All Hallows Eve

All the costumed dandies

looking for some candies,

are crowding the scene

this Halloween.

All the kids want treats and snacks

but I’d rather dole out heart attacks.

I think you should get a scare

when into the night you dare.

There are monsters and ghouls

willing to frighten you from your shoes.

They’ll swallow you whole

And to hell, drag your soul.

Those rattling noises outside the window

is something escaped from hell’s side show

That thumping and creaking in the hall

is something from heaven that did fall.

That creepy house on the corner

is visited by a ghostly mourner

whose moans and cries

fill the blackened night skies.

The monster you ignore under your bed

will creep out tonight to feast on your head

and dine on your dreams

and dessert on your screams.

Hear you heart beat in your chest

as you struggle to get some rest.

May Happy Halloween nightmares

cloud the space between your ears.

Perhaps you shouldn’t have had

so much candy,

you costumed

dandy.

Happy Halloween everybody!!!!

I always liked the bad guy

When I was a boy and watched reruns of Lost in Space I was a huge Dr. Smith fan. I thought the Robinsons were a bunch of boring, plastic models of the status quo. (How I knew that inherently as a small boy I’ll never know) But I rooted for Dr. Smith most of the time. I so enjoyed his antics that I asked my mother for a Dr. Smith toy for Christmas one year. She had to break it to me that the TV show had been off the air for nearly 20 years at that point. I didn’t know about reruns then, but I sure could spot the more interesting character.

The villain, in this case Dr. Smith, was just more interesting than the boring Robinsons. He was always making things interesting and acting completely cowardly. He had depth while the other characters had shiny silver space suits. There was something I liked about that and stayed with me as I got older.

I thought Professor Moriarty was cool. I rooted for COBRA. I rooted for Skeletor. Heck, I even rooted for Mum-Ra on the Thundercats. I want Vegeeta on DragonBall Z to win, just once. Hannibal Lecter is still one of my favorite villains. The villains were always more appealing to me. They had a position and were willing to do just about anything to achieve their goals. While the good guys were just… boring.

Not that I grew up to be a bad guy. In fact, I’m quite good. I have a strong moral compass and a deep compassion for my fellow man. I don’t think I learned that from the good guys though. I think the example of the evil-doers I saw as a kid made me recognize the value of goodness. Even if it is boring.

History is rife with villainy and I am certainly no fan of Hitler or Mussolini or Stalin. I’m no fan of terrorists or despotic dictators of any kind. I believe in mans ability to do good in the face of such opposition. But I wonder where would the world be without history’s villains? Would any global progress have been made if there were not great challenges to overcome? I just don’t think so. But of course, that’s the counter point isn’t it? Without evil there is no good?

Without adversity we would become stagnant. We’d be quivering bowls of fleshy jelly moving across the surface of the planet leaving a slug-like trail of slime. Yawning all the time.

But I do wish Dr. Smith had gotten his, just once. It would have made all his scaredy-cat nonsense that much more bearable. Oh the pain, the pain.

Yeeee-haw?

Today is one of those days where I feel like Junior Bonner. From the moment I woke up I feel like I’ve been riding the wildest and most aggressive bull ever. I think the name of the bull is Tornado Nutsquish. Also known as Thursday.

It’s really been a fast paced morning with all kinds of phone calls and meetings and all the while I’ve been wearing a big smile on my face. It’s a completely phony smile but I’m wearing it nonetheless. I can’t let the bull riding crowd that’s cheering me on know that I broke my spine while flopping around on good old Tornado Nutsquish.  

I plan on taking Tornado Nutsquish outside the arena and putting him down. I might get him really drunk first and then put him down. I have a feeling he might grow on me though and in the end, old Tornado and I might become best of friends. Plus being a bull, I’m sure he’s pretty smooth with all the single ladies. Perhaps I’ll cut him some slack, he is a bull after all and I am trying to ride him.

Plus I’m not much of a cowboy. I always wished I was though, but I’m a city slicker for sure. I’ve only been on a horse once and it kept stopping mid-trot to take a crap. I could give him a little jolt with my heels and he’d look back at me like, “Hey, I’m crapping here. Make yourself useful and get me a magazine”.

I digress, Thursday is rocking and reeling and shifting right under my feet and I’m doing everything to sustain verticality. I do feel like a bull rider at times though, just trying to hang on for seven seconds or so before being hurled to the ground and nearly trampled. I’m sure I’m not the only person that feels that way.

I don’t know that many folks who have a sure handle on their lives and are merely doing their best to stay on their own metaphorical bulls. I would have to say I know three people that had taken the reins of their bulls and have turned them into passive, reliable forms of transportation, all the way to the bank. But most of us are just average bull riders trying to win that coveted brass belt buckle that says, “King of the Cowboys”.

Yippee-Ky-yea.

Blue Line

Roger didn’t much care for riding the blue line, “el”. There wasn’t anything specifically wrong with it, he just didn’t like it. It always made him feel a little depressed and sleepy. There was something about the rocking of the train car and the noises that made him feel melancholy. Which he supposed was appropriate for October and the approach of Halloween.

The train car quickly filled with the denizens of the city. Some dirty, some clean, some noisy, some fat, some skinny, some white, some black, some with their music too loud in their headphones, some with their heads buried in a cell phone and all of them made Roger feel uncomfortable. As usual there was at least one very attractive woman riding the train, but she was too far away to try and start any conversation with. Roger felt good about meeting beautiful women on the train.   

He’d met lots of women on the train over the years and had had lots of conversations with them, but after following them and breaking into their homes to continue the conversation they seemed so less receptive to him. They almost always tried to struggle and run or call the police or something. Roger just couldn’t understand why they would be happy to talk to him on the train but not in their bedrooms.

Roger tried not to breathe through his nose on the train because he didn’t like the smell. The one attractive girl got off the train before Roger had a chance to cozy up next to her. He’d discovered over the years that women trust a guy wearing a wedding ring who talks about his kids or his dog and maybe mentions things are a little tough with the wife but he was committed to working it out. Women had that inherent sympathy thing, usually the prettier, the more sympathetic they were. They listened and often tried to offer him advice. Sometimes he did listen and would take his wife out for a fancy meal or do something to show her how he appreciated her just as those women would suggest.

It was funny to Roger how quickly all those nice and kind words always turned to screams by about three o’clock in the morning. He didn’t hate them. He just didn’t think it was fair that he couldn’t have them, especially after they made such a pleasant connection while riding the train. Some other jerk was going to feel their skin and touch their hair and Roger just couldn’t abide that.

The train pulled into Roger’s train station and he got up and squeezed between the fat, skinny, white, black, noisy, ugly people and stepped out onto the platform into the crisp October evening.  He would have to make a new friend tomorrow.

One year and counting

Today marks the one year anniversary of A Minute with Michael. This post will be the 240^th I’ve written. I am amazed a year has gone by since I started doing this. I must again thank Lauren Burke for setting the whole thing up for me since I am a technological misfit of the highest caliber. I owe her a debt.

The articles and blogs have been pretty wide and varied in topic and scope, from short fiction to my regular complaining about the woes of a regular working stiff, it’s been a sincere pleasure to write them. I hope you as the readers have enjoyed them just as much, or if you’re a wealthy investor, even more.

I still hope to turn this daily minute into something a little more substantial and would still prefer to be paid for it. There’s no shame in wanting to be paid for what one is good at doing. Even Leonardo was taken care of while he fiddled with Alchemy and bronze horses. Of course I’m not comparing myself to Leonardo Di Vinci. That man was a genius. But I do feel that mystical connection of the arts.

Everywhere I look I see a story, this morning on my street they were installing new street lamps and I had a story about either the guys working on the lamps or the lamp itself. I noticed people walking into work downtown with either their heads held up or looking down as they were walking along. I felt there was probably a story there too.  

So I think I’ll have plenty of new things to write about as this blog heads into its second year and I hope to continue to find an audience as receptive and generous as you. I thank all of you for reading this and I encourage you to tell your friends or family members in the publishing industry about this awesome and modest Chicago writer, and how they should probably check him out. (cough).

I look forward to this new year, as a psychic told my mother a few weeks ago, things are looking pretty good for me. All I need to do is become a successfully published author, meet Mrs. Minute with Michael, and settle into a rewarding career and life for which I won’t feel any embarrassment when my grandkids ask me about what I do.  

In the meantime however I’m sure I’ll continue in my attempts to entertain, provoke thought and generally make a nuisance of myself. Here’s to the next year….  (clink, clink) Cheers.

Don’t watch the News on Monday

Monday’s are hard enough these days. The factory and cubicle workers of the world know that it’s quite often the cruelest day of the week. (Imagine if you worked at a factory that made cubicles. The horror, the horror) There are so many things that need immediate action and so many people that want our attention we often feel like we’re being pulled apart Spanish Inquisition style.

I made the mistake of compounding Monday’s cruelty by naively checking CNN’s web site this morning.  I thought I would try and find a topic for today’s article, something light and colorful, something to hopefully lift those down Monday spirits and try to get things going on the right foot. Unfortunately, I was not that lucky.

All the stories are terrible these days. I know that news is usually more often bad than good, but it just seemed far worse than I remember. There’s almost a viciousness and abject indifference out there which seems to make it far easier for evil, true evil, to take hold.

Missing babies, toddlers run down in the streets of China, the disparity between rich and poor, the humdrum of our own work toiling away toward some unforeseeable end. The news is not the way to start the day. It only makes me feel smaller and less in control of the world around me and damn it, that’s depressing.

Of course I realize that making me depressed these days is as easy as shooting fish in a barrel. I’m practically a walking, talking mockery of rationality and stoicism. I put up a very indifferent front but deep inside I am often overwhelmed with helplessness for those that are suffering around me.

When I was very young, perhaps five or six years old I saw those first commercials on TV about those suffering from famine and drought in Africa. I don’t remember if it was Ethiopia but something very similar. When I saw this commercial asking for money and they showed the images of the distended bellies of starving children I started to cry. I think about it now and I think I was actually weeping for them. I went to my mother, in tears and begged her that we had to send money; we had to help those people. She did her best to calm me and tried to explain where those people were and what the real problems were over there. She did manage to calm me down but I never forgot. I can still remember the commercial and how it made me feel.

When I see the News these days, especially on a Monday, I feel those old tears stirring. I have to force myself to remember my place in the world and that while things might be bad now; they can’t always be. So let’s get through this Monday and maybe just by doing so, the world might be a better place, if only for a little while.

Friday needs more medication

So a few things to get through today; number one, today is the second Rapture. Yes, way back in May, preacher and all round 90 year old crackpot, Mr. Harold Camping predicted the Rapture would be on May 21^st. It of course, didn’t happen. He said he would have to adjust his biblical math and get back to us. Well, his calculations were re-checked and wouldn’t you know it. He had the darn date wrong. So today, October 21^st is the real rapture. So get ready folks, heaven’s a-waiting’.  Personally I can’t wait to see your naked body rising toward heaven. In fact, I think I’ll just run around the city, naked screaming, “Uppy! Uppy!”, like a three year old.

Secondly, stop spitting on my city sidewalks. Really, what the hell are you chewing on that requires you to spit every fifth step? It’s absolutely disgusting and you should be ashamed of yourself. I don’t want to step in your nasty mouth juices as I head into work. What the hell is wrong with you? Spitting is only acceptable if you’re playing baseball while simultaneously scratching your crotch.

Thirdly, I love this trend for women wearing tight black stretch pants and boots. It’d be a little creepy of me to describe why I think it’s awesome but I’m sure you can use your imaginations. As I do.  

Don’t show me your damn “Rah-Rah, we’re an awesome company”, videos while I’m at work. I hate them. Yesterday we were treated to a crappy, mostly stolen content from Saturday Night Live Rah-Rah video featuring all the highest paid CEO’s and CFO’s for the company I work for. I don’t care that how much money the company made. I don’t see squat from it. Sure, I’m happy to have a job, but for me it’s still just a job, not a successful career where I’m excited and proud to be there. I do what I do because I have to. I have no other choice. Well, I do have a choice but unemployment and poverty don’t appeal to me all that much. My mother was in the video and she was great, but other than that it made me want to jump out the window.

And finally a thought on depression, I am completely depressed and I think I should probably seek some sort of mental health care. However, I’m also Robert Mitchum and talking to someone about how depressed I am makes me feel sick. It’s a spiral of hell of which I don’t feel good about. This, writing, is the only thing that makes me feel good and I need to do it professionally. Otherwise, I’ll keep this constant complaining going until I am formally committed to an institution.

So long

So long short summer dresses

and sleeveless tops.

So long to those sun baked legs

and hair tossed into a pony tail.

So long casual walks along

hot city streets.

So long outside beers and late

night warmth.

So long flip flop feet and toes

in the sand.

So long mosquitoes, I won’t

miss your tinny buzzing in my ear.

So long short sleeves and tees.

So long hot pants and baseball caps.

So long gentle summer breeze

So long to your soft summer skin.

So long crowded drunken streets and

delicious mischief.

So long porch sitting as the sun goes

down.

So long summer. Fall has arrived and

moved your stuff into the hall closet.

Come back soon and wear that outfit

I like so much.

No water

I got up this morning and was about to get ready for the new day. I got to my shower and turned on the faucet. Nothing came out but sputtering air. No water. I tried the sink and still, no water appeared. I called the landlord and it would seem another tenant had an emergency and they had to turn the water off, for the whole side of the building.

I would have thought there'd be a cut off valve somewhere along the way, but no, that's not the case it would seem. So here I sit, unshowered and unshaved, working from the comfort and security of my waterless apartment. It's funny but I didn't realize how much water I do use. And now that I can't get any I want some so badly.

At least it's raining.

Never mind

I wouldn’t mind digging a hole. I wouldn’t mind driving the dead. I wouldn’t mind fires or trees. I wouldn’t mind long waits or angry words. I wouldn’t mind animals. I wouldn’t mind blood. I wouldn’t mind toothless sickness or rotting stenches. I wouldn’t mind floods of shit or towering heights. I wouldn’t mind hundreds of daily paper cuts.

I do mind sitting in this cube doing something

I

Hate.

I was doing pretty well there for a while, content with some level of freedom and autonomous activity. But being content never lasts. It fades once realized, like that floating thing in your eye that you know is there but you just can’t look directly at.  

I’m filled with ennui and darn near disregard for this work that I do. There’s nothing but mind numbing redundancy and too many questions I don’t know the answers to.  Actually, I don’t even know the questions.  It’s constantly annoying. I was doing everything I could to get away from this type of mind numbing, dreadful feeling, only to be put right back in it. Not by choice either, it was, “here’s these new responsibilities, do them or you’re out of the job”. What’s one to do?

It’s frustrating to be mired in an arena you do not wish to participate in. It’s like being a gladiator and instead of being trained to deal with the onslaught of another gladiator; you’re just a Christian with a wooden sword fighting the lions. And the lions have guns and thumbs.

I’m not interested in this work that I’m doing, sadly I am good at my job, but I’m not interested in it. It’s just what I do so I can have a place to live, buy food and put gas in the new used vehicle I bought. Because in this demanding, consumer driven world, the accumulation of goods is considered wealth, while the accumulation of enlightened, free thinking is for broke ass philosophy students.

I wouldn’t mind a job at the zoo. I wouldn’t mind being an arm wrestling referee. I wouldn’t mind cleaning the gunk off the bottoms of oil drums. As long as I knew what I was doing and was able to feel proud of the work I had done; I wouldn’t mind at all.

It was after 3:00 a.m.

Last night I was haunted and abused by nightmares of all shapes and sizes. I was tormented to the point that I was forced awake and I was breathing heavy and my heart was racing and pounding in my chest. I may have been shivering as well. The truly horrifying thing about it was I couldn’t remember what scared me so.

I know at least one moment involved the ex-girlfriend and another involved a very heavy man sitting on my feet and legs. Take whatever symbolism you like from that. But that wasn’t the thing or the image that forced me to wake up in such a panic. I just don’t know what it was. That may have been the scariest part, not knowing why I was shocked awake so violently.

I felt crazy in that moment of violent alertness after such troubled slumber. The world and everything around me didn’t make sense and the beating of my heart pounding in my ears was akin to Edgar Allen Poe’s Tell-Tale Heart ticking in the floor boards; tattling on the murder so gruesomely performed.

I was up at 3:00 in the morning feeling like I had been through a haunted house of hell and insanity. It took me quite a while to actually calm down, catch my breath and feel my heart slow to a normal relaxed pace.  I knew where I was but I was still scared. I had to lay there in the silence of 3:00 a.m. and try to collect my thoughts while trying to avoid hearing any possible monsters in the closet or the apocalypse starting outside.  It’s rather difficult to block the world out while trying to remember that you’re in the world and not one constructed from the fears in your mind.

After seeing my Ex in confusion and pain, then the fat guy on my legs, then who knows what other horrors, I felt spent and sad.  I had to force myself to go back to sleep as I still needed to get my rest for the impending waking nightmare of life in a cubicle. When I slapped my alarms off several hours later I was still mildly jolted by the mania my mind had created. Who knows what other dreams I had between the nightmares and the alarm clocks’ buzz? Those fevered 3:00 a.m., dreams were still lingering on the edges of my brain.

I stood in the shower for longer than I should trying to piece together the wild vortex of imagination I had passed through only to be left disappointed. I can’t remember it all and it’s likely for the best. The brain knows how to protect itself and seems to know there are certain things we shouldn’t remember or even have been conscience of happening.

I’m tired today and feel like I haven’t really slept at all. I hope tonight I can get to the dreams I need and don’t struggle to pull myself up from the clutches of my own demented imagination. And honestly, I hope everyone is okay.

Oh man, that's busy...

I've been on my phone all moring dealing with a new and very demanding client. It doesn't help that the system we should be using on the computer has died and has been inoperable since yesterday afternoon. There's this snowball see, and it's at the top of a hill see, and it's about to roll down and crush the entire town of Claimsville, U.S.A.

The residents of Claimsville are doing their best to tape up windows and secure their property from the impending snowball of hell but there's only so much that can be done. Lives will be lost, homes will be destroyed. No Superman will fly around the world counter clockwise to go back in the past to fix it. It'll be a lot of shoveling and digging, looking for survivors. 

I've actually just been building fortifications around my property to fend off the zombie horde that will likely rise up after the snowballocaust. It'll be hell, but I'm a survivor.

So I must get back to digging this moat and filling it with alligators. Can you believe the price of alligators these days? Sheesh. 

In honor of Art

Art Clokey would have been 90 years old today. Art is the father of Gumby and Pokey and all their claymation pals. In honor of his contribution to society and the collective conscience I'm going to submit this blog entirely in claymation. Observe...

Okay... wait.....

Okay.................... hold it, I can't get the camera to work right.... Okay........

So, I gotta make this clay thing stay? But its arm keeps falling.  Hold it... okay... God DAMN IT!!

Okay.... reset the camera and take this... picture okay... and there. Two frames... Wait.... Ugh! the lens cap was on!!! Son of a rasitfracking margalbargle @!#@%#@!*!@ shoes @#!##!$**@!!!!!!

Okay... forget it. Thanks Art for all your contributions. Oh, and thanks for doing all those crazy drugs and all the free love experiments so we wouldn't have to. I hope you're having fun on your spaceship to the "out there, man".

1, 2, 3, 4, what are we fighting for?

I’ve yet to weigh in on the protesters camped out near Wall Street and even here in Chicago at the Chicago Board of Exchange. I tend not to comment on most protest movements because usually by the time I weigh in on it the blasted thing is over and the media have moved on to how many people were killed by jelly-fish this summer. And maybe we should be fighting the real jelly enemy.

This protest seems slightly different and seems to have lasted longer than one’s previous. I am reminded slightly of the Hooverville’s set up during the Great Depression in the 1920’s. Hooverville’s were shanty towns built by homeless/jobless people. One of the largest Hooverville’s was right in the middle of New York’s Central Park. While it was something done out of necessity, it was also a political statement, as if to say, “Yeah, I’m homeless and jobless so I’m setting up shop right on your lawn”.

It was an in your face maneuver to then president Herbert Hoover, who seems to have been fairly responsible for the Great Depression. He continued on a policy of, “everything’ll be fine”, economics, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t until drastic measures were taken by F. D. R. did we see any real rebuilding and escape from the depths of the Great Depression. And how did President Roosevelt do it?

He created jobs. (And then fought a war, but that’s beside the point)  The very thing President Obama is asking for with his jobs bill. We know now that war isn’t the thing that’ll get us out of this recession/depression. We need to focus on the rebuilding of Americas infrastructure. And that’ll create jobs.

It’s been my experience that American’s don’t care if you’re super wealthy; we just want to make sure everyone is towing the American line. It’s patriotic to contribute to the betterment of the country and forsake personal riches. Dr. Jonas Salk, inventor of the Polio vaccine, could have made billions for his cure. Instead, knowing what a horrible disease Polio was, gave the vaccine away for free. For free! He did it because he knew it would benefit everybody.  What an American!

I just want the same opportunity my ancestors had when they came to this country. They had a dream and worked for it and no one could take it away from them. They saved their own money and bought their own homes. They usually raised 3-6 children on one person’s salary. Those are the days I long for and I think if we work together, get a clear picture of what the protester’s want, maybe we can start building that future.  I guess that’s what we’re fighting for.  

The New World

Today is Columbus Day. Interesting fact, when Columbus sighted Cuba he believed it was mainland China; in December the expedition found Hispaniola, which he thought might be Japan. In 1492 most scholars knew the world wasn’t flat, they just didn’t know the Atlantic Ocean existed. They thought they could sail around the world to the Asian rim.

It’s highly likely the Vikings had discovered the Americas well before Columbus but since they didn’t stay or make any effort to tell many people about it history sort of forgot. All the credit for the discovery, and more infamously, the destruction of the New World goes to Columbus. Thanks for the horses and the small pox.

It is important to remember that history does repeat itself, however, not always in the way it was expected.  I think Columbus’ journey and discovery is a good metaphor for the journey’s we all encounter navigating the seas of our lives. There’s a great deal of adversity and mutiny seems to hover right at the surface, but we press on hoping for our great discoveries. 

I hope to get a story I’m working on published in a horror magazine. I’m hoping if I get published it will put me on the right path toward writing for a living. I just hope I don’t end up penniless and alone like Columbus. That would suck. I do hope it is a step in the right direction and does lead me to my New World, where I can unfurl my flag and claim this land in the name of Spain. I mean, claim it as my own. I just hope I recognize it right away and don’t mistake it for China.

Positive

Had a few drinks last night?

Yes.

Not really ready for work?

Yes.

That cup of coffee working for you?

Yes.

Did you stop for a little breakfast too?

Yes.

Did it hit the spot?

Yes.

Not planning on working very hard today?

Yes.

Probably going out tonight, right?

Yes.

Are you bored already?

Yes.

Are you ready to go home?

Yes.

Do you want to go home?

Yes.

Do you want to leave all this cubicle fun behind and get back to the business of living a life full of meaning and substance?

Yes.

Really?

Yes.

That surprises me because you don’t strike me as the type. Are you that type?

Yes.

Well then, get to it.

Yes?

Nothing like it

So again, my actual job is getting in the way of my passion and it’s very frustrating. I’d love to write a story all morning about the cool kids and how they never let you join their “Club Awesome Time”, but I can’t. I have to determine how much it’s going to cost to have a truck repaired after rear ending a car.

I’ve already started looking at job sites; I won’t get sucked into this Hell World again. It’s draining, annoying, aggravating, de-motivating and in general murderlicious. I’m always on the look-out for that escape job. The one that doesn’t involve a cubicle or dress shoes or hearing the complaints of hundreds of people that never should have been issued driver’s licenses in the first place.

Okay, phone is ringing again. Damn it.

Got to get out of it, again

With great power comes great responsibility. Well, screw that. I’m becoming a super villain. Recently my company has taken over the files for a new client. In fact, we are now handling all the new claims and the old claims for this client and it’s nearly worse than previous. Some of you may remember my constant complaints regarding a former client and how badly I needed to escape that world.

I did escape for a while and was feeling pretty comfortable about it. But then, wham, rug pulled out and I’m actually hovering over a great chasm a la Wiley Coyote. The reason I left my former position was because I was pretty burnt out and needed a break. Now it would appear that break is over and I once again must retain the mantle of Sisyphus.

I don’t mind work. Really, I don’t. In fact, I sometimes actually enjoy it. But when a new client comes along with incredibly strict rules and no faith in my ability to do the job I find myself looking for the nearest exit, or window.

So I will begin again the search for something better. Hopefully my dreams of writing for a living will slowly start to come true and I can honestly escape this murderous path of hell.

So yeah, you’re cool

She said she was an artist,

what kind I’m not sure.

She didn’t say whether she

painted or poemed.

She has a nose ring and a

few tattoos, a short pixie do

and a dog named Howl.

She said she liked punk music

but all the bands are new.

She strums a guitar but doesn’t

know a tune.

She smokes like a coal fire

and drinks like a sailor. She

looks for a fight but wouldn’t

harm a soul.

She presses herself against me

and I hold her close. I want her to

want me but I’m not sure she

knows.

She’ll get bored with me soon

and move on to some young

punk dude in tight jeans and in

a band.

I’ll miss her misty blue eyes

and I’ll wonder what went wrong.

Maybe I’m not that cool

and knew it all along.

So much for first dates

and high heart rates.

Back to the beginning,

and someone cool.

Blown to the winds

There is nothing as terrifying as a complete clustercuss. This morning we began work on a new client and so far I’ve been dealing with various bugs and issues. There’s no clearly defined information or direction and I hate that so very much. So forgive the briefness of this post. Incompetence makes me irritable.

October marks my one year anniversary of this blog. So I wanted to take this opportunity to thank all of you for reading and enjoying some of what I have written.

I’ll have something cool soon. Thanks again!