Category: blog

Another Pain In The Ash

Hey everybody,

I thought I would shoot out a quick post as it’s been a few days since you last heard from me. The reason for that is because of another bout of neck pain that decided to pay me a visit last week. I’ve come to realize that although I have dealt with a lot of stress in my life, I don’t always come away from it unscathed. Being a little more stressed these past few weeks as found me once again battling with another pain in the Ash that thankfully, as since passed. To help with the pain, I took some time away from the computer or any screen really so as to not make it any worse. I just decided to go full-on rehab and concentrated on the gym, did some daily stretching, threw in some yoga and it seemed to work. The pain slowly went away just as it did a couple of years ago, only this time it was much quicker as I used a lot of what I learned the first time around. But, I’m back, feeling good, and ready to crank out some entries that I have been hoarding. I have another Red Journal set to come out which I hope you’re still enjoying, I also have a few award replies that I most certainly have to get posted, and I do have some other ideas that are still sitting dormant in my draft folder. I’m hoping to get a few of those I’ve just mentioned out this weekend, so bare with me folks. As always, I appreciate the patience.

Continue reading “Another Pain In The Ash” →

The Black Journal – (Break Room, Over Lunch)

Friday, 5:40 p.m. 
(Ethan and Sarah come up short with their first visit to The Keep. They decide to spend most of the afternoon going over the witness statements from the bar and various other items of interest scattered in a brown file on a lunchroom table)

Awfully quiet, how’s your Chinese food? 

What? Oh, ah…it’s good, it’s good. 

Is that right? Well, you wouldn’t say that by what’s left there on your plate. Sarah, you’ve haven’t eaten a thing. You’re not still mad at me, are you? 

Continue reading “The Black Journal – (Break Room, Over Lunch)” →

The Black Journal – (Pulled up in front of The Keep)

(Shortly after the briefing, Ethan and Sarah find themselves downtown at the bar, The Keep, the victims last known whereabouts and the potential for video evidence. As they slowly exit their vehicle, a homeless man suddenly appears from the alley motioning toward the door.) 

Friday, 9:46 A.M.

It’s closed! 

Excuse me? 

The bar, it’s closed. Not open yet, doesn’t til six. It’s written right there on that sign. 

Right, thanks for pointing that out. 
Listen, I’m Det. Frost and this is Det. Wilson.  
Jamestown Police Department. 
Tell me…ah, is that yours? Around the corner over there? Do you live in those boxes by the dumpster? 

Continue reading “The Black Journal – (Pulled up in front of The Keep)” →

Recovery

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This time it didn’t matter if I held you
I guess my heart grew stronger from all the breaks
Like a junky with a kicked addiction
my track marks no longer have aches

I fought through the pain of withdrawal
alone and in despair
Worth nothing more to you, forgotten
in some gutter behind nowhere

Day and night I yearned for another fix
even if it was to be my last
Only it was you who controlled the poison
Stronger than any vial or any glass

I had to kick this dirty habit
I just had to say goodbye
For the therapy of holding on to you
was worse than coming down from the high

Now, my veins are finally clean
suppressed from the urge of you
It took my own rock bottom to discover…
that a drug can be tainted too

Bar Keep

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When I turned that key, the night was finally over
It wasn’t easy, they threw a few fists
Mad that the ale had dried up

Now, in the calm of being left alone
I would start with the ashes
dumping out another one of those “greatest nights ever”

As morning slowly took her place
I sat for once on a spinning stool
listening to the buzz of electricity like it was a farewell song

Just me and the ends of unfinished cigarettes
some drowned in half empty glasses
recounting stories of bravery, betrayal, and most times regret

Nights were once my domain
I was like a wrangler of saucy drunks
and disloyal eyes all bidding for my complete attention

Back then my stories were therapy
Music, a tool of enticement
friendly faces better than a tip

Like I Wasn’t Even There

Sure, the memories
But, the smell, the taste, the touch,
All still left to make believe
I miss…
The very start
Opening characters, scene one
Greener grass, the bluest skies, salty ocean
That street light at night where I would measure my shadow to the tip of the moon
Those flaked fences, white
A particular damp night sky that I loved and haven’t smelt in a long, long time
Tipped-toed curbs, run past the shop
Yes, my eyes could go blind and I would still make it anyway
Follow the path by memory alone…to my home
Grab a bunch of those crazy flowers along the way
But now, I can only recount
because tomorrow had to come
and now strangers walk about
like I was never even there