Day 100: End of the Line

100 days. 50 bottles. And a typewriter. From those seemingly innocuous things arose these many words written to share with the rest of the world my little part of the national quarantine experience here in the supposed backwaters of flyover country. Despite the fact that I often complain, to just about anyone who will listen, about how hard the writing is and how exhausting and draining it can be constantly chasing down the words, I am proud of what I have here created.  Where once there was only an isolated emptiness, now there is something else that helps fill that space.  I unflinchingly stared down the worst that a global pandemic, and accompanying civil unrest, could throw at me and I fought that shit back with …

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I Am Harboring a Fugitive

I am harboring a fugitive tonight and it is the weight of social consciousness weighing heavy upon my soul. I am scared. Everyone is scared. Hurtful and hateful things are being said everywhere, constructing emotional tinderboxes that are just waiting for that spark.  Insults and derogatory remarks are printed, posted, and shared in a seemingly ceaseless stampede of social notifications.  Tragedies are daily unfolding in our streets, streets that for so long have been insulated from the scourge of violent rioting and protest, but are now left burning and curtained in the choking veneer of tear gas clouds hanging low. Even here, in this little flyover City of Wayne, usually so conservatively polite and deeply steeped in hesitant Midwestern reserve, I was tear gassed and shot …

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Day 78: A Hug That Changed The World

After a long weekend of participating in the protests still surging strong here in the City of Wayne, I knew that yesterday it was time to be a somewhat responsible adult and to try and tackle some of my day job responsibilities.  I promised myself that if I accomplished that, then I would after treat myself and head to the north part of the city to hit that new pub that had recently opened.  That would allow me the opportunity to tackle either some long-ignored editing chores, or if I was perhaps lucky enough, to maybe bang out a few new words.  Because yes, I compulsively take my typer with me everywhere I go. But more than anything, I wanted to enjoy a few pints properly …

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Day 75: Head In The Clouds (Of Tear Gas)

Thankfully, my city did not burn last night. But, we still marched. It began as a quiet and peaceful protest at the courthouse green, the nearly spontaneous gathering of a multitude of different genders, races, and generations from all across the City of Wayne, brought together in united solidarity to mourn the tragic murder of an innocent man.  It ended in a sea of misinformation, tear gas, and more arrests. The vibe was initially a mournful one, the chants of “we can’t breathe” and “justice for George” echoing hard off the court house walls, the universally American symbol of justice and unbiased decisions made for the sake of the common good.  For the briefest glimmer, skin color, economic backgrounds, and the other divisions far too often …

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