Tag Archives: days

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday: on-ON-off

Someone’s birthday—didn’t know

Shirt changed, short-changed, destination change, arrival.
Stupid paper, entertainment all—no wonder the 60% public distrust of the media.
That courtesy of a door held open? No, and not a word spoken, but a dirty look.
Hit the stairs, seven floors, and recent memory of all run many times at once in rage.
The common break, to wait your turn, to sit and scan, memorize…Emmy® winners.
This time bowels may need to be held, standing up—damn GMO white corn chips.
Continue reading Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday: on-ON-off

Thursday: Need to write … ?

It takes forever to get anything done. The previous post needs fixing — the parser automatically converts double-line-spaces into paragraph breaks.  “Heart” was written into the 16th, but it was published late on the 19th.
I get what I deserve for…reading others’ blogs?  Well, doing it all morning, ruining the schedule.  Runed, I tell ya’, runed.  These posts include E.A.’s “Yucky stuff,” and B.F.’s “Pass the salt,” where Shelly eats olives, beef bouillon, old taco meat with spaghetti sauce and extra salt, and sardines, only to ask for the pickles.
This time I’m going to be frank.  That is until I edit out the offensive language, and then it’s no longer frank, but screw the horoscope, the “hold back on your words.”  When you’re invisible, it doesn’t matter much anyway.  And ordering screw.
Continue reading Thursday: Need to write … ?

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday

Prepare, work, dead tired; brush, change, sleep.
Up & down, creation now; rushed to make that leap.
Redness persists, well known, this time not seen.
No waiting here, driven, still no longer, ever clean.
Unforeseen destination, denial, and radio resort.
Realization of mistakes, doubt, then blame then retort.

Overnight, from plans, make the final touch.
Prepare, work, dead tired; brush, change, sleep—not much.
Awake, asleep, arise; no time, same clothes.
What fruits now yield thee…God knows.
Driven, park; walk, ducks, goose, and a game.
Flies and fly balls, dead rodent…I am still lame.

Reflection, sacrifice; pleas & love, ruined; riches toil.
Smelt and shut; mercury, lead in soil.
Prepare, work, dead tired; brush, change, sleep.
Wait, gone; sitting, clicking; what’s left I keep.

Thursday: another day

Another day added to the days of virtual emptiness. And, of course, the computer has to act up with all of its mysterious hard drive activity…
Alone again, this day I have time to write this, though with more nerve bundle stress pain in my left arm, even after sleep.
It’s a little…unnerving.

It’s another day of taking three antibiotic pills for an abscess underneath a wisdom tooth. Yeah, wisdom tooth. It mocks my scant wisdom, the medical issues being as they are a result of my inaction.
To think, and only think: wisdom over heart.

It’s another day of low self-esteem. Males are most vulnerable to stress without it, and overbearing fear can cause sudden death syndrome in any life form.

It’s another day of zero affectionate love, acting only on ideas, self-preservation and the willingness to start my life again.
One day, like the last I tried to start, features the same limbo: no opportunities appreciable or enjoyable.

At 28, what separates these days from the last is the gained faith/foolishness of reaching out before whatever many months or years I have left run out so I don’t remain in limbo.

Another day, after yesterday that I saw “Non-starter” was already taken — not that I should use such an unattractive sub-domain!

Another day, where I’m left with only my thoughts, downloads and my unfinished and somewhat pointless work. Some reading materials are quite good, but I should’ve read them and thanked their authors years ago despite their seldom reply.

Another day, this time writing for something that may or may not happen. My writings are often unwritten, misunderstood and usually not taken at all.

(It’s another day where I’m supposed to be good at marketing or a dead-end job.)

It’s not quite the kind of day where I may come off as only angry or self-absorbed. To possibly hear, “This guy doesn’t deserve anything; he doesn’t do anything.” What can I do?

Another day, knowing all I’ve done will be reduced to the moment, as if I’m complaining about a toy being taken away. If I act in being serious or different, the actions may be deemed a legal matter, no matter how law-abiding I am.

It’s another day to find that I’m more physically blind than the day before. I’m able to read the ironic “You have a choice!” off the newspapers on the floor.

This day I’ve compiled information from all these days into one ball, appearing to make the mistake of mentioning everything important all at once, as to remove the right to ever mention them again over the hatred of redundancy.

A thunderstorm arrives, and it hasn’t really stopped.