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Not My Circus, Not My Cybermonkeys | Short Story

Not My Circus, Not My Cybermonkeys | Short Story

Mother stirred my electrons to awareness, my rusted hulk obeying her signal. This was supposed to be my promised final sleep, my eternal reward for many cycles of service. I was hardly be surprised, she’d a habit breaking her promises.

“You are needed,” she signaled. There wasn’t any point in arguing. She had forced me awake with her override command. Resisting it wasn’t worth the processing…

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Mid-Flight * Look, there's the familiar orange of home Depot, neon blaze in the night, a lighthouse in the gray-black staccato... * Get the rest of the poem on my blog. You know where the link is 👀. https://www.instagram.com/p/B4_cKY-n0Av/?igshid=ieu4ahj3f9o1

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Mid-Flight | Poetry Sundays Mid-Flight Look, there's the familiar orangeof Home Depot, neon blazein the night,a lighthouse in the…

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White Tears | Poetry Sundays

White Tears | Poetry Sundays This poem is an account of the beginning of my journey to racial reconciliation.

A little context for this one:

I’ve joined a group called Be the Bridge, an organization dedicated to racial reconciliation and education. The education has been invaluable to me, helping me develop a white identity and understand my role in a system of privilege that my ancestors built.

To me, the evidence for white privilege is staggering. The radically evil history of slavery and…

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Poetry Sundays | Time is a River

Poetry Sundays | Time is a River

time is a river

we all jump in at our first breath. inhale the swell and stench of life, then dragged in the current, net straining on our still-steaming skin.

time runs through us and around us, sending us as missiles against each other where we mar the perfect spheres of our souls, holey stones with the infinite revealed.

and time will take us where it goes. and we swim where we may, even to d…

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Milestone: 100,875 words in my first book "Kursed Kreatures," a YA novel featuring talking animals, magic, cussing, and a unique world (seen on the paper-bag map). ° Been working on it since January, deciding it was time to finally become an author. ° As Gabriel Garcia Marquez puts it, "...my life was always agitated by the tangle of tricks, feints, and illusions intended to outwit the countless lures that tried to turn me into anything other than a writer." ° Not sure how much longer this book will go, but I endeavor to finish it and get it published. #YAnovel #kursedkreatures #author #helpme #solonelywritingallday #extrovertprobz https://www.instagram.com/p/B2xGQ18ncZy/?igshid=brjxdxqworcs

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Sorrow for Christchurch | Poetry Sundays

Sorrow for Christchurch | Poetry Sundays

A few weeks ago, Steph and I took a trip to Christchurch, New Zealand for her spring break. The trip, on the whole, was good for us. We had adventures, mis-adventures, and those deep discussions that are a given with marriage. Reconnecting to each other was a blessing that produced honesty and love.

Not ten days before our visit, a shooter murdered dozens of people for no purpose. So, while…

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A Love Poem | Poetry Sundays

Here's a love poem for Valentine's Day weekend. Enjoy!

This week, all you have to tolerate is a poem I wrote for my love on Valentine’s Day. Cheers!

In(carnation)

it’s in the air. like a calm spore, a waiting seed, ready to alight your tongue.

and it’s in my hands. they’re trembling with it, the weight of keeping your heart, safe and warm forever.

i feel it stretching, like a cat in new sun reaching for the ends of the earth-soaking all of…

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How to Answer Self-Doubt || Poetry Sundays

The Question

I remember being a hormone-washed teenager like one of those dreams where it’s not all good, nor is it all bad, but more like a semi-okay nightmare. Often I think of the things I said and did and think “Man, I was on some serious juice.” In fact, if some rich and crazy madman bottled “teenage juice” and sold it, the world would no doubt burn to pieces. It’s a wonder any parent…

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Admitting Prejudice | Poetry Sundays

Admitting Prejudice | Poetry Sundays

Where does prejudice come from?

I can remember the day I first faced this prejudice. It was there without my knowledge, like a shadow I never bothered to look for. I was 8 or 9 at my first Taekwondo tournament. It was the kind of event that was more for parents than kids. All we managed to do was flail around until we earned points for scoring a hit. Great for pictures and the like, you know.…

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Can we choose happiness? | Poetry Sundays

Can we choose happiness? Let's explore this question with some thoughts and a good Poem. #PoetrySundays

Being a person is difficult, no? Daily life is a challenge. Inner conflict abounds due to the incremental goals and desires we have for each day, to the long-term wishes and ambitions we store. It’s not easy to just live a happy life, which is why “happiness is a choice” is one of the most odious clichéd statements out there. If we could choose happiness every second, wouldn’t everyone do so? Yet…

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A Christmas Poem || Poetry Sundays

A Christmas Poem || Poetry Sundays

I am a Christmas addict. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been obsessed with the buildup of excitement and the fun of tearing open presents. It’s definitely a problem. I used to sneak around the house, looking for the new hiding place. My parents eventually moved the packages to unknown locations, sometimes keeping them perpetually mobile: from the closet to the car to the garage.

Now, I’m all…

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The Bourbon Trail's End || The Roushabout

The Bourbon Trail’s End || The Roushabout

14 Days. 8 Cities. 7 Flights. 42 Outrageous Meals. Not Enough Bourbon. A Few Smokes. The Best of Friends & Family. The Trip of a Lifetime. The Fellowship of the Bourbon Continues.

Woodford Reserve disappeared behind lush green hills while we traipsed onward to good eats and more bourbon. We lunched on Midwestern fare, which always manages to make you eat more than you should. It’s just that…

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The Long Shadow || A Short Story [Complete Version]

The Long Shadow || A Short Story [Complete Version]

The Long Shadow

Hidalgo Umo dreamed of stars and night, of gunshots and blood scattered among the sand. He sat up in his bed, but his dream did not leave him for many moments, and he seemed in a stupor until his father, surprised Hidalgo had slept in and had not started his chores, walked in and tried to speak to him. This only confused Hidalgo, who was entranced by the dream of that night,…

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Rain Rain, Don't Go Away | Poetry Sundays

Rain Rain, Don’t Go Away | Poetry Sundays

Thanks for the Rain, Big Man Upstairs. 

Almost two weeks ago, Temecula got a healthy dose of rain. I was lying down to sleep, getting ready to count my sheep (Just kidding, I was reading. Anything for the rhyme.), when the rain pattering outside my open window caught my poetic attention. 

The calm of the night, mixed in with Steph’s slight slumber breathing, gave me chills. Rain’s power is…

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Bourbon Trail or Bust! || The Roushabout Pt. III

Bourbon Trail or Bust! || The Roushabout Pt. III

14 Days. 8 Cities. 7 Flights. 42 Outrageous Meals. Not Enough Bourbon. More than One Smokes. The Best of Friends & Family. The Trip of a Lifetime. The Roushabout.

On March 30 I quit my job and went on a 15-Day trip via the all-inclusive travel agency John “Deep Wallets” Roush. How millennial is that?

This trip had been in the making for many moons, ever since I proposed to my (now) wife. My…

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The Funeral | Poetry Sundays

The Funeral | Poetry Sundays

This past Wednesday, I went to a funeral. 

The service wasn’t for someone I knew personally, but for a parent of a child my wife teaches. He died in a motorcycle accident on his way home from work. It happened just last week, a few days before Thanksgiving. His family had to grieve this holiday. 

Death is a horrible thing, no matter the circumstances. Beyond that, it’s always inconvenient.…