Oh man...

X-Mas vs X-No Mas

The world has turned into a perpetual Onion headline... and I am dealing with the somewhat cliche trappings of familyhood, and all the while still trying to forge and create something of substance, some creation that I can actually be proud of and call my own that isn't some biological spawn of me. While at the same time, I am trying my best to guide and instruct my non-spawns to a life worth living, while I often struggle to type a sentence that is worth reading.

I Get It, I Get It, You're Not Getting It

Too many projects on the dance floor...

I have good problems. But also the usual ones. Several stories are vying for attention, maybe they'll be solid stories, maybe it's the same god damn story wanting to be retold, but regardless there is only so much time in the day.

I am at the Sunny Side of my lunch break... using time not so wisely by wise-assing.

It's a good thing I didn't win any billions in any lottery because I'm sure I would've seriously tried to arrange it that the letter "H" should come before the letter "G." It would not be easy to convince the populous of such a move, but maybe if given the right amount of money and influence, who knows? It would probably take a hundred million dollar ad campaign, laborious and potentially boring lobbying, bribes galore and such. A lot of "and such."

Also, I was also going to cure cancer if I won, so maybe it's not a good thing I didn't win.

Ebbing

It has been a while... but it is once again, story time.

(I have a story in the Winter 2016 edition.)

Matching Twenty Fifteen

Two posts in, even though it is not Tuesday. Well, it's Tuesday in Iowa, so that counts.

Legal Scotch

It is a new year, another year, one more year gone by. I am drinking 18 year old scotch that is simply divine. I am chasing it with some Oregon gin and some fancy tonic. Yup. I think about all those journals and blogs that start with, "it's been a while since I wrote in this" and decided to only ostensibly mention such a thing, while I decided to take a break from break taking, and mash out a few digital scribbles. Whether it be musing, or ramblings, or the occasional mutterings, I would like to post more in the Donkey Pineapple realm. So this is that.

m to f to mf'n a

I am now a master.

Thoughts on Yahtzee and Grandma and Barns

Goodbye. Thank you for holding on until I could make it out to Iowa and say goodbye one more time. You inspired far more people than you probably ever realized.You continue to inspire.

Also, thank you for letting me watch Zapped! that one time, despite Scott Baio's thespian efforts, or lack thereof.

Thump thump thump thump thump weeeezaaah zaaaah thump thump thump

Whispering words from myself, from before from yesterday, from today. Words that say -- there's no such thing as too much chili. Tomorrow might disagree.

Too Many International Phonetic Association beers

...

Banner Pilot...Damn You I Suppose

Summer slips further away despite my attempts to grip it tighter. I am okay with that, I suppose. It has been a while since I have written via this forum, this medium, and I suppose that is understandable. I suppose it is odd how happy I am. Odd in the sense that, for the most part, the perpetual ever-after is but myth and a dream, but for me it is real. I am on page 46 of the new project. I am still in love. More so than ever before. Can't wait to share it all with the world, I suppose.

Arizona Dreams and Oregon Wishes

Soon I will embark on yet another cross country drive to Oregon. Different "cross," different drive, same destination, same purpose, but not for me this time. A new "anew". I wish I had super powers.

The Art of Robert Edward Sullivan in July

The first year of my Life began last year. July 12th, actually. July of this year has swooped in and I keep taking steps forward. And it's the good kind of forward. Not the false forward. Not the forward that ends up being backwards. Sometime during the very early hours of July 5th of this year, I said to myself--I look at myself in the mirror, and said words directed to myself as if myself was some other self, and I asked--no, I didn't ask, I stated to myself...this is my life. This is my Life. Capital "L" Life. Fun times.

July Title

Best Fourth...technically Fifth of July ever.

Interpolation vs Extrapolation: A Study of Data Sets For a Modern Portrait of the Artist as a Young-ish Man

Brand new repeats in my day, my life. Repeats I have never had before (thus the new part) that warm me, brighten me, etc me. Insert bounce into step. Repeat. Bright warm me, bouncing through my day, my life.

It has been a while since I have barfed out words onto the page. It has been a while since I've used the word "barf" or any form of the word "barf." (Incidentally, it has been a while since I've barfed.) But this metaphor, this usage and repetition of "barf" suggests that words are just spilling, or erupting, without intent (though, barfing does not inherently suggest there is no intention, as there are times when you intend to barf) without consent. It suggests the page is a gutter, a toilet (ideally one that flushes down, not a urinal in a shady, shitty bar at 1:50 a.m.), a sink, or a waste basket. Or at worst, one's self. It also suggests that there was something (ideally, food and/or massive amounts of fruit punch and vodka) ingested, mixed, in the process of being broken down that has been rejected from the body. Maybe not rejected, just sent back, unnecessary, or just too much of something ingested, mixed, not needing to be broken down. Is this metaphor, this idea, this repeat, this comma talk, apt? Perhaps.

Regardless, I am barfing words up right now. Good ones. Here. Also there.  I find myself writing things like "I find myself smiling a lot, lots of bounce in my steps" and such. I find myself hyper-aware of all my "and such"'s and that's okay. Regardless, I've had repeats in my life that I would not care to repeat. But in this current mode, this current tense, my repeats are new. Brand new. And awesome.

Get Your Fix On

Another trucker story. (In issue 13)

Ignore This Subject Line

Ignore this story.

This Will (Should) Probably Be the Last One of These Types (I Guess)

Raymond Carver opening; my stuff on the lawn, but no dancing. No Will Ferrel movie version. Other shoes where my shoes went, other moments where mine, ours, used to be. Our house, our bed, our Oregon, our story-- something different now. Just a prologue, apparently, but now separate. Other shapes and shadows occupy the space where mine had stood, sat, slept, ate, laughed and loved. And was loved. Deconstructing through rearranging, replacing through building over the old, is something I don't have the ability to do. I really don't. I'm terrible at it. I don't find and replace, erase, or try to forget. I had thought that was the worst thing ever, to distort those memories, or worse, lose them. Worse than just being somebody on a list, worse than being a poem in a collection of poems, including ones--I'm sure--about those who helped take something special from me. So I don't make overt steps to cover up those memories and moments by creating new ones right directly over the old. Or pretend they weren't there. But lying is a form of pretending and maybe I need to get better at lying to myself. At pretending. Then I could tell myself, I could pretend, that one day I could replace, forget, not-think-about. That would be easier, make it simpler to go about the world. Like, I could drink a sloe gin fizz, in Portland, Oregon, with someone else, create something new that would replace the old. Like someone else's slippers. Maybe that's all takes. I suppose that would make things easier. For some, it's all about what's easy, or what's easiest. And why should I be any different? At the very least, it would make it easier to order a sloe gin fizz.

Sunday Night Muse

I should probably preface this: I have had way too much to drink on way too empty of stomach. My routines were rippled and altered to the point that I don't know what the day is or the time, etc.If that's something one can ever know.  It's good to know, however,  that people that weren't my family I still think of as family, and they still think of me the same. First Street Hugs. Warms me up. I've had such a tough time with the latest story, but have not been more excited about a story as I am with this one. Too close to home, I guess, in some ways, in many ways. But I keep working at it. Damn her.

Also on my mind: 3am calls from far away places is an acceptable reason to be tired, up all night reading is acceptable, staring at the walls listening to worn out playlists...hmm, not so much. Not as much. It's tough to cut something out, when that something seems pretty damn important. Always has. Certainly seemed important at the time.  I'm slightly worried-- as worried one can be on a slight level-- how much I just don't care. How much I want to not care. To remove elements that make me care.  I have always loved The Stranger, but never because I thought it was an ideal way to live life. But maybe it is. When you give everything, you give your whole and complete self, and then everything is lost, or taken, or shat upon, then what are you really left with? Nothing, I suppose.

Oh, The Big O, Sing It OR Links to Songs To Drink Whiskey To

I just want to give Otis a big hug. It would have to be zombie Otis, of course.