drunk writing

My second real day of summer vacation. Meaning it’s the second real day of doing whatever the fuck I want to do. And today, not much unlike yesterday, I’ve chosen the front porch. This time with a computer and not a phone, with a fan and not the wind, a pack of cigarettes instead of a single smoke, and a really nice invention of coconut rum and limeade. In a coffee cup. Twice. or something. I’m having flashbacks of sitting on the front porch of my house in college, inebriated in some form or fashion and watching the summer days pass by with friends. Except today my friend is a cat hiding in a bush. And that’s fine. I needed so much to unwind. I hate that word, unwind. Because who uses it? Commercials selling trips to Caribbean resorts and bath soaps. Makes me think of Marge Simpson when she finally gets a break from her daily grind. She gets a hotel room and sits in the tub with a bottle of tequila by her side.

Sheesh. Am I Marge?

Fuck that.

Nope. I’m just another soul in the cosmos, sittin’ here in this chair, with no one to witness my existence but a wasp and a cat…nevermind..she’s gone. A wasp. Me and this wasp sittin’ on the porch hidden from the world and completely unthought of. Like not existing. There’s a question. So that riddle about whether a tree falling in a forest with no one around to hear it makes a sound..I’m going to be a killjoy and explain why it does. The cracking and ripping and smashing and all the movement involved in the falling of the tree makes waves in the air. These waves are vibrations that have frequencies. There are lots of frequencies of sound that animals with and without eardrums can’t hear. But we still consider the vibrations to be sound. So sound doesn’t depend on the proximity of an eardrum. It depends on whether there are particles of any kind in the space around the event, particles that will propagate vibrations. And in a forest, there are lots of particles. So yes, the falling tree makes a sound.

What was I saying? Yes, existence. If I’m not seen nor heard nor thought of, do I exist? Yes. I am taking up space, and every time my heart beats or my lungs inflate or my eyes blink, I transfer energy from one place to another. And that energy is absorbed by something, maybe stored, maybe not, but spread about in any case. And even though I’m this little spec here in the universe, I am contributing to the demise of that universe. Yes. Demise. All the energy in the known universe is getting tossed about, and at some point the energy is going to be so evenly dispersed (ironic since chaos created such a predicament) that nothing will move. Not even the teensy little quarks. And the universe will freeze to death. So yeah, I’m here, I’m making a difference in the world just sitting here. A difference for the good? That’s subjective. Do you like the universe? You comfy? Then yeah, we are destroying ourselves and that’s bad. Are you miserable? Can’t control your situation? Well then you need to find someone to talk to. Because purposeful self-destruction or joy in the idea of it isn’t a good thing. The universe will die long after the molecules of this planet, including you and me and dinosaurs and King Solomon and the ashes from my last cigarette, are tossed back into some part of space when the sun dies. And that’s inevitable. But it’s nothing to get worked up about. It’s not worth getting excited about, either, since no one will be around to witness the phenomenon. Hey, you ever think about how the atoms on this planet are as old as the planet? There’s a finite number of them, not counting space debris falling into the atmosphere or the American flag stuck on the moon or other back and forth space goings on. Which is relatively minute. This untidy system we are confined to, i.e. the planet and everything on it and in it, moves atoms around from thing to thing for as long as the system exists. This system is relatively closed, meaning that, for the most part, things don’t go in and out except light, which is energy, but lets focus on the matter (literally, the atoms that make up the matter), and that means that you could be made up of magma and Napoleon. Even if evolution were a farce, it’s still possible to have the essence of ape in your bones. Neat, huh? I’m breathing in air molecules that you might have exhaled. And vice versa. Unlikely, but possible.

I’ve been outside all day trading molecules with the rose bushes, they sucking up my toxic co2 and I sucking up its toxic o2. We clean each other. Plants are good. But I’m going inside now. Maybe I’ll sleep off this rum.


June 28, 12:38pm, The State Of The Writer, indeed

On some other plane of reality, sitting in the shade on the front porch in my pajamas, smoking a cigarette, feeling the June breeze and occasional gust of wind, I pick up my phone and open a new screen. Then I click the button to lock the phone. A black and useless screen flashes before me as I slide the phone between the side of the chair and me. Nestled, waiting, whispering…write. I pick up the phone and unlock it. Feel the breeze. Lock it back and put it down. Sit quietly awhile and be. 

The urge is stronger than my will. I pick up the phone again and open a new screen.

But nothing comes.


I used to be able to enjoy these quiet moments. But my mind is fixated. My insides stir, restlessly.


…but nothing.

that time in the truck

I can hardly keep my eyes open, but it’s pointless to close them because each time I do I get a phone call or an email or a text. Buying a house wasn’t this hard in the past. So many hoops to jump through. And when they say we’re done, they turn around and want more. So there’s no point in closing my eyes. Unless I want my phone to ring, of course.

It’s like if you want it to rain, then go wash your car. It’s like that.


I should be packing, but I’m so fucking tired. This is all happening so fast. Too fast. Watch me wait until the night before to pack. The best and worst part of moving is the most time-consuming part, the getting rid if useless junk accrued since the last move part. It sucks to do it, but the result sure feels good. Like exercise. I hate it. And lately none of it has been happening. So I’m accruing. And I almost don’t care. I’m just too tired to care.

But life ain’t all bad. I mean, getting this house is pretty great. And I don’t have to wake up early in the morning most days. And writing is going well. Eh, that’s all in how you look at it. Well as in it’s happening. The stories are happening. Anything else requires that I look inside myself. No, no it doesn’t. I wrote a post about coffee cups once for goodness sakes, and I wrote it only because my fingers were itching and I was surrounded by coffee cups.

I’ve sort of scraped the barrel of my deep side. Ain’t nothin left in there. No mystery to pull out of the murky water of my soul. Though I did have a thought today as I sat in my truck in the driveway after pulling up. I was listening to an old song. I was listening to a song that took me back about a year and a half. Things were rough back then too, but there were moments that were pretty great. Those are the ones I look back on and miss. So I thought, as I sat in my truck in the driveway listening to that song, that those

<interrupted by email>

…that those memories are of such small moments. Those tiny moments grow into big ones as time goes on. I didn’t know at the time that this song would define an entire slice of life. At the time it was no more than a nice moment, a pretty intense one now that I think about it. A lot of passionate writing in a couple day’s time, now that I really think about it.


Now that I’ve sufficiently changed the initial course of this post (I often end up someplace new, unintentionally, or used to) I’m going to close my eyes and wait for the phone to ring. I’m expecting it to at any moment. (Which means it won’t.)

Sometimes I forget how fragile I am. How thin that sheet of glass is. Sometimes I think I can stand far back enough to see through that glass and go about my day. And sometimes I fear I might touch it. Regardless, all I need do is glance in its direction and the glass shatters, pouring its watery contents over me. I drown in sorrow. 

descending one brutal step at a time

I hope, with all my might, that parents start listening to their kids, that parents just be quiet and fucking hear what their offspring have to say and consider that the kids just might be right.

Maybe this is why I haven’t grown up.

I lied about the drinking thing. It really hasn’t started yet, but the commencement will now happen sooner than anticipated.

11:36pm, Thursday, June 1

The line between now and vacation is blurry. There’s a couple weeks of summer school starting Monday, but today was the last day of the school year. I’m in a weird place—stuck between the end of one thing and the beginning of another, for a whole two weeks. 

And what a weird day it’s been, too.  

I’m in a weird place mentally where I feel I can accomplish anything but am being set free, mostly for now, to not have to do anything at all.

But I feel good. Thankful.