Hell. I found it. There is a house in Appleton where the spiritual forces of evil have converged and the tender bite of a succubus devours your soul one suckle at a time until you are unable to move yet again. The devil uses powerful words to convience you that you must reside in hell for it is your residence, your own personal nightmare. The screams are unheard as demons scratch trails of hatred into your skin so that you turn away from having a smile.

A smile. What are those things? How are they produced without an instance of stress? Does it swirl behind the face of lies? My courage is seeped by a false smile until I'm unable to distinguish a true emotion. The TV flickers another rerun or gesture to wallow in self-pity. Wouldn't it be wonderful to be rich like them and not have the troubles we have? No. Troubles would still dissolve into our water and poison us.

The poison still affects me to this day. Where I'm unable to decide what to do. I'm terrified of the present and the future. The mixture of toxins engulfed my mind until I found myself unable to dream, to write, to imagine, to sleep and finially to love. My blood runs down the back of my throat. I taste the iron when I sniffle. The doctor tells me I have too much stress in my life. I paid him that much for something I already understand and know?

I'm scared of running away. I thought I would be a man, stick things out and try my best, but I can't do it anymore. Now I'm ashamed of the man I'm going to be when I leave town tomorrow. The weight of the world will shift from one shoulder to the next. There is nothing here but strife.

She foretold it. In the beginning she had strange vibrations about MasterGraphics and I couldn't understand. But damn, she knew almost to the exact way they treated me in the end and that was almost three years before the events took place. I'm always left awed. But I doubt if she understands and because of that I'm indecisive on what I should do.

Permit me to explain a little here if you have the time. It might seem like a whiney post, but I haven't had a true friend to speak my inner thoughts too in months if not over a year so this medium will have to suffice. My life was stolen from a year ago from last May. An innocent date led to a quick relationship where the "L" word was used so frequent I couldn't help but fall into saying it myself. Even at my age (see previous post) I didn't see the warning signs. And I fell into a black hole where my life meant nothing anymore and having it that way pleased her. I'm a man I exaggerate, but the truth be told, my dreams died like a crumpled piece of paper in the fireplace. I never remember a time when there was an attempt to restore them. I blamed everyone else, but in the end I blamed myself. I got myself into the mess, I must get out.

Getting out has been a bitch, worse than my marriage. I left my marriage. This might sound strange, but it was easy because I was so unhappy. But don't believe I didn't suffer for many other reasons, but I knew it was the right thing to do for me. Getting out of satan's clasp has been difficult. He/She clutches my throat in and out of my life and I'm paralyzed to do much about it. Until today. Today I have decided Satan cannot hold me any longer.

Thus I depart from this wasteland. When I was in Barnes and Noble the last time I read Terry Brooks book about writing, I spoke about that a few days ago (too lazy to link it right now). I ready his nearly 200 page book in about 2.5 hours (heh its my library! :P). THe last line of his book. Being a writer must be the most important thing in your life.

How can you do that? Do I want that? Can I do that? And more importantly should I take that approach?

Tomorrow afternoon I'm getting in my car and going someplace south. I'm not sure where I'm going or how I'll get there, but I do believe my soul will be the better for it. It must or I will die soon. My soul will be crushed and my body might as well dig a hole six feet deep and wait for the dirt to cover me. But I'm not going to let that happen. Thus, I move on.

Then there is this yellow thing that drives my soul crazy. Maybe I should just get lost and never hurt anyone again. Including myself...

I know I'll drive down the road and I'll come to the fork in the road. I'll pull off to the side of the road. So many choices to decide and I'm so confused I'll wait until my heart tells me which way to go while my head screams about the idiocy of my life. I guess it will give me something to write about in the future huh?

If I get swallowed up in the universe, realize I'll miss you more than you'll ever know. So who knows when I'll be able to post again here. Go for your dreams! Don't let anyone steal them from you!

me

Can you believe it is already October 12th? Sigh. Where do the days go? They dissolve so fast at my age I guess.
I can't believe of the moments I've given up due to my stupidity. I know wishing to turn back the hands of time does no good. Need to learn from my mistakes and move forward and realize I can still attain the things from life I desire.

"I thought love was only true in fairytales..." Hehehe I remember singing that on the phone.

Over the past few months I've come to realize what love is supposed to be. No, not the kind of love that comes natural to a brother, sister, mother or a father, but the kind of love a man learns to develop when he finds the person he is supposed to be with. You first must have the spark. That little thing you can't get with just anyone on the street. Although a whimper of lust is present, it goes beyond the basic want of the opposite sex (or the same for those who are wired different in that department). Its easy (speaking for the male population) to look at a beautiful woman and lust after her, but that isn't the spark. Most men are decieved by this, since the only passion is what a wonderful fuck she would be. Maybe even a trophy to brag with the guys for a few weeks as he parades her around showing the other apes what he has conquered.

What then, oh Dr. Bob is the spark you speak about? The spark leads to questions in the mind and of the heart. Makes you wonder what kind of sound does she make when she sneezes. What? When you first meet that someone you really fall in love with you ask in your heart you wonder about all the unimportant things at the moment. Not what color panties she has on. But that question is there, but he will also wonder what her favorite joke is or how he can make her smile without saying a word. Because if you can make someone smile without trying, that my friends is the road to true love.

It takes maturity and wisdom to understand when this happens in your life. When you are in your twenties, everything you do makes you feel like this so you are misguided into thinking that this is the spark, the flame to a life long relationship, but most guys (even women) don't understand what they are feeling. They found someone who is willing to take a chance to listen and go along with a few simple thoughts. When they are too far commited to each other, Sex, Money and even the task of doing chores around the house is a disruptive force.

It is like sipping wine. Although I'm not a big wine drinker, I do know you use ALL of your senses. The bouquet
of her presence simmers in your mind, the taste of her thoughts echo in your heart, the touch of her words makes you do things you never thought possible, when you catch a glimpse of her smile you know everything is alright and the sound of pleasure in her laugh is an unescapable chain that captures your heart for eternity.

These feeling are wonderful and yet the most scary in the world. Sometimes you want to run, both to and from because you can't believe it is possible. The rollarcoaster of love. Up and down, from side to side all the emotions roll around in your stomach and makes your head disbelieve your heart. And then you do the most stupid things....

*sigh*
me

I really shouldn't type so late at night without rewriting (editing) it. I guess it is my aMUSEment. Hehehe.

I added another link. *grin*
I wish I could put off-site pictures on here. My link idea was wonderbar! Guess I'll have to pay for it if I want it that bad. But I'm a cheap bastard. LOL.

I'll write more laytur.
me

Jen - Lackey is a good writer. A series I really enjoyed is the L. Hamitton Anita Blake vampire hunter series. I read them all, there are some things I would have done differently, but they are a good sexy series. I'm sure she has given you more suggestions and might have a better pulse on your reading appetite then I do.

One thing I wish to mention about yesterday's post before I continue is about the Barnes and Noble here in Appleton. This might seem strange, but it has the best public restroom I've ever been in. There werre no attendants or anything snazzy like that, but it smelled great. A strong scent of rosemary and bathroom was in perfect order almost too clean. I appriciated it very much. Strange I know, but most men's bathrooms stink like urine, rusty door metal doors on the stalls and a small water leak dripping from one or more urinals. It felt like going to the bathroom at home.


In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel

Love I get so lost , sometimes
days pass and this emptiness fills my heart
when I want to run away
I drive off in my car
but whichever way I go
I come back to the place you are
All my instincts , they return
and the grand facade , so soon will burn
without a noise , without my pride
I reach out from the inside
In your eyes
the light the heat
in your eyes
I am complete
in your eyes
I see the doorway to a thousand churches
in your eyes
the resolution of all the fruitless searches
in your eyes
I see the light and the heat
in your eyes
oh, I want to be that complete
I want to touch the light
the heat I see in your eyes
Love , I don't like to see so much pain
so much wasted and this moment keeps slipping away
I get so tired of working so hard for out survival
I look to the time with you to keep me awake and alive
And all my instincts , they return
and the grand facade , so soon will burn
without a noise , without my pride
I reach out from the inside
In your eyes
the light the heat
in your eyes
I am complete
in your eyes
I see the doorway to a thousand churches
in your eyes
the resolution of all the fruitless searches
in your eyes
I see the light and the heat
in your eyes
oh, I want to be that complete
I want to touch the light ,
the heat I see in your eyes
in your eyes

I love that song.

I tried to write a poem for her, but it disolved because I don't know what to say. I'm not at a loss for words, but rather so many words barrage my mind I can't keep up with all the images to sort them out. I remember when I worked at Trek and I'd drive to a park overlooking the river. Early spring was the best, the scents of new flowers, the sounds of the animals and birds scrounging for food and the warm sunshine blended together for the perfect scene to write. After I munched down my lunch I'd daze out over the water until a vision became clear to me. I tried to write some funky poems, a bit eccentric, but if you pried into it for a while you could understand the images. However I think they were a bit personal and not many people related on the boards.

Although it wasn't her favorite she put up with them and remarked how they made her feel. I would have paved a road to the moon, but that she only had to ask. My other writing skills appealed to her, but my poetry spoke volumes to her and it was something quick I could produce so she had something on a routine basis. That my friends is heaven on earth to this man. The true art of love. To be noticed for something so subtle you can create that it stirs something in her soul, her eyes and maybe even between her legs. To find me, yes lowly ol' me sexy while the rest of the world scoffs and looks away is the greatest gift a woman can give.

But love is a many layered thing. When you get to the heart of the process I believe it is finding the inner soul of someone and being able to produce the deepest emotions you start unveiling the rest of yourself to them and see if they will accept or reject it. Writing something for someone might seem like a trival thing for most people on this planet, but I pour my blood into it.

When it works something comes alive in the words and I hope for that moment she imagines me kissing her. What kind of kiss? One of those kisses that start with the eyes locked upon each other where you find yourself looking past the color into the breath of her soul. Naked, even with her clothes on, but she allows someplace reserved only for you. The touch of their skin unwraps a new mystery no matter how many times you think you've help that embrace they find something unique for you. The kiss only then becomes irresistable. It takes the time to build up to that point where the only thing you can do with that person is kiss them. Real passion not just lust lies in the inability to kiss them enough. Kissing lets you knock on the door, the tongue welcomes you in, but you want something besides the welcome sign. You want to crawl into the person, feel every emotion you can with them. To make love to them. Your blood isn't boiling, but rather your skin wishes to peel back and expose the want in the pit of your stomach for that person. Because that's the "G-Spot" they have searched for. The kiss dangles the flavors of the body in front of you. Her perfume is the last thing you remember when she backs away and smiles at you. And it is then you pray she felt the same.

me

I ended up at Barnes and Noble today. I didn't mean too, but I gues the writing gods had something in store for me. I purchased a soda, found a comfortable chair and then searched through the archives of books . When I returned to my oversized stuffed chair I held Sometimes the magic works by Terry Brooks in my grubby little hands. I had another book about writing from Joyce Oats and the "Official" Photoshop teaching manual. I flipped open the Brooks book and found it easy to read. I read the words off the page like butter dripping from hot corn. They were sweet and delicious and the only thing he said that made sense I hadn't heard from many other writers was to outline before you begin to write.

Years ago when I wrote my first and only sorry assed book, I tried to outline it, but I made so many changes o the outline that I became frustrated. I ended rewriting the book many times over as well and I threw away the notion that outlines would save me anytime. Now I'm much older and *cough* wiser my writing has developed to a different stage. Yes I will always have to rewrite (99.99% of writers do so), but his logic that the rewriting will be minimized if you use such an outline and expect the outline to change as you discover more of your story as you delve deeper into it. One remark he mentioned rang true to me. The writers who don't use outlines (Steven King to name one) feel that they are writing the story twice.

Something that has plagued me over the years is letting the fireflies go too soon. What the hell do you mean? Passion for a particular story is like catching a multitude of fireflies in your hands. When you have a few dozen buzzing between your clasped palms you can't contain the glow of their natural light even though you have them captured. With each telling, even a short synopsis a few flies are let go and he glow you once held begins to fade until you've opened your hands too many times and there is nothing left to illuminate your ideas with. So now I'm in a quandry. I see both sides of the story, but I need to know which will work for me. I'm going to try to do an outline of the one I began, because I see the possiblities to enhance the story not dimish it.

In the meantime...
me

Have you ever got so involved surfing the web you forgot what time it was? Heh. Last night was one of those times. I found some really strange and yet funny things.
I tried to post some links here, but something went Fubar big time. So I'm going to try again!

Like Lord of the Rings? Like Jack Black? Two great tastes that go together!
Ring!

And here we have Gollum, rapping...
Gollum

Please also note I added another link MilkandCookies.com to my link section. I haven't explored it all, but it is where I got the two links above. I also found a soundboard link from there. Check out the site if you have LOTS of time.

Then I was looking around and found this joke.
Hell

Have fun with them...

I had this neat idea for a links picture, but I can't post pictures from other addresses here because I'm not a paying member so my idea went down in flames.

Funny Jen! :P (See previous comments)

It was so funny I had to add your link to my page. That way when people get bored with my drivel they can go check out those special things you have to say. *grin*

I started really writing last night. Did you hear the moon crack or the feel the cool air of hell? I'm scared to reread it, but I'm in a frame of mind that if I build it, they will come. (See obscure movie reference #4)

I'm thinking I'll get in my car and live as a drifter on the Mexican border. That would make some interesting story fodder huh?

I'll check back later...

me

Edited for content

Sunday and I had to go visit the temple again. I cozied up to a diet coke and a Reese's peanut butter cookie (yummy) and found a book, The Writing Life by Annie Dillard. She won a Pulitzer Prize for a book and now I stumble across her little book of essay's on writing. I gobbled most of the book down in an hour and a half as well as the cookie. its strange to have such a connect to a group of people you've never met, but when they describe the process that churns in your own gut it is hard not to listen to the things they have to say. Nothing inside the book was all that revolutionary, but it only served to illustrate to my puny little brain that my thoughts are not alone.

"Baby got back..."

So now I'm ready...

me

I should have taken the blue pill! I could have woken up to a serene world that I could keep made up in my mind and been happy as punch without knowing all the dirty little lies life has in store for us. I don't suppose God in heaven gives us prewarning before our conception moment or the moment just before we arrive at some sort of consciousness. I talk to my 16 year old son *composes himself after yet again realizing he has a 16 yr old* and try to tell him about all the mistakes I can see him making in the next few years. I really want him to avoid them. But much like his father, he is quite stubborn and wants to fall on his face, get trampled by the masses and do it all on his own. *sigh* I guess I probably didn't listen much to my parents. Wait. I really didn't have parents that knew what was in store for me at all. No I didn't grow up with alien parents, although that would have been wild. No my mother and step-dad were Jerry Springer panel members before the show was a twinkle in the man's eyes.

None of this really matters twenty years later. I can beach and moan about it, but it changes nothing about how I will sleep tonight, what my deepest dreams and desires are and how I can obtain them. What matters is how I'm going to make it work. A little bit of luck and persistance and I'll be fine. Inspiration isn't the key. Working my ass off so I can do it is. All my life I've watched others tumble from their dreams when I thought they had so much going for them and yet I hear the whispers from others about the same of me. Only I can do anything about it.

Ever wonder why I whine so much on here? It gets old huh? The thing is I really don't have anyone close to me that understands any of it. I suppose anyone who creates art understands the pain involved, but I think with writing it is something beyond any other form. With poetry and/or music the artist looks for the flash of emotion in the few moments they have to express it. Painters and other artists have the ability to have a concrete showing of what was in their mind's eye. Even if it is abstract, there is little to judge about what the expression is meant to be. While novelists have to sustain emotion and describe every sensual event they wish their readers to partake in. This in no means belittles the other artists because their blood bleeds into their craft as does a writers. In my understanding, it is difference between a few drops and a whole pint.

It makes being a writer no less nor important to society. Rather it is a haunting scene getting played over and over in ones head as they stare at the blank paper ready to explore the arranged words that will concot a new magic no one else has ever tasted, felt, seen, heard or even had a hint of smelling. So many themes are regurgatated in the mainstream while those best left to experiment with new ideas are shunned unless their name gets them in the door. Editors and publishers want originality as long as you do it like everyone else. Reminds me of the old Far Side cartoon of a bunch of penquins standing on the ice while one stands up and shouts, "I gotta be me!"

I once tried to express this to Sandy. I felt as if I was talking quantum physics to her. Granted I never tried to impress her with my writing. I don't know why, but I did my best to show her some of the general things I had written and it amused her to a point. I felt like she was my ex-wife all over and she was wondering when I was going to put away my play things and get on with life. The problem I have is that I see writing as a huge part of my life. Everytime I give it up, I feel dead inside. I can't imagine what it would be like to lose a child, but sometimes I think that is how I feel after I go a few months without writing. I don't expect many to understand. Hell I don't even understand me at times, but I do know that my happiness is predicated on what I am doing and what I want to do. So either hop aboard or get the hell out of the way! She got out of the way. heh

Another donut missing from the box...
me

I took today off. I was bad. Ran some errands, got my haircut and found my way to Barnes and Noble. Ah the sweet scent of books, coffee (well hot chocolate) and the melodic sounds of easy listening music piped overhead that tries to make you think your IQ raised a point just by entering the store. Its not a bad feeling. Sometimes I think it is the Temple for writers and I'm herre to offer my sacrifice. The gods inside have many treasures to explore, but they also expect certain pleasures to entertain them. I came empty handed today, but I vowed it won't be long before I can approach the altar with something worthwhile.

Anyways whilst I was there I found a writing book (yes I love reading about writing it is very inspirational to me) by Norman Mailer. Not that I have read much of his over the years, maybe one novel many years ago, but it wasn't that memorable. Not like Ender's Game or 1984 *grin*. He defines a novelist's muse as something other than a simple whim. He says poets and short-story writers have muse, while novelists have, "The Bitch".

I found this on a website tonight about the book:

"He likens novel writing to an obsession with a whore, “the Bitch”, he calls her. Young, ignorant writers think they have beaten the Bitch. “’I made her moan,’ they say. But the Bitch laughs afterward in her empty bed. ‘He was so sweet in the beginning, but by the end he just went ‘Peep, peep, peep.’” He says he nearly titled this book “I Made Her Moan,” but lost his nerve."

I've read so many books from authors and about writing that it all begins to sound the same. "Writer's write. And to write is to open your vein and pour your blood upon the page." Oh it is easy to write a scene or short description, but it takes real writing stanima to write a full length novel. I did a horrible job once, so I know a little of what that means. But like a marathon runner, I want to run it again. This blog amongst other things is starting to prepare me for the journey.

If anyone has a link or two they want me to post, please feel free to email me (Trist_on@hotmail.com) with it. And if it is somewhat worthy I'll be glad to add it to my links section.

I suppose....
Laters
me

Last night after I posted here I got this idea to create a secondary blog. It would be a reviewers guide to things that I pass-by (I wonder, should it be pass by, pass-by or passby) in my life. I started writing like crazy and I realized two things. I'm a very opininated man about things I care about, which means I rambled on too long about one subject. And then I began to wonder if what I said really would impact anyone other than myself. So I deleted it after today. I had a dream of writing a column like that in a small local newspaper. You know where you would get joe-blows opinion about Music, Movies and restraunts with a few this pisses me off things. You know like paying six bucks for a movie and seeing two or three commercials before the damn thing even starts. That is a huge pet peeve of mine! Espicially if want popcorn and a soda to go with the flick. You can spend twenty dollars easy if you're not careful. So much for a cheap night out!

On the other side of the writing front. (Would that be the Eastern Front? I used to watch a lot of Hogan's Heroes as I grew up.) Anywho I have come up with two different novel ideas. I was thinking as I wrote each chapter I'd post them on a private blog for those who would be interested. They could give me feedback or just read it for the sake of reading it I suppose. What are the ideas? I can't tell. I've realized that once I start mouthing/writing the snyopsis of a story the breath of it expires before I even have the chance to read it. So it will have to be a surprise for now.

Last night the magic reappeared in my subconscious, I began to dream about the stories. My mind started to work out the possibilities of what could or should happen. It has been ages since this has transpired. Once I realized no one in my life at this time really cares if I write or not (I'm sure some of you hope I do, but sorry I don't see/hear from you on a daily basis to be of much inspiration.). But the desire must come from within me. Much like when I dropped all the weight. I had no one to blame or encourage me but myself and I did it. Goddamn it. Its time once again to take charge of my life and the hell to anyone that stands in my way. But I plotted in those times when the stories begin to enrich themselves and to be honest, it was almost as good as sex. Oooo sex. What is that again?

Heh.

Tis the twirl of the earth and another day has come and gone!
me

I write decent smut. My mind seems to turn to something perverted. No matter what, I can do something romantic/sexual pretty much any time I sit down to write. This bothers me, because I don't think anyone takes it too serious. Writing good smut takes as much discipline and soul searching as anything else. I know Anne Rice has written the Sleeping Beauty and other sexual novels, but in all fairness no one really takes that stuff as serious as something else. I wonder if this stops me from writing. I'm sure everything does since I haven't been active in a long time. I wonder if I try so hard not to write something sexual when I feel I should be writing something 'important' that I cut myself off to the stories I really wish to write. Not that everything I do has to be sexual, but like I said, it comes very easy to me. Something like the post a few days ago I can churn out in fifteen minutes. I also want to write about a more vivid experience than I have been getting (boy isn't that the truth). I imagine what I want things to be rather than the way things are. This also scares me because then I wonder if I'm searching for something made up in my mind instead of trying to settle for something average.

*sigh*

Should people settle for something average? I've tried that in a couple of relationships and it leaves me wanting so much more. I've had the taste of nirvana with someone and that seems to spur me onto something I can't even imagine even if she thought she had nothing to do with it. I don't think it is a question of someone being more than they are, but rather when you connect with that someone it is magical. You just know that person will be there beyond words. Their soul is there and is willing to die for your beliefs as well as their own. That my friends is not average.

My life, for the most part, has been made up of averages. I've been told what I could do, what things should be and the what not, but when the brass tax is filed down to it all, I'm average at everything I do. I want more from myself than average, but I'm not able to obtain anything greater than just okay.

Just another average day...

me

Heh. I was goofing around the 'net and found this link Flyguy
Check it out, its kind of funny and cute.

I think I need to come up with some secial things for this blog. Of course I always have my twizzlesticks website. Guess I'll have to wing some things together. mmmm...wings...

Have you ever gone Blog Hoppin'? Find a blog, start reading it, then jump to their links page and all of a sudden you are reading Blogs from all sorts of people? Sometimes when I begin to read them I sense so much of life that I have missed. That might be one of the reasons why I'm anxious to move onwards. I'm not sure, but I do believe I haven't lived very much nor done many things I've wanted to do or try.

Why the heck am I up so late? *sigh*

I suppose I better wander over towards the bed and sleep.

Sleep, it feels so good when you do it, but I think about all the time it wastes. Just think what I could do with all that extra time! But as I spend day after day with only 4-5 hours of sleep it catches up to me. I'm grumpy and self-loathing. Then I get inside my head and bitch-slap myself for a myriad of stupid reasons.

Ever play Battlefield 1942? EA Games released a mod so you can play a modern day (Desert Combat) version on the same game. Totally free! So I've taken my time up with that a little bit. The weapons are neat, but you die much quicker. It is fun to play the game multiplayer.

More junk tomorrow.
*kisses* to those who want them

I'm ready to leave I think. Now it is a matter of the right time and where I wish to go. The Southeast part of the US has appealed to me this past year. It is warm, sunny and yet it offers enough percepatation that it won't be like Arizona. Now it is the matter of having the confidence to make the step forward. Although I don't have much here, it is comfortable, but I know if I stay here in Wisconsin, dwelling in all the past I won't run to my future. Having my own Software Consulting business is nice, but I can do that anywhere as soon as I hook up with a couple of clients who are on the bubble right now, one of them would be quite a large contract and I do have Kraft still.

But still I must keep the desire to write something unique and cool that I can feel great about. Right now everything I've started seems like something someone else has done before. I know everything has been written about before, but I want to do something off the beaten path. I'm sure I can find it if I just let my mind go. I used to do it before. I think it will be something where I take all the elements of my creative mind and swirl them together into something not strange, but cosmic to myself. So that when I'm done writing I know I'm onto something good. I've done it before, heck I used to do that with Michelle over the phone/chat. It is a matter of opening my vein and letting the blood go without stopping to wonder how big of a mess it might make and then dabble the excess off at a later time.

Dreams....



I will be here soon....soon and find someone who will appriciate what little talent I have to offer!

me

Something from the top of the brain tonight...

Nipples. Hard erect nippes were all he could think about. His tongue danced across pink tips growing larger with each wet kiss he gave them. Soft mounds of flesh rippling beneath him as he wedged his cheeks between them and licked the perfumed skin. The faint wisps of moans encouraged him to continue with his kissing. Drifting his hands up and down her body, he slithered down her torso until he found her small belly button. For a few moments he twirled his tongue in the small chamber while his hands reached up and found the two pink buds he raised from the dormant state they laid in only a few moments before. Her legs shifted and soon parted. Her body dissolved into the bed, giving him the open invitation to explore her farther. In a whispered rhythm, her breath sang as his lips touched the few strands of hair before the entrance of the grand temple she had opened to him. A gleam of excitement coated the soft pink doors. His fingers trembled as his gentle touch tickled the outer edges of her woman treasure. She groaned as he teased her over and over until she grasped his hand and forced it against her wet desires. A smile crept over his face as his finger slide in and out of her while his thumb brushed against the roof, massaging her clit. Juices flowed making a soft slapping sound as he thrust faster into her soft tunnel and rotated his thumb against the slick nub of her most sensative spot.

The sound of the alarm clock woke Pete up from his vivid dream. After a few moment of gathering consciousness he not only realized he was erect, but his right hand was wrapped around himself. For the past weeks he had woken up this way. Always about a woman he had seen the previous day. It could have been a glance, a short greeting or an extended conversation. They were all strangers in his life, but the deeper the contact, the more likely he would explore them deeper while he slept. All very private from the rest of the world, including his wife.

His wife moaned then reached over and shook him, "Pete, its time to get up. Turn off the alarm this time."

He clicked the music off from the radio, rubbed the small gristles of sand from his eyes and stumbled to the dresser to search for some clothes. Still erect, he stood facing away from his wife. She tossed over in the bed, her back to him. He glanced back at her and shook his head in disgust and retrieved his suit from the closet.

New Changes kiddies! Let me know what you think of the new look? I might play with it some more over the next few days, but so far I kind of enjoy this new look. I don't like the default orange up top, but I'm not sure what other color I should use.

*grin*

me

Hi

I've started a couple of new stories, but nothing to write home about. One I think I'll end up tossing, but I got a few hundred words down which helped. The other I started yesterday and I think it has potential, but I need to come up with some better plot drivers than what I'm thinking. Right now there is nothing extroidanary about it, but I'll let my subsconscious work on it and see how it goes.

Blogging has become such a big deal it seems, how its supposed to be done and all that. I think I should change my blog. I'm not liking the orange.

I found a bunch of music cd's I made a few years ago. Brings back a ton of memories, but sometimes its neat finding old treasures that you think a lot about, but have mentally misplaced.

I just tried but it wasn't as exciting as I thought it would be.

me

Hrm....Wine, maybe I should get drunk all the time like the great writers. Drugs inspire dontcha know? Nah, I can't find myself to do that. Drinking alone isn't fun.

"Kisses through the phone" I remember writing it, but I can't seem to find it. I might have it on a back up CD someplace, but for the life of me I cannot find it. If anyone has it can they email it to me please? *smile*

I'm not so certain that I have the lack of ideas, but the confidence to sit down and write something people will enjoy. Bah. Not everything I write is all that wonderful so don't go there. I read Hemmingway's book "The Garden of Eden" a few weeks ago. It is quite a book espicially written in its time, of course I enjoyed it because it had an interesting sexual side to it all. However there were many other main ideals to the story. It is amazing the characters he created with such depth. I've always enjoyed his writing when I read him in high school and college, so easy to read, yet so powerful.
Anyways the main character of the book is a writer. I enjoy seeing how writers protray their own craft and the nuiances they give to the characters that do write.

I still enjoy that Anne Rice Book the most. Gawd what was it called, about the older artist who gets captivated by the young woman. "Belinda", thanks oh powerful Google. That book confirms the desire I can have and yet most people don't get that someone can feel so much for someone. Could you imagine being in love with someone so deeply they stir your soul to create things you never thought you could ever attempt?

Nothing gets done by talking about it.

Less mouth more work.

me

"Ever dance with the devil in pale of the moon light?" - Joker

Nothing but empty thoughts whenever I try to write. I wrote a poem, but I was unimpressed by it. I figured if I do any writing at all I could be stimulated into some meaningful action. It is a ncie theory I hope I can put it into practice. Little by little and inch by inch I need to get myself turned around here. I'm done feeling sorry for myself and my situations. It is time to stop playing games and get on with what *I* want to do.

So I'll just need to pull out that list from time to time and remind myself what it is *I* wish to accomplish and start working on it each day.

Should I write some love story? Fantasy? Real-time Fiction? Should I return to old ideas or process new ones in hope it will carry me through to the end? SOmetimes I feel like I'm trying to climb a mountain using 8lb test fishing line.

Oh well, today will be better than yesterday, right?

me

Its about time I have another update since its been almost a week. Life has changed significantly in the past few months I'm not sure how I can ever begin to explain all the affects the ripples of change has washed over my life. Right now I'm in a limbo. Waiting for the right time to make the move. It all started last month...

The truth unfolds to my blog...

In the beginning of August, I sped away with my things in my car. A few dollars in my pocket with my last paycheck, tax return and some money I made fixing some software for Kraft on the side. I had the opportunity to go anywhere, be anything and I chickened out. I went to Texas to see if I could find Michelle and as it turned out she was otherwise engaged. I don't blame her, I hadn't spoken to her in months, but I guess I hoped I would be able to get an apartment and start showing her how much I still loved her. We were supposed to meet the next day, but I knew it wasn't in her heart to do so, there was no sense of joy or hope that I had arrived in Abilene.

I'm sure one day I'll find someone who I'll really love once again, but she will always be the love of my life, the person I will always remember that I was stupid to let slip away because of my own insecurities. But I still can't help thinking about her everyday and wondering what if... There are no what if's in life and I need to move on I suppose.

2003 has been wicked. The whole Sandy thing at the begining of the year, car having major repairs, my son moving in with me and then both my kids moving to Nevada, losing my job and topping it all off with the fact I wasn't strong enough to venture out on my own. Now I'm out of money and I have to wait again until I grab some sizable income. I've got a job offer that should retain me some of that cash by Oct or Nov and if I bill out a sizable chunk, I'm going to move to the south-east and live someplace warm.

You thought I was going to say start over? Nope. Starting over starts now. I haven't wrote anything of any importance in the past six months or so. I get a flash of motivation, but then it dies out. I've turn 39 last month and what do I have to show for my life? Mid-life crisis I suppose one might think I have achieved and they would be correct.

What do I want?

1. Write 1000-2000 words a day
2. Get in even better shape.
3. Move someplace I want to be.
4. Smile more.
5. Find someone who I can connect with in all areas of life. Be picky about this.
6. Have fun.
7. Learn to play guitar better.
8. Did I say write?
9. Work hard at my job.
10. Pierce my ear? hehe

There are so many things in life that can get in the way of what we want. Yesterday I found a book of positive quotes. I'm not sure if it was inspirational, but the thing I got out of nearly all of the quotes was that no one in my life can 1. make me happy or two get me to achieve anything but myself. I can't rely on a 'perfect someone' to do it. My perfect someone should be my partner, not my coach, child or anything else. And someone I can sink all my emotion and energy into as well. I don't need to put up with someone, but rather find the other half as those are want to call their mates.

I have such energy....I hate to be stagnant.

I'll go now.

9-11 I suppose there are many sappy Blogs about the significance of this date and while I sympathize with those who lost people and what this nation went through, I have my own issues to deal with. I don't suspect anyone will read this since it has been almost six months to the day since I last posted.

How is my writing coming you ask? Non-existant! Don't worry I clobber myself up everyday that I haven't written anything. I'm not even sure if I'm supposed to be a writer. Another birthday passed and yet I'm no where closer to achieving anything I want.

I'll shut up now...I need more time to ponder what I'm going to write here.

I figured it has been almost a month since I tapped my little thoughts across the screen, so here goes. In all honesty, I havent felt much like writing anything let alone my punny thoughts about doing it. Why haven't I? Oh I can string a thousand excuses along and none of them will be what any one wants to hear, let alone myself. In fact, even writing this now makes me feel all squishy inside. Maybe I don't feel good. I didn't get much sleep last night so that might also be a culprit. So this is what you will get for today. I'm alive. heh.

Funny how a week passes these days and you don't even realize it. I often get distracted with innane things that I often forget about all the things I want to do. Sometimes these things aern't quite innane, but keeps me busy with life. Since it was Tommy's birthday last week I kept myself busy running around and with a fwe other added events I found I didn't have much time for myself and the blog was something that had to go. Work has been busy so I haven't been able to take a bite of time out and update this until today. And even now I feel a bit guilty about it.

Writing...In my mind I hear things I want to write, sentences, scenes, characters and the like, but I've been unable to get them down on paper. Sometimes I feel everything is like a tug-o-war and I give up and do the easiest thing. Then I remark to my own conscious how much of an idiot I am for not doing it. Sigh. Then there are times I wish I had that someone near me who believed in me so much she would literally hassle me. But in reality no one else can make me do anything, it all comes down to me doing it. It is hard. Not the act of writing, but the acceptance of what I write to myself. Is this the best I can do and usually I find I tell myself no and give up. Yet I hear other people tell me how wonderful it is, but then fade into the shadows. I don't blame them. My life isn't worth drawing words out onto paper or maybe I haven't found exactly what I want to say. In either case I've made no bonds with anyone so close that my talent keeps them going on a daily basis, because of that I often wonder if I do have the talent. Isn't that arrogant? Or self-pity? Yeah I know, scream at me to stop whining and either write or not. It isn't really about that you know. Yes I believe I have a semblance of talent to get things into print, but that really isn't my goal at this point. Sharing...my soul. Extreme passion spilled from my heart to the page into someone's mind and then ingested into her soul. What wonderful fantasies I have...some better than others, huh?

me

Wow it has been a while since I've posted here. Maybe because I've been procastinating with my own writing and too ashamed to say anything here about it. I've created a couple of poems, but they don't make much sense. I think they are too oblique for anyone but myself. Life seems humdrum, but I'm busy. Go figure. I really need to write more often, but I'm usually wondering what the point is, no one wants to hear it. *sigh*

I finished Hobb's first book. It was good. A lot more political debate than I realized, but I enjoyed it. It makes me wonder how a writer keeps all that straight. I'm thinking it is an illusion and that the twists and turns come up while she/he writes the first draft. I think that is how it goes, but for a book(s) like these you have to becareful and realize what everyone is up too at the same time. A difficult task.

me

No writing done last night. Exhaustion took over my brain and I curled up in my blankets, read and then fell asleep. After I left work, I picked up a book from Robyn Hobb, the first in her Assassin Trilogy. Inside of three or four pages I became hooked to the story and the main character. Orson Scott Card suggested the novelist and I thought I didn't have much to lose and started it. I hope I can create something so enriching as this when I'm finished.

I left Grapes alone last night. I'm trying to read more of the classics for a couple of reasons. One to educate myself with more styles and literature. To know how the 'masters' worked. I'm usually more interested in their thoughts and methods than the final product. I'm not one to oh and ah over what people say is great when in reality they only say it is great because they find hidden meanings in it all. It took me many years to watch ET and I still haven't watched Dances with Wolves for that very reason. But I can't wait for Dumb and Dumberer. What a great mind at work here huh?

me

Its fuckin' cold outside and now it is snowing and supposed to be even colder tonight! Aaaaarrrrrggggggg.... Tell me again why I moved to Wisconsin from Arizona? Money...you don't need any stinkin' money! I think I'm going to have a bad case of cabin fever this spring. It has already started. I want warm sunny days again!

Writing...remember Bob this is what this BLOG was supposed to be about. Not bitching about the 300 lb gorilla or her boyfriend buck-shot Jones. Writing. I finished Terry Pritchet's Color of Magic Sunday night. Although somewhat humorous, the book left me empty because it had no real ending. Yes it is part of a series I still felt cheated. I've heard so many good things about the author, but in honesty it all seemed a little short of what he or what I thought he was trying to accomplish. Maybe the jokes are now all used up and cease to be funny anymore. The cliched bumbling wizard, the wide-eyed adventurer and the barbarian warrior who always ends up with the treasure and the girl. He played them to the hilt. And although the world seemed quite imaginative, the characters let me down. And in some many books I've read about the writing process everyone shouts, the books are about the characters, not the ideas or the plot. Now finished with one book, I started another. I bought John Steinbecks, The Grapes of Wraith and started reading last night.

"It must be told that my second work day is a bust as far as getting into the writing. I suffer as always from the fear of putting down the first line. It is
amazing the terrors, the magic's, the prayers, the straightening shyness that assails one. . . A strange and mystic business, writing."

I would love to get a hand on his writing journal. In the foreward to Grapes there are some quotes from his journal that left me astounded. It was like he invaded my mind and wrote down my own private thoughts as I've sat before the keyboard. Do you know he wrote in longhand. Fifteen hundred words a day. He had little need for revision or so I've read. Not all writers are like that, I know. My work always needs to be revised because I get going so fast I'm trumping the current sentence with my next thought.

me

Monday...

What an icky weekend. The x came up for the night Friday to see Tommy play in a basketball game. She missed most of his playing time, he got hit with two quick fouls and spent the rest of the time on the bench. Disappointed, he decided to work harder so when the next time presents itself he won't be so excited.

Oh yes the x. What a lump of pile she is. It hasn't been easy the last few years, I understand, but come on. She is moving Bekah away from me and she is moving away from Tommy. It is her decision. I stayed in Wisconsin for that very reason (I'd opt for a much warmer climate!) so I could be close to my kids. We are speaking about what will happen when she moves to Nevada. How much should I pay to get Bekah back and forth? Deep inside I'd pay anything so I can see my daughter, but is it fair to pay the x money so she can move my child away from me so I cannot have interaction with her? Should I move to Nevada? Ack, hell would be a much better place to reside. This is to better Bekah she says. No, she doesn't have to work as much, sit around the house and get fatter and pretend she is a great mom. Oh she loves the kids very much, but it is me who forces her to get the kids involved. It pisses me off then when she comes back to me and says I don't care because money doesn't flow out of my pocket in her general direction. She even took another month of child support for Tommy in January, (he has been living with me since November). And of course if I bring everything up about how she uses me, I'm bringing up past history. No. I only want fair so I don't feel like I'm getting roasted while she goes to Nevada with my daughter and I not only have to pay child-support, but find extra money to get her back and forth.

And then she lays this guilt trip on me. Bullshit. The line in the sand gets marked clearer each day and I'm not letting her cross it. And she is pissed. Again all I want is fair without disrupting Tommy's and Bekah's lives any further. That is why I didn't take the EA Sports job amongst a few other reasons.

Writing hasn't been going so well. I know I'm in limbo about the direction of my latest story. I'm not sure if it is good or not. At least that is my out for not writing. Tonight before I slumber I am going to pound at it some more even if I don't want too. I'm hoping something inside of me will prompt it to go better. I'm trying to keep it all inside me so it will explode out on the page during the first draft. The characters....I hope I can make the characters work.

me

Comments were broken! ACK! I think i have them fixed. I really should take the time and redesign this thing so it looks snazzy, but I've got too many projects on the fire at the moment to concern myself with it so you'll have to deal with the orange.

Over 8k on the story. I dove into my idea like a female wrestler in jello. I hope it doesn't become lame. The mistress has gotten her fill the last few nights, albeit a little less than normal. I'm not sure about tonight, I'm already tired and I have errands to run then basketball. Won't get home until 10:30 I fear. But I will do what I can. I'd like to up my time between reading and writing to four hours a day, but that is tough.

Tommy gets to start on Friday in a home JV game! Last night after his team was spanked by the home town rivals, the coach told him in front of everyone he will get to start. We're not sure why, but I told him that this something he can take advantage of if he wants to play more. I think he wants to hear his name over the loud speaker when he runs out onto the gym floor as a starter. I think this has been a great experience for him. And I hope his grades have improved as his attitude seems to have done.

Well I need to boggie out.

me

Wow I haven't realized how long it has been since I've written. Since last Friday huh? Not that I have to bitch and moan, of course I could find a couple of reasons why to do that, but I will spare you the grief. Tommy has a basketball game tonight with the big rivals. They have a seven footer on the varsity team that will attend U of Wisconsin next year and they have a pretty good team (ranked 4th in the state) so I will be able to watch him.

I'm caught up on bills! Woo hoo! I'm not that far ahead, but at least I'm caught up!

I've woken the mistress up the last couple of nights. But last night she was evil and grumpy. I thought about ignoring her, but I had to get me some or otherwise I'd feel terrible about it. I staggered through an hour of writing. I'm at the crux of the story, the part that will launch the book forward and I'm not sure what I want to do. I suspect the idea I started to write is lame. *sigh* But this is where I need to push through it. I'm at about 7-7.5k worth of words into the story and if I take the left turn, I'm hoping I can do so and pull it off with style, wit and originality.

I saw Adaptation this last weekend! It was brilliant. OH my goodness, the opening scenes in the movie are thoughts straight out of my head when I sit down to write. I cannot believe the way he captured the exact thoughts! It is a crazy, wild movie in all respects, but oh so original in many ways. This will be one I will purchase when it comes out on DVD. I hope Cage if not wins, but at least gets nominated for an Oscar he so deserves it!

me

*sigh* I'm back for lunch and I have a few minutes before I have a meeting with my manager. Wehn I returned I recieved a most disturbing phone call from my ex-wife's boyfriend (husband to be). He left this message screaming at me becasue Rachel and I got into it last night about how I couldn't claim both kids, despite the fact I gave her $12,000 and had Bekah for 3 months this past summer without her being able to pay back some of the child support and Tommy coming and living with me in the middle of November. I stuck to my guns and told her I'm tired of being nice and getting rolled over by her. When she is in dire straights I'm supposed to do whatever I can to help, "for the good of the children", mind you. Then when I run into trouble, she gets mad at me because I get upset she can't be a little flexible.

Not only was this message of his loud and obnoxious, but he called me a son-of-a-bitch twice, cock sucker and mother fucker a couple times as well. I don't believe he breathed as he spoke letting out in one long rush begging me to call him. I deleted the message and called Rachel and flat out told her I wouldn't speak to him. If she and I have issues then they are between us, not him and me. I understood they talk over things, but it really doesn't involve him. I'm sure he will threaten to beat me up or some other shit. Isn't that what truck drivers do? Sterotyping aren't I? Well of all the things I know about him, it rings true. I told her that if we have issues then they become between the two of us.

sigh

Well at least I have my car fixed and back in my possession. Woo hoo.

me

I scorned my mistress last night. The green glow of her eyes beckoned me to her face, but I ignored her in my exhausted state. I often wondered as I tossed and turned during the night if her silence marked a sign of her anger towards me. I knew I should pay attention to her, but I didn't tumble into bed until very late and I had to wake up early for the gym. When I did look in her direction, her eyes stared at me wondering when I would come to my senses and forget the foolish notion of sleep. Without ever saying a word she confronted my desire to do something with her and I ignored her. When I woke up this morning I felt terrible, but I didn't have time to express my concerns to her and hurried off to work. Now the day is half over and I know she will be there when I get home, but will I respond to the soft whirl of her voice? Am I tempted to place another thousand pieces of the puzzle on her mind to save for me? I think so, but I am already weary from the lack of sleep. I want to give her my full attention, but am I only making excuses not to be with her? Will she understand?

Maybe the question isn't if she will understand, but how will I feel? Should I let my mistress lay next to me night after night without telling her how much I desire the consquences of our actions together? I am only a writer if I write. Talking about such a romantic vision does nothing on getting it accomplished. I need to force time into my schedule so I can be with her and then I know I'm developing a great relationship between me and my mistress. And as the inanimate object lays there I know i can hear it whisper to me, because she is the only comfort I can get for myself.

me

I massaged my mistress last night. She called from the side of the bed for the first time since Bekah was here. Yes I wrote again last night. I'm not sure where this story is heading, but it is interesting to me. I wrote a poem. A strange one as well. Things are going okay I suppose, but I'm trying to get through each day, one at a time. I'm hoping to do something fun this weekend for a change and I hope to have my car back as well. It has been less of an inconvience then as a comfort. So we shall see I suppose.

me

I'm testing something!

Monday and I have the beginning week blahs if I've had them. This weekend has been a cornucopia of disillusioned thoughts and issues that have not only run through my life, but through my head as well. It has been awhile since I felt so alone, but not in the sense of having people nearby, but alone with my own thoughts without anyone to share them with. I think it has been a very long time since I've had that person in my life in which I have felt the comfort to expose my weaknessses. I'm so worried about showing my strengths that I overlook and hide the parts of my being I need work on. And as human as I was last night I wanted someone to hold me so bad last night. Then I feel weak. Weak in the sense that I cannot be alone with my own thoughts and problems to shift them out by myself to conquer the adversities without confiding in someone that I cannot do it alone. And I'm afraid no one wants to hear those things uttered from my lips.

I'm a putz.

Rachel (my ex-wife) wants to take Bekah to Nevada in June. At first I didn't mind, but now I'm rethinking my position. I don't want my daughter so far away. Another decision I have to make...*sigh* I want to go home. Too bad I don't know where it is.

Enough whining for today...

me

It has been a long wierd week. I had today off, but I have my daughter with me this weekend so it makes it busy. I did end up writing a poem tonight.
Through the phone I'm all blah and tired. So I think I'll leave it like this and call it a night.

me

I've been hard at work trying to get ready for tomorrow's work trip. I think the software is ready to go, but now I have to get my machine ready and update the software into our sourcesafe site. My car rental is a PT Cruiser, so that is cool. I'll be able to drive around in style. I'm picking up Bekah tomorrow night, so I have to drive to madison from milwaukee, so I'll get my mileage in tomorrow. Rachel is giving me crap about being there by 5:30 so they aren't late for some yee-hawin cowboy concert. I'm tempted to show up a little late just to piss them off, but I'm too nice of a guy and will try my best to get there in time. On top of all that, Rebekah is sick and has a sore throat so I might get a sick baby all weekend. *sigh*

Everything else is going fine. I had some interesting comments on my cowboy poem. Someone thought I could get it published. So I'm thinking I might try too. Might as well what good are they sitting on my hard drive? As far as my prose writing, I'm still keeping it up each night, but I think tomorrow night my notebook is going to have to share room with my little girl (she likes to sleep with me.) Oh well, I have the blahs this afternoon. I need to finish this work up, but I want to do something fun instead. Ugh.

me

Last night I continued on my story. My laptop is snug in my bed right now waiting for me like a mistress. In the past week I've been reading a lot of books about the process of writing, which boiled down means, putting the damn words on paper, but this one writer suggested it was better than sex. Maybe it could be more fulfilling than sex at certain times, but I still think sex could be mind-blowing if you are with someone who you can give all your intensity too without any hesitation and they recipicate. The funny thing is I'm not sure if I've ever gotten that feeling in my life. So when I ponder about the words of the author it brings many connotations about what I should be feeling, both when I'm writing and making love (I think I'll get to experience that yet again in my life). How intense and passionate should both be, in my own eyes it is equal. Then would my writing become a mistress, it could be construde as such since I'm putting as many emotions and passions into it. And would the woman I'm with feel the same guilty feelings as if she knew I was spending quality time with this mistress called writing? But I wouldn't think she should. Why? Because I have this dream where the two would spurn each other into a deeper spiritual relationship with each other and bring a completeness to both. Sometimes that is what I think I'm missing when I feel like I should be writing more. That extra completeness someone else could give me when I know I shouldn't count on anything from anyone else and do it all myself. But isn't that a lonely life? That you are resigned to the fact that no one will help you, that everyone will fail to be there for you when it counts and that all you have is your own spirit and will to get something done. But that my friends seems to be the way of life for most of the people I know.

When I see a loving couple who have been together for years, fighting through the tears of pain and happiness I am jealous. The one kicked the other one in the ass to get their lives complete and yet the same person craddled them in their arms when life sucked. Life shouldn't be a distractio to loving someone, it should bring two poeple together and if they are meant to be, they should strive to see if they are compatable in being with each other. Otherwise it is just a vicious game that neither person can win and you end up leeching for a glimmer of support when eventually it will run out in the end. I of course have been guilty of doing this as well, because for the longest time I've not only not known what I've wanted, but I gravitate to someone who will acknowledge me. Now I begun to suspect my own heart and feeling to those I do care about and have to take a step back and examine my own self worth and esteem.

Anyways this wasn't what this post was to be about. I piddled around today, I'm supposed to be getting ready for a trip to Milwaukee on Thursday to my least favorite company. Instead I've done other work as well as groped the web. I found this site with some articles about writing and one of the suggestions it made was to write something about a subject that doesn't interest you. This will help expand your way of thinking about the world. So I wrote a poem about horses, not that I hate horses or I'm not interested, but I guess the lifestyle just isn't me. Cowboy School is a poem I wrote something quite different then the usual stuff I do. Not very romantic, sexy or bizarre. Shrug.

me

"writing is survival. Any art, any good work, of course, is that.

Not to write, for many of us, is to die.

We must take arms each and every day, perhaps knowing that the battle cannot be entirely won, but fight we must, if only a gentle bout. The smallest effort to win means, at the end of each day, a sort of victory. Remember that pianist who said that if he did not practice every day he would know, if he did not practice for two days, the critics would know, after three days, his audience would know.

A variation of this is true for writers. Not that your style, whatever that is, would melt out of shape in those few days.

But what would happen is that the world would catch up with and try to sicken you. If you did not write every day, the poisons would accumulate and you would begin to die, or act crazy, or both.

You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.

For writing allows just the proper recipes of truth, life, reality as you are able to eat, drink, and digest without hyperventilating and flopping like a dead fish in your bed.

I have learned, on my journeys, that if I let a day go by without writing, I grow uneasy. Two days and I am in tremor. Three and I suspect lunacy. Four and I might as well be a hog, suffering the flux in a wallow. An hour's writing is tonic. I'm on my feet, running in circles, and yelling for a clean pair of spats.

So that, in one way or another, is what this book is all about."
~Ray Bradbury, Zen in the Art of Writing

I had to write this down it. I've read it a half a dozen or so times, but each time I do it seems to impact my life with more force than the time before. Last night I settled into bed, picked up his book once again and waited to become inspired. Ah isn't that the key, I waited to become inspired, but in truth a writer cannot wait to be inspired, he must set pen to paper and produce inspiration. It is amazing what I can produce when I inspire myself without any help. But those poisons he speaks about influtrate my system and I catch a virus that prohibits me from writing healthy prose. God-damn it! I'm not weak I can get through the worst of this world has to give me and continue on. So last night I put off the pretentious thoughts and dove right into a story. I saw a woman and I began to write about her day and tonight I will continue to do so until her story is told.

My laptop is on my bed, I now sleep with it. It isn't as cuddly as a woman, but she lies silent waiting for me to touch her and if I don't spend the time with her I'm supposed to she will forget me as I will forget her and then I will lose my love. I cannot afford to do that any longer. The poisons must be expelled and I must create what my heart yearns to do come hell or high water. I will fight the poisons from 8-5, but my subconscious will be adrift waiting for the time I can begin my real work, the work between the hedges of a paragraph where my inspiration comes from putting my fingers against the keyboard. What will I produce? I'm not sure, it may even stink like shit, but my soul will conspire to to forge something new in my own words which I cannot even seem to express to myself. As one writer once said, "To write the story I cannot fathom how to write."

Plucking away through some websites and look what I found! Led Zepplins and LOTR Is that surreal or what? I've never heard of this theory, but there are actual names and places from the books they used in their songs. I mean I know how people can be inspired by such work, but I never thought of Led Zepplin to be so forward about such an important work of art. I guess I was wrong.

It has been a long, wierd day. I think I shall take a long hot bubble bath tonight. Wouldn't be fun if someone...er I'd better not complete that thought *evil grin*.

me

Last evening I watched a good portion of the golden globes. I'm not sure why I have become an admirer of award shows and for the most part I picked it over the football game on the next channel. Maybe I'm coming down with something? Well I will not dwaddle on the reason why I choose to watch the show, but I'll rather give my impressions of what I saw and felt as if actually means anything in time and space of this planet. For the most part, the women were quite attractive they were not what drove me to watch.

The whole idea of actors and actresses being artists wedged into my brain and while some of them offer real talent I began to wonder how many of them could do a great job without a decent script. Maybe this line of thought began Saturday when we toyed with the idea of going to a movie, there are a couple I want to see, but the reviews gave me mixed feelings about seeing a couple and I knew my son wouldn't want to see Adaptation. While I read the reviews they all spoke about contrived plots, with the same hackneyed gags and jokes seen time and time again, subject to a twist of sophmoric humor done in. Now I'm someone who loved Dumb and Dumber and Uncle Buck so my sense of humor has some far reaching boundries, but don't we all tire of the same gags on the same subjects? Originality folks! And how do these actors and actresses make the same joke better or worse in different movies and if not humor who can someone pull off the same plot element seen a dozen times in a heart touching movie?

I've read enough books to know there are some writers in Hollywood that have formulas for writing screenplays. I'm sure they try with the orignial ideas they once had, but people are scared to invest a lot of money in an idea, whereas if you suggest a movie like, "Maid in Manhatten" or "Two Weeks Notice" how can you go wrong? I heard Nicole Kitman say in her acceptance speach to give women more complex roles, but movies that are complex people won't see. But they will flock to the same version of romance time after time, look at all the romance novels in the shelves of book stores. Even in the fantasy genre the same idea are regurgatated.

eek time to work...more later
me

Come on Dawg. Get your ass in gear. Sitting in a pool of tepid waterdreaming about what you want isn't giong to make it happen. Get off your puny ass and do something about it! You can't count on anyone but yourself to get you motivated into doing something you want to do. Why is it that you gave up those other things? So you could sit around and lament about how life is treating you so badly and you'll never be the man you want ot be. Come on. The only thing holding you back is you. Quit whining and complaining and do something about it for a change.

Poem posted: I think too many people find it; well read it and you'll see.

Chastity Belt

Sometimes I wonder if I write fictionous memory I wish I had.

me

Thanks nat and Katt for those nice comments. I do what I can. I'm surprised that last entry came out so well. It was all done in one sitting without much editing as you can tell by a couple of typos and some verb tenses.

Last night cable tv was installed in our meager household. I've can watch more channels than I can ever imagine and I now have internet connect at home once again. Woo hoo. I'm free again. Thank God I'm free again.

I'm in the middle of three books; LOTR part 1, Catcher in the Rye, Dreamcatcher (steven king). I think when my financies turn around I might collect all of Dave Matthews band stuff, I really like the guitar cords they are powerful. I haven't heard much from his new album, but everything I do hear has a great vibe for me. It puts me into a writing mood. Sometimes I'll listen to New Age type of music to settle my brain to write, something melodic, but without words to confuse me with.

Giddy Up and go on little doggie...

me

Sometimes I want to write so bad it tears against the grain of my soul and I feverishly scribble whatever words I can find. Usually it has nothing to do with any of the current stories I'm working, but rather something new takes hold and I want to shape it into something I can show someone. I fight with my voice until my fingers hurt and my brain throbs. Who am I trying to impress? Who do I want to touch and make thme think of me after they have read it? Only one person who I have ever written like that before.

In the morning she twirls her hair around her finger absentmindly, her thoughts are as distant as the day of work ahead as she looks into the mirror. She closes her eyes and hopes the small wrinkles and the test of time disappear, she misses the face she had even five years ago. She dabbles on the make-up and hides the wisdom and pain the years have toiled against her and applies a smile as if she had painted it on herself. The kids scramble across the house looking for misplaced shoes, slips of homework and a bowl of cereal. The day is like any other day in her life and she expects nothing more or less, she is only here to exist for her children, because that is what a mom is supposed to do. The kids dash out the door towards the busstop and she has a few moments of peace before she must depart and make everyone believe how happy she is. A tear dangles on her eyelash, but she bats it away with the back of her hand and swallows a cup of tea.

Work drags on, the politics, the bastards, the bitches and the friends who make her laugh all play their role as if it were any other day. A couple of times throughout the day she hid herself in the bathroom and rested upon the chillled seat of the toliet. She laid her forehead along the side of the cool watertank hoping to avoid the effects of a fever she felt approaching. She gobbled up five or six Advil and steadied herself to her feet, because she knew by now someone would be looking for her because something was out of place and heaven forbid someone knew what to do with it. Her shift otherwise passed like a white chevy on the highway you never notice. A quick stop at the store, some things were mailed and she found her way home once again where her children were there to great her.

The evening drifted like a silent ship on a calm ocean. Supper and its aftermath only slowed the process of finding her way into a bath filled with lavender bubbles. The steam drifted to the ceiling as she closed her eyes and dozed to sleep for a few minutes. The sound of the doorbell rang and she bolted up in the tub, water sloshed over the floor and she hurried to grab a towel. Why hadn't she heard the dogs bark to warn her of someone coming, but now she heard them as clear as the voice outside the door. She staggered out of the water and wrapped her hair in a bun, but the man's voice exited the house as she heard the door slam shut.

"Mom. Look you got a bunch of pretty flowers."

Her oldest held an unique floral arrangement full of daisies and lillies with a smattering of babybreath intermixed. In the dead of winter they looked so beautiful. "Who are they from mom?"

"I don't know." She grabbed the card attached to a silver pitchfork. After she wiped her fingers on the moist towel, she opened the pink envelope and read, "I know it isn't Valentine's Day, but I thought of you. I'd really like to see you soon." This time her smile cracked her face without a brush in her hand. She stuck the card back into its home and put the flowers in her bedroom on her dresser. It had been many months since it had last been filled, then she sat on the bed and read the card again.

A couple of small faces peeked around the corner, but she didn't notice. "Mom?" Her eyes flickered over to them. "Who are they from?"

"A friend."

"He must be a special friend to make you look so happy."

"He is. Now go on and finish your homework. I need to finish my bath."

Feeding the masses styrofoam. That would make a good title for something, eh? I've been putzing around work today because it is slow. I suspect in the next week or so I will have a great influx of work to do so I am pacing myself. lol. Nah I'll get back to it as soon as I'm done tweaking my thoughts out on this. I can't believe it is already Jan 14th, the month is half over. Where does all the time go?

Last night, I felt at peace with my son. He came home after basketball practice and unloaded everything that he did in school, without too much prompting from me. It was nice to hear and see that he is becoming comfortable with me. We talk about everything and I let him know pretty much what is going on in my life. I want him to see and hear the difficulties and triumphs I go through so life isn't a wake-up call when he turns 18 in a few years. Otherwise I want him to have fun and do things while he is still a kid. He will have plenty of time to toil and strive after school, but I still think he needs a part-time job.

I wrote a poem last night and decided to scrap it into the garbage can. It felt forced and when I force something it never has the impact I'm looking for. The best things seem to be when they tumble from my pen like blue drops of rain to the paper. They speak for themselves and I only have to guide them in the correct order. I've had trouble writing the past few days. I've been consumed with 'things'. Sometimes I wish someone else could worry about everything and I could concentrate on what I want to do. Heh. I guess I'm not 16 anymore so that thought won't ever happen.

me

Its Sunday. I'm all alone at work, it seems like a ghost town. The weekend has seemed busy, but in reality there hasn't been much going on other than my son playing basketball. We rented DVD's Friday night and spent the cold night in front of the tube. Yesterday he had a game and for some reason they have practice in the morning before hand. It seems strange to me, but it seemed to eat the whole day up. It was 8:30 before we got home.

I'm in a weird mood today. I'm not sure why. I've had thoughts and feelings tumble around inside my head the past week I haven't felt in a long time. Sometimes I can stick them into the back corner of my mind, but they sneak out when I'm not looking. I bite my lip and go on. I'm not ready to confront them, but I want too in the worst way, besides I'm not the only one involved. I have learned that the best things in life take time and hurrying something along for whatever reason does no good to me. It is when I wait, let things savor in my head is when I realize how terrific things can be. And she knows it better than anyone.

When I write sometimes I'm not even sure what the next sentence is, but the words pour out, the characters or the narration takes off down paths I can barely conceive and I think how wonderful I am. And as if she writes my chapter for me, like an author who knows everything about me, but from a distance. She sees and feels things I can barely comprehend and in the light of it all she uncovers the truth in my soul. Yet I run from it as much as I want to be close to it. I've never had anyone treat me the way she does and yet I desire it so much. How can I possibly say to her what she has meant to me in the last three years without divulging my soul to her? The worst part of it all is will she believe me? She has no right to believe me because I have not acted in accordance to my feelings.

I have a tendency to hide behind small white lies I tell myself. Then I act upon them. It is a strange beast that I cannot fling from my shoulders. I want to be loved so much that I follow anyone who smiles at me, but in the end they rape me of my heart. Yes rape. I've only met one woman who hasn't wanted to use me. Who has sought the best for me even if it meant being kept at a distance, until she knew she was ready to give me her all. And I was a dumb dolt. For years I've been so lonely and I thought a few hours of comfort with someone would satisify these cravings, but in the end no matter how much I tried. I was a tool to get from one place to another without any regards for me, while she sat silent and watched me run after swine.

But does she still care? Can I still make her sigh and wonder what it would be like nestled in my arms? I've destroyed so much in my life and hated myself for it that I wonder if I'm any good for anyone. I struggle to learn to love and what it really means to be loved and I haven't gotten a clue yet in my thirty eight years upon this earth. I've reclaimed my son and I'm doing my best to care for him. I have so much to give. My heart explodes somethings with an emptiness to know I could give this woman. This one person on the whole earth who has choosen to love me for better or worst and I have had a plank in my eye. They say it is never to late. I can only wonder.

me

Do I ever proofread my posts here? Does it matter, but it seems like everytime i go to start a new post I see my previous posts with typos in it. And I cringe. Should I be bothered with going through and reading what I have written? I ee this as a journal, a rambling of my brain and sometimes I get going so fast I don't even take a moment to breath let alone get my thoughts and spelling in order. But I'm supposed to be a writer, these things like grammar are supposed to be important. I dunno. I'd spend so much time getting myself worked up on something that in all fairness doesn't mean squat to anyone. In the grand scheme of things, I'm not even up for honorable mention. heh.

Now for something completely different. My little poem yesterday got third place in the weeks best poetry on the board. I shuddered with glee and then realized I better not shudder because it might lead some to believe I'm have a nervous breakdown so I ran around the office butt-naked cheering myself on. The little things in life are what make you happy so you have to stick to them even when you're not in the mood.

I was a good boy last night and wrote some more on my book. It is strange, everytime I think I get to a point of no return, I think of something to carry the story on. I hope I'm not dragging the initial scene out too long, but I think there are some good things going on. At least I'm interested. I once read that if as a writer you aer not surprised then your reader won't. So what I write must be something that I expect. It isn't in trapping the reader, but making the characters do things that I expect them to do as well.

me

Oaky....look it here...I did something gud!

Poetry discourse!

I feel all gooey inside now. Perhaps I should quit while I'm even?

me

Lunch time brought me to the time when I'm supposed to go to the gym. But alas I sidestepped it since I have put in my fair share of time hoofing it up and down the court. I was up til 12pm last night and got up at 5:30. Anywhoo enough with that...I skipped out on my lunch time sweatfest and went over to Culver's - a Wisconsin FastFood joint- across the street, but I was good I had a chicken cashew salad and plodded around on my notepad. Sometimes I feel so anti-social, but no one expects me to go to lunch so I flew solo.

So I wrote...I came up with this poem and I'm not sure how it got stuck in my brain, but this is what I came up with. No one was around to inspire it. Maybe it was the hope of someone? Sheesh I'm getting all psychoanalytical with myself. Eeek.

As she passed...

One thing I didn't want to write was a gloomy poem and I thought this was sweet and romantic. I also wrote a page of a story out of the blue as if I needed to write. It didn't matter what as long as I concocted a story. It reminded me of phone calls and IMs to Michelle where I would begin to make something up because she asked for a story and off the top of my head I'd give her one.

me

Interuption in plans last night, but I've gotten in a lot of exercise this week. I guess I'm making up for all the lost time during the holidays. My legs are a bit stiff and sore, us old people have to be more careful as we advance into the late thirties. I really need to stretch more, but I'm too impatient. Imagine that! Tommy will have practice until late so I'll work double time on what I missed yesterday.

Funny thing last night, I came home showered, turned on a soothing cd and curled up with my book. A now normal occurance, but in the past six months it was never a reality. I realized how much I missed it, but what trigger in my mind is if I ever do find someone in the future would these types of pleasures be avoided again? Being respectful of someone elses space and territory and I'm sure *she* (the who ever in my future) won't want to have to struggle with the light on, music humming in the background and me reaching over and touching her. Yes that would have to be part of the deal, a little human contact while I feed on my indulges (is there a plural for this word?). Nothing sexual, a rub of the back, a touch of her hair to remind myself she is there. Would someone accept that from me and how do you propose something like that or is it unspoken until it becomes a trend or habit that both come to expect? See how selfish I am. Would I be able to respect the same wishes for her? I think so. You'd be amazed how much shit I can put up with and if she even responded with a smile I'd put up with it until the end of time. That is why my friends I am going to treat all relationships with kid gloves. Patience he says with a sly grin.

In might not seem like it with some of the goofy decisions I have made, but I am learning something about all this. I tie my shoelaces together before I jump these days. I know I've done the hopping, but let me assure you that I'm through with it. Take a nice deep breath and let it flow nice and slow. Let it become as natural as belching...okay maybe not that natural or ugly, but you know what I mean. I've realized that a relationship that is going to last needs to simmer like a good sauce so all herbs (I don't know anyone named herb) and spices can blend together to make it taste exquisite. I think I make a good speghetti sauce myself. At least these are my goals for it all. Nice, slow, steady and easy. If it happens, well fate, the gods, God or however the breeze seems to blow in that time of my life will tell me if I should delve deeper into something. Right now I'm happy writing, living and exhorting my son onto a better life.

me

Woo hoo two days on my plan and I'm still going strong. The skeptical man inside rears his ugly head if I think about it too much, but I'm trying to buy him off with booze and porn, but I can't find any around the house at the moment so we have quiet conversations about how he needs to be quiet until the whole thing is done. As long as I keep a creative mood I will be okay. I think splattering my thoughts on this here blog thing helps as well because then I can expunge the icky thoughts and then concentrate on doing what I have to do.

I've been reading, The Amazing Adventures of Kavaliar and Clay, it is by the same author who wrote Fight Club and Wonder Boys. If you have ever seen those two movies you know that his books take a different path than most. I think the Adventures book was made into a movie as well, but I can't remember. It is a huge book and it is interesting not only how flips around in time, but also in perspective. I'm also in the middle of The Catcher in the Rye, but I'm not so grand on the book. It seems as if the boy seems to repeat his own actions, but I suppose being a teenager that is normal. I need to finish the book before I can decide if I like it or not.

Dang I thought today was the 7th...it is the 8th. I've lost one. Oh well.

me

I wrote a poem today. Woo hoo aren't you all so excited that you can't wait to read it? Oh I know you are screaming at me. Give us the damn link Bob so we may be forever changed by the content of your dabbling of muse. But you have to wait my friends, because I know in all of this it is only a speckle of dust in time. My life's value would have to be measured with a nuetron counter. I hope to at least add a page to the history of life. Not that it would be a big deal to have my name and ugly mug in some book listing my accomplishments, but a nice one-lined sentence in the book of time would be rather swell. In this little merryment of a short contribution to the webs overflow of poetry I look upon life with a different perspective. Heh I sound like some damn professor who thinks he knows what he is talking about. Bah.

The newest poem from the inner sanctum of my brain.

Did it have you reaching for your head to scratch it? It did for me. As they say while you are sitting on the pot, this too shall pass...

me

Heh take a look at this link if you like those on-line personality tests.

test

And learn how to write for the web at this link:

Writing for the web

I love going to blogger.com and opening up peoples blogs just so I can click on the links they have on their pages. I have found some neat time wasting sites while jumping around blogs. Funny thing is that I don't end up reading many of the blogs. There was one of a columnist in SF that I read, but I forgot to bookmark it and now it has vanished into the supernova of the Internet. I guess I shouldn't be doing it at work, but sometimes work is so mindless that I need a jump out into space. And while I'm ranting a little about my job, I WANT A STUPID WINDOW in my office. Okay, maybe not a stupid window, but one that shines light in from time to time. That way I'm not palsy white plastic man when Spring comes around, but I don't think a window or two will help that too much. Maybe this year I can actually get some sun without feeling like I'm scaring little children when I take off my shirt. I often think of Fat Bastard when I was at my worst. "Com 'ere. I'm gonna eat you! I want my baby back baby back..."

Woo hoo taxes are done and sent. Next year I'll look to filing them electronically, but it seemed like a pain in the ass with the W-2's so I did them regular.

Now back to writing...

I picked one of the eight ideas I had stewing around on my computer drive. I think it is the most developed idea I have, might be the only one I have thought how the beginning, middle and end of the novel 'might' proceed. I say might, because you never know what those whacky characters of mine will do. They could run off and start their own adventures and forget about me. And I'm all self-conscious about them, like children I have to keep the reins on them, but it is so fun to see them explore life in a way I didn't think was plausable or possible.

I think I have a method of getting this done. I'm writing everything in long hand first so I'm not tempted to edit as I go. Before I write the next night, I'll enter those pages into the computer, this is where I have to be careful and not analyze what I have written. I might clean some things up, but it is straight entry so the first draft is kept untainted my the editor who roams in my head waiting to damn me for everything I create. I tried to force the editor into the coffee pot, but all the caffeine made him jumpy and nervous and since he couldn't sleep, well guess who he needed to keep company. And I hate coffee.

Now a good pot of tea....

me

Wehn it snows....its a blizzard (when it rains it pours)...

The mechanic called and stated that the axles on the rear of the car need to be replaced as well. Another $240 added to the bill. Woo hoo...
So...now here is hoping I can get my tax return in a quick amount of time, maybe I can get it direct deposited! *sigh* I'm so tired of worrying
about money. I've been so stressed about everything these past fwe weeks.

On a good note, my son and I had a revealing chat Friday night after his basketball game. I had rented a van to go to Milwaukee for a technical
conference my business conducted with all the 'tech' people and I was invited to tag along. The van didn't need to be back until Saturday morning
so I made the best of the use and we went grocery shopping. In the parking lot of the store, we sat and chatted about school, grades, his loss of friends
and how he was adjusting to it all. At first he told me he was miserable, because he didn't have his best friends to hang out with. I emphasized with him,
but showed him what he had accomplished in his short time already here. Basketball, his grades had improved (so I'm told) and he the people
he had met. It takes a little time to develop relationships I told him. He had to be accessable instead of waiting for them to come to him.

After practice on Sunday I asked how things were going and he admitted things were better. I hope he can see that his hard work is paying off. He
needs a job though, but being only 15 (a month or so away from 16) it might be difficult until then. I feel inadequate as a father right now because of
my woes, but I try and shield it from him. Not having a car for a while hurts that, but in all other aspects I try my best so he doesn't have to worry
about these things.

And yet through it all, I have to push through and write...

me

An obligatory post here on a Sunday morning. I sauntered over to work to check my email and grab some files for home. Imagine my surprise when I click onto my blog and it has broken out into song!

Oh well gald I could motivate some to strain unused talents *grin*. Nothing all that much to report. Last night I listed all the current ideas I have in production. I have started EIGHT separate books all with unique ideas unto themselves and have left them to sit. *sigh* Can you say I've made myself discouraged? I would really like to get some steam behind one or more of these ideas and finish them before I develop another half-baked idea. Don't you hate when an idea is only half-baked? The outside is golden brown, but the inside is cold and slimy. They taste awful and when you try to pick your fork through them, the consistancy makes you gag. No more half-baked ideas!

Okay I should run now. Things to do...

me

2003! A new year with new love and laughter as one might say! :) I'm just glad this last one is over. A new place which has impressed not only myself, but my son as well so it can't be all that bad! Everything seems to be working well and we have most of the things unpacked. I went through some boxes I hadn't touched in a couple of years. You know those things you keep for memory sake. I found a few old stories and one I wrote I don't even remember. I still even have my first short story. Heh it was bad! I'm gald I can at least see that I've made improvements over the past ten years.

I suppose I should saunter back to work. It has been a while since I've had to put my nose to the grindstone. It is all dull and rough now it is going to be difficult to do now. Heh.

me