I genuinely believed. Screamed out pages of raging tantrums in neatly typed lines. But somehow, I got it all wrong. Kissed all the wrong faces. Coloured outside the wrong lines. Pulled the wrong fucking triggers. In the wrong fucking battles. And that made things messy.  Not an unexpected outcome when a well-intentioned accidental scavenger crashes the party …

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Blog Posts / Random / Writing

The Escape

- by Typewriter Fox

It was a foggy start to the break.  And for once, I’m not talking about the usual, self-inflicted hangover variety. A thick blanket of actual fog obscured The City, a fact noticed immediately after my two asshole cats woke me with the pointless insanity of their morning zoomies performed right across my face.  A first glance out the window made me think it was time to maybe change my contacts.  Those daily disposables that I habitually wear until they decide to plop themselves off my eyeballs all on their own. But no, it was just Mother Nature in her white robe.  Bringing a rarely displayed layer of modesty to The City.  Because for a brief moment, if you squinted just the right way with stale contact …

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Blog Posts / Random / Writing

94 West

- by Typewriter Fox

There wasn’t time to really think about it.   I knew from experience that the moment I hesitated, motivation would evaporate. Like a lot of things seem to be doing these days. Despite my better intentions. And frankly, I’m growing pretty fucking tired of losing things.   So it was up and running and out the door. Pushing hard west on 94. Trying my best to beat the traffic. But getting beaten instead by the unexpected wind blustering over from the big lake.   That pinballing ride, powered by ballads, endless nicotine, and fermenting nostalgia, was worth the temporary discomfort of a white-knuckle grip. Because I could feel myself slipping. And choking on the unpalatable stench of a Capital City warming up to another season.     …

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Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Post Box Blues

- by Typewriter Fox

I sent her letters.   Maybe I sent too many; maybe I didn’t send enough. I have never been a reliable judge of the post.  In fact, I live in fear of that terrifying black box nailed to the front of a little blue house.   Because it generally contains bad news.  Or other angry reminders that I lack proper adulting skills when left unsupervised.  So it is impossible for me to confirm with any certainty.   She sent only skeletons in return.  And that’s probably fair.  We were never anything but ghosts anyway.   Two inconsistent creatures stalking the night  across two different time zones.  Coming at life from very different stations.  Her view of these flyover fields from the mountains was obscured by the allure of affluence.  The …

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Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Fuck You, Karen

- by Typewriter Fox

A significant co-conspirator sits rigidly on the desk in front of me. To most, it is probably viewed as just a cast-off anachronism left lingering from a by-gone era.  Or maybe a solid footprint of trendy, hipster typewriter nonsense.  But to me, it is the only tool that ever helped me truly unlock the stories of me. It forces me to focus while simultaneously allowing me the freedom to explore, free from electric distractions.  I can break rules without angry suggestions interfering with my flow– because my mind is wired to fix immediate problems.  And the evil red squiggles found glowing on other machines always win the battle for my attentions. It’s a much-abused Sterling– an absolute brute of a writing machine.  Not as pretty as …

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Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Total Ellipsis of the Heart…

- by Typewriter Fox

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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