New Mission

I’m going to go through my posts and pick the ones that I figure might be nice to be reworked. Then, I’ll re-post a copy. I don’t think I’ll get political or other comment type material.

Wish me luck!

The Poor

I’m not the poor, not in the physical sense. I work multiple jobs, but not supporting children or family members. I’m healthy enough.

Yes, E, I think about the poor. And I personally have an abundance, when it comes down to it. It’s the type of abundance that causes me to work work and sleep.

(BTW, I’ve thought I would appreciate talking with you. But I’m sure you’d have to dumb it down for me. I don’t mind. Everyone’s a mix.)

I appreciate what I have, and it causes anxiety. It forces the pedal to the metal. It spoils the pot.

Now, I have friends working overtime to pay their children’s college tuition, which is significant even if they don’t have more than one in school. And still, they live in nice houses, eat meals out, and travel around the world, and have set and comfortable retirement plans.

(My daughter’s school offers a sliding scale. But that’s extremely rare for a post secondary education.)

There are places in the world where it’s easier to live. I told Dad last weekend that he just needs to let me know and we’ll take Mom to another country, and I’ll do my best to support them. Politics, healthcare, expenses, this country doesn’t care for its citizens.

Someone asked me recently how I help the world. I guess my answer is discretely. It’s not fully regarded, like the poor are not noticed, but rumored. But she asked when I was pretty worked up. So my answer was scant.

When ancient texts suggest that you give it all away, maybe it’s more about your riches, the gifts that make you. Give yourself to others and we’ll have a better world. Giving yourself to others builds compassion.

My theory on the oppression of the poor is if they had enough food and shelter to be safe and without want, it would be hard on the economy. More people would see the peace and want to be poor. I would certainly let go of stuff in exchange for peace, security, and community.

I don’t know if I said that the way I’m thinking, but trust me, the economy runs on wants. Eliminate wants and the stock market vanishes.

People who have gone through struggles can be edgy and defensive. But there definitely might be an upside to being poor, with just a little tweaking.

I can tell you with almost certainly, I would be healed by the right community. And I’m getting less skeptical about the potential for some wonderful society. It has to do with quantum stuff and probabilities, more so possibilities.

Sounds strange, but I still believe in some kind of magic. We are all magic, right?


Coming to terms about working a regular job for six and seven days a week.

What else am I going to do?

My business sales for 2019 were down FIFTY PERCENT from the previous year.

So, am I going to continue struggling with hobbies and projects that simply aren’t panning out?

The world wants people to be tough and aggressive. I’m glad I learned here that I don’t have the stuff.

Trial by fire.

Concessions for Changes

Just another note.

I haven’t worked a regular job in over twenty-two years. It will likely end my time here, a lot of it was painful.

This morning I’m figuring out that more people than I thought were involved with the hazing.

There’s a better place for me than the world of art.

I’ve been looking through all the old posts from 2018-19. What a miserable way to live. No wonder I essentially stopped reading other people’s posts regularly.

And though things are tremendously improving over previous months, as I had originally stated, I don’t believe that I have what it takes to be successful as a writer.

I don’t take criticism.

The world has so many writers already. And the number of people who read seems like is reducing. It’s a fading moment of my life, highly affected by blogging. Had I not blogged, I might have tried to publish again. And we all know how that would end.

As it is, regular work, six to seven days a week, would give me a focus and stability, the chance to build up some kind of retirement.

I wrote when I was a kid. I saved a lot of it, but never reread them. They were too dark. Maybe writing does this to me.

Well. I’ve got a few things to do before I hit the road. See ya!

Winds of Morning (revision)

In the darkest hour of night

Still eyes decoding shades

Passing cheap window blinds

As soft breath kept cadence

With her dreams.

The void managed my meditations

But the music of her tides

Gave me rest

Soothing the covers

And the warmth of Sunday morning wrap

Golden mists lay across clocks

Surrendered tongues versed in languages of touch

Reaching the deep of our dreams

My heart poured

Words across her body


On silver shine this heat

Built from the curve of earth

Lifted with her pearl

And sleepy smile

To rhythms of soft naps

A breath across the arc of her shoulder


You got me

The Mix of Words

Yup. Some words work best some ways. But color and texture can be brought out in raw fashion simply by smashing and twisting the lines.

You can find deep emotions in a classical painting. But some Picassos give visceral responses by shifting, distorting, compressing. Van Gogh gave his paintings bones, colors and colors fill the grains of life. I can imagine that it would have been difficult to stop. And my old friend, who plays a furious flood of tenor sax, never meant to be understood…but felt.

We read to feel, don’t we?

The best books are full of highs and lows. Maybe someday I’ll be good enough to put a smile on someone’s face, stir laughter, or set a tear. How about that for a personal challenge?