…Sunday, Bloody Sunday…

..Many thanks to U2 who continue to inspire me…

{in the tune of Sunday Bloody Sunday}

I can’t read the news anymore
Oh, I can’t cry anymore
To make it all better

How long…
How long must I see this shit
How long, how long…
‘Cause tonight… I need some relief
Tonight

Broken dreams for my children’s fate
Bodies strewn across the judge’s bench
I need not turn on the news
It makes me seethe with rage
Makes me seethe with justified rage

Sunday, Bloody Monday
Tuesday, Bloody Wednesday
Thursday, Bloody Friday

And the news just came in
There’s so much gone, but let me explain
The hole is dug within the system
And the families of sisters and brothers
Buried apart

Saturday, Bloody Sunday
Monday, Bloody Tuesday
Wednesday, Bloody Thursday

How long…
How long must I see this shit
How long, how long…
‘Cause tonight… I need some relief
Tonight

Friday, Bloody Saturday
Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Wipe the blood from your hands
Wipe the blood away
Oh, wipe that blood away
Oh, wipe that blood away
(Sunday, Bloody Sunday)

Sunday, Bloody Sunday, Sunday, Bloody Sunday
Sunday, Bloody Sunday, Sunday, Bloody Sunday

It’s not true we are immune
When fiction is fact and Reality TV
And today the millions morn
We go on and on while tomorrow they die

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

The real news came in
To claim victory Common Sense won
On and on…

Sunday, Bloody Sunday
Sunday, Bloody Sunday…

Day One Entry: Jul 13, 2013

Sitting outside Ithaca Coffee Co., downtown, and listening to the sounds of morning deliveries and the buzz of activity. I liken it to an anthill or beehive readying for a big project.
Although my hometown isn’t as big as New York City or even Binghamton, I find the level of city-noise, or “ambient noise” just right. I can still hear birds chirp and squirrels chittering.
I must enjoy the goings-on of the morning more often as they remind me that the world doesn’t stop. At all.

Hello there, old friend.

I wake my laptop gently, with just the soft pad of my fingertips, coaxing it away from any electronic sheep-dreaming that may have occurred since it went asleep.  I swirl my thumb along the trackpad, wiping away a few dust particles.  I know how much my laptop appreciates that.  As it collects itself, displaying itself to me, I am greeted with the standard protocol: the login screen.  I smile.  I have gone through the motions enough that this minor routine only allows for myself to get collected.  A few deft keystrokes later, I press the return key : Access to all that is me in digital form.

I logged on this evening to write about something.  I was going to wax poetic about “returning”, but decided against the metaphysical topic for now.  Tonight I shall wax less-poetic about such things as whatever thoughts seem appropriate (or rather more coherent in nature.)  …  nah!

I really did intend to write about something.  It was to be about the reason why I felt like putting to words what has been on my mind as of late.  Now that I’m scribing my own thoughts down, it seems trivial.  I mean, seriously – when have you ever explained to anyone why you want to write?  You just do.  So that is what I’m doing – Just writing.

I will say that getting back on the proverbial horse feels fantastic.  When thoughts converge with feeling and time meets with music – you can have quite the enjoyable time getting your mind to talk to paper or a screen.  I know this is happening to me right now, and it’s amazing.

The music I’m listening to is a collection of game soundtracks that strike many minor chords.  These notes resonate with me profoundly.  I can not describe exactly why this is so, but I know it is true.  I also tend to be in a god mood for writing when I’ve accomplished something else in my life.  It could be as simple as finishing a book or the dishes, but the sense of getting shit done does wonders for my creativity.  I also know when I should write when the kids are asleep.  That is more of a life necessity than a presser of creative juices.  One thing is constant these days during my fits of flow:  The music must flow as freely as the scribbles or pixels.  I tend to set up a general theme or mood to play before I get into the heart of the subject.  I ease into my prose with light strokes of airy ambiance and gentle urgings from a set songlist.  After I get going, I tab out, change up the playlist accordingly, tab in, and continue with whatever was getting my mind so whirled up in the first place.  At the waning stages of my writings, I lean to some long, drawn-out orchestral or electronic piece to wind myself down.  Like now.

*

without so much as a glance,

i smooth my ideas into place

as a potter would her clay.

*

Thank you for reading.

Inspired Story

I was perusing deviantArt the other day and stumbled upon this gem and felt moved to write a short story.  So without further ado:

“The Ravine” by jjpeabody – http://jjpeabody.deviantart.com/

Citadel Cvern was tucked away within a stones throw from the Unknown Wilds.  The only thing that kept it from being overrun by unruly beasts and bandits were the Ravine Walls.  They alone kept the evil at bay with little effort.  

That was until man intervened.

The building of the land bridges during the 2nd & 3rd Eras of Man provided essential connection to the surrounding region, yet introduced new hazards over the centuries.  With the completion of the first bridge, crossing the River Cværl, the bandits the usually inhabited the locale made it customary to bother the passing travelers and caravans as they traversed the archway.  Nothing was without cost.  The citizens of Cvern paid well enough for goods that the hired hands saw the loss of a few mercenaries as trivial.  The second bridge, completed during the end of the 2nd Era of Man, proved to be less fruitful of an investment.  One century of toil and staving off the local beasts, left the bridge in somewhat of a precariously completed position   The railings were never properly secured and the moulding that held the massive stones to the walls were quickly slapped together, leaving them crumbling within a decade.  It was the second landbridge that did in the citizens of Cvern altogether as it allowed for the beasts and bandits to walk right up to the Citadel’s front door.  A siege lasting nearly a year, wiped out the living men and women of Cvern.  Within the grand Citadel Cvern lies only ash and moss.

A sapling was planted by a young apprentice who witnessed the battle.  It grew up in relative seclusion, as bandits and beasts cared not about trees, as they were used to close quarters of rock walls and ravine dwellings of the Unknown Wilds.  Little did they know that that tiny sapling would grow into a stunning specimen of Querlus (commonly known as Strongtree or Ironwood).  One day, a young boy will find that tree and imagine himself a hero.

That day is today.

Our Family

In all our glory

Self Centered

Feeling OK

Woke up this morning with a desire to listen to Bob Dylan’s Another Side of Bob Dylan.  Got the urge halfway through the album to post the above picture of myself.  I do this not in vain selfishness, but rather a self-centered sense of feeling good about who I am.  I do not recall exactly why Bob Dylan instilled the thought that a photo of my mug would boost my ego in a positive way.

I usually tend to avoid such imagery, since most come across as vain and self-absorbed.  But for some reason (along with a heathy dose of positive input via my adoring wife), I like this mug shot.

I am genuinely happy and content in this picture.  No posing or “looking good for looking good’s sake”.  All natural me.  I think I look good.  I mean, I think I look good most days, but in this I look quite self-assured in my life.  And that is awesome.

*

Self-Esteem is something I never quite had a problem with.  I did have the occasional run-in with Self-Doubt and his cousin “What If”, but for the most part they left me to my own devices.  I found that my choices in life usually brought me right back to the middle ground.  Not to say that looking upon the lifestyles of my friends who were on the extremes weren’t enticing or jealousy-inducing.  They were.  But in the grand scheme of things, they weren’t as rooted in my life as a good helping of “I feel good where I am now.”  I’d like to think I’ve developed a good sense of Who I am and where I belong in the grand play of plays.

*

I wish everyone the same balance.  May you find and hold onto your personal Center and not let go of it.

Late Night Post

[Re-posted from my Facebook account]

(and a poem)

Close your eyes and open your mind, for the light of your spirit shines ever so bright. let it glow and let go of your burdens for there is no such thing as a free ride.
–
For those that believe – May God bring you joy – but do not forget that YOU are the chooser of the choices – and no one – NO ONE but you may choose for you.
For those that believe – May your spirit soar high and free among the winds of time, for that is all that matters in the grand scheme of the wheel.
–
May the new year bring hope, joy, and happiness to you and yours.

—

I silently talk with my late friend – ask him for guidance and help.

He does not answer.

I do not blame him.

He is no longer with us.

I smile and remember the advice he dished out years ago.

Still relevant.

May we all someday find such wisdom in each and everyone we meet.

Everyone has a story

Everyone has a truth to share

Listen closely and you shall see

the open landscape of your own thoughts.

Sit back and soak in the advice of strangers

for it is the ones we do not know that will give us the profound insight

Go to sleep this evening a well rested being

knowing that you listened well and took what you could

to get you through tomorrow

Good night all.

Good night all.

A good night indeed.

Look Ma, All The Letters!

The five boxing wizards jump quickly.

I have in my possession 26 letters of wordy goodness.  I can arrange them in many ways:

• However I want-

Jopwqg silf ghyuliop, yhwimgio!

• So others may read them-

Why hello there, beautiful!

• In accordance with modern American English:

AaBbCcDdEeFfGgHhIiJjKkLlMmNnOoPpQqRrSsTtUuVvWwXxYyZz

But I digress.  

What my thoughts are trying to convey is this:  If you got words to put down, use the letters you have to make it happen!  In my old poetry, I used a fairly limited vocabulary.  Not because I didn’t know other words, but rather because the words I used frequently were the most comfortable and flew off the pen easier for me.  I may not have been the most eloquent writer (and I maintain that view today), but I did get what I wanted out of what was given to me.

 

-Thanks to my 10th grade English teacher, who always gave me a √+++ on my “idea/vision” for every paper I handed in. (She did, however give me less than amazing scores for my mechanical writing skills!)

An Unfiltered Look

These are the things currently occupying my desk:

My custom mousepad, bluetooth mouse, Macbook Pro, and its power adapter.

My home made wallet, Timex watch, cell phone, and teat tree oil bottle.

My medication, green headphones, iPod touch, camera lens cover, and an SD card.

Last night’s gin & tonic, old iPod earbuds, package of generic ballpoint pens, and a scrunched up paper towel.

A USB dock connector, $1 in quarters, extra earbud fittings, a click top pen, and a mug.

2 small bowls, a Super Mario coin cube, my son’s paper craft, and a 300 CD carrying case.

U2: Go Home DVD, Macbook Pro: Portable Genius – 3rd Edition, and Davis’s Drug Guide for Nurses – 10th Edition.

Old back-up dvd case, webcam, and a plethora of old mail in a metal separator.

A picture of my oldest son, a picture of my sons, wife, and myself, and nail clippers.

A snapshot in the daily life of my desk.

Autumn Lunch Breaks

It’s 12:55pm on the 18th day of November.  A Sunny Sunday in fact.  I am sitting outside Oasis with some spicy tuna sushi and some folk strolling from my computer speakers.

The passersby look with feigned disinterest in what I am doing, but i see what they want.  They would like to sit down and talk.  I know I would.  There i something about sharing stories with a stranger or a long-lost friend. I can not completely comprehend the feelings that well up inside when I run across these situations, but in most cases it goes something like this:

    I am listening to bob dylan on my ipod when I come across someone I haven’t seen in a while.  They look like they need company.  They also look like they are engrossed in whatever they are doing.  I can’t tell if that look is genuine or forced.  And that is the crux of the problem.  Do I interrupt their business and essentially stop their train of thought, or do I walk on by with “feigned disinterest”?

There you have it.  I usually pick the latter and walk on by, but later regret not saying hi.  Maybe I need to work on that.

The other situation is like I mentioned in the beginning – I am sitting down, somewhere public and usually at an empty table.  Most of the time I am the observer – looking from my point of view out into the scene.  Other times I might seem ‘into’ my thoughts or whatever, but I can tell you that I am eager for someone to come by and sit down across from me ant start up a conversation.  For me, that encounter would be like an unexpected breath of fresh air.  Alas, this rarely happens anymore.  It did when I was younger – when we were all younger and socially less intimidated.

–

The lone figure, hunched over his work, sips a cup of coffee from a well-used travel mug beside a cafe, listening to the noises of the neighborhood.  A small smile creeps up from nowhere and plasters itself blatantly upon his unusually hardened features.  Slowly, but surely the neighborhood sees the figure sitting there.  Slowly the people around him do too.  Eventually the lone figure lets his smile spread and encompass his entire face.  His eyes gleam with the radiance of a summer’s mid-day sun.  His expressions soften and liven up as sparkles of thoughts flood his mind.  They pour out of his mouth in the form of invitations and greetings.  Then, with the awareness of self-confidence, the lone figure stands up, walks to the nearest person and strikes up a conversation that had been his internal monologue for uncounted years.  The man and his thoughts were now accompanied by an audience of willing ears.  A bright day happened indeed.

–

May each of us experience our own one day.  I know I will.  One day.