The Darkness

The darkness approaches me

Realistically I'm


I'm scared

I'm shit out of luck and I'm


Tired of the feeling

On the surface of my cranium

I've been skullfucked

I've been barbecued

And sauted with marinade

And roasted over a 


Fire and bombs and guns

Reign in my mind

Behind the plexiglass

Refracting my reflection

And skewing my sense of


Invoking a



Gang of bad guys


Another Letter to Abriel


I haven’t sent you any letters in a while. I’m sorry, so very much sorry. I know what it is to have something terribly wrong happen.

To be quite honest, I was afraid to write this letter. I am not sure if you are still alive. I don’t know anything about what happened last month, other than what I see on American news broadcasts, which most of the time don’t show you the whole picture.

When I was about your age - it’s hard to believe that you’re already 10 years old - the American Twin Towers fell in New York City. There were images seared into my mind that day that I will never be able to get rid of. They will always be there. I see those images when I dream sometimes.

I can’t tell you anything that will relieve you of feelings that you are so right to have. Life must be very confusing right now.

I can only give you my advice: live to honor the memories of those who are no longer with us. Go on living a good life, to honor their memories. Be the best that you can be.

I met a man the other day. He was a strapping young gentleman full of… something that I can’t exactly describe. He told me not to worry about anything, that everything would be taken care of. That everything - no, in fact, the universe tends to unfold as it should. Or at least it will showed. If it didn’t, he added, then we would all be very confused as to the nature of our existences in bent space, and the loss of theoretical physics would therein for be bent themselves. No,  indeed the universe does tend to unfold as it should.

I got your Christmas card. It was so sweet of you to send me that card. But I don’t care for christmas cards with happy images on them, because I’m sure that is the last thing on your mind right now.

Holding up the floor

I'm staring at the ground.

I can't do it.

I'm fucked.

I need to pass this fucking test. I need to pass. I need to do this. Come on, come on you piece of shit! Do this! Do it!

I kick out my legs, and do three push ups. I collapse to the ground, spent.

Not physically... Mentally. I know that somewhere in here is the capability to do more. But right now, for some fucking reason - I'm nervous? My palms start sweating, I have trouble breathing, my muscles are tensing up. I rub my hands together and start breathing hard.


I do ten more, and collapse again.

I don't get it. I'm scared. It's like i'm terrified, and I don't know why.

Sun's Sweat

Notes from the past

Who the King?

who the King?

diseased hillbilly heathens
seethin fire and brimshit
this shit
is lit
if we get hit
just bend over
and it’ll hit
you leading the charge?
well I’m calling the shots
julaladin haqqani
ain’t on me, i’m sorry
hillbilly gangsters
upon me
i’m cappin em off
n i’m the captain now
please breathe and step off

Ronald Regan had a dream too
Afghanistan was just a fucking track to
Henry Kissinger wrote a fucking book too
Tear down this wall was just a fucking track to
World domination is just a game to

Now I’ll show you the fuck who’s the King


I found this one hiding in my filing cabinets as I was re-shuffling my shit. From the paperweight and font, I deduce that it was written somewhere as I was on my way to College for the first time.

Robots are sociopaths:
Robots make us think of mortality in a different light.

I pawned off my XBox 360 in the middle of the first June after having flunked out of my university and trying to cope with the reality that - holy shit, I'm an adult now.

Authority Figure

I was looking at another person's blog yesterday, and I was astounded by how professional it was. It was the real deal, the bee's fucking knees.

Blogs don't exist anymore

Enraptured souls, I think that's what they called it. Ten years ago, when I was still learning what it meant to believe in something so much that you'd die for it. To believe in something so fervently that you'd kill for it too.

A Note From My Past

I received a letter from one of my buddies who's in Basic Combat Training right now.

a poem

I dream to a requiem

                   and sapped of my energy


Imagine that you’ve just entered a room. 

It’s not anything magic or strange, just a fucking room. Say the DC Hilton, or some similar establishment. The Renaissance Hotel in downtown Seattle. Some place like that. And in walks… Donald Fucking Trump. What do you say? What do you do? We all know what we’ve all thought of doing from time to time. 

Found notes from a year ago

I found this note.

It's from last summer. Cheers.

here at a lost empire of trade

I haven't commented, yet, upon the place that I've found myself as of late. Not my station in life - but the actual place that I'm living.

one brain-fried slump
with a side of bleh

I haven't written anything for nearly three weeks. That's almost a fucking month. Jesus fucking fuck.

Nothing of note, that's for sure. The only substantial thing I've written in three whole weeks was a few paragraphs as a comment on someone's Medium article about podcasting. That was earlier today, though, so does it even count?

I might be cursed, but that's entirely unrelated.

I thought I might mention that for anyone who is concerned - a lot of my previous posts are partially based in fiction. Example: I have never actually been to Africa. That string of posts were to distract me from my own reality. There are a few other things I've written here that are stretched to fit a storytelling perspective.

In reality, my life seems more dull to me than it might appear to an outside observer, so in order to create an emotional connectivity, I change things around. It's the feeling expressed that is true, not necessarily the details.


My coffee is cold. My laptop’s Sold State Drive betrays the silence with an involuntary tick as it kicks around the ideas of what it’s learned about humanity through the lens of my words over the past three months.


“Inspiration” is a double entendre - meaning both and at the same time - the genesis of thought - AND the influence of thought.

To put it another way, the creative works and people that inspire our success as writers, AND the events of reality which have seemed to somehow influence our works in some way.


An etherial whiz surrounds me in a haze - a dispassionate rendering of agnosticism approaching from the hills. Carried in upon the fog and the mist.


Am I the shadow of someone that I used to know? Certainly the edges of my frame have been worn down by the solemn pursuit of solvency. But what AM I?