Log 315 ~No Rest For The Wicked~

My first day back at the Day Job officially, and I hope I’m not sick. Maybe the zombies will finally take the planet, which is far more likely than my finishing a book for publication, don’t you think? No Rest For The Wicked.

Monday, May 11, 2020

Log 315 ~No Rest For The Wicked~

Hundred And Thirty-Sixth Rule

Madam Justice,
I AM a Billionaire right now, but I can’t be evil; I sleep way too much. Then again, I know plenty of sinners that sleep like babies. Am I saying that all rich people are evil… was it hard choosing sides between Captain America and Ironman? SIGH that has me thinking about the Day Job. No, I’m not a superhero, not even an ESSENTIAL worker, I’m only in retail. So how was my first day back? Well, seeing’s it’s Saturday right now, and last night I wanted to vomit looking at my schedule. As I talked about yesterday, being “Status Quo” is one thing. What evil things do keep me up at night?

The worse would have to be when My Dæmon isn’t feeling well. It means I’m forgetting what it is to be a father when I can’t help him. All of yesterday, I was figuring out how to buy his meds. I bought food, shared fries, let him hog the bed. Still, he’s an old man, and I’m fighting time. Speaking of time, what am I doing for Mother’s Day? One of those “holy” holidays I forgot about while talking to Dear Future Wife? The good news is, I haven’t forgotten, seeing again I know what day it is. Only what do I think about what my Mom told me yesterday about my grandfather? Should I be broken up, destroyed about my Granddad having the Coronavirus (COVID-19)? I told everyone about the man who said, and I quote, “I don’t know you,” and that’s not him being old. Family… what family?

No Lady Sophia I’m too busy looking at Girls, Girls, Girls, all night. I swear I can’t go to sleep until I, well? Afterward, I still don’t want to sleep, as Dennis Hof said, he goes looking for the next party. It’s like The Matrix; all I see is blonde, brunette, redhead. Same with my stories, didn’t I mention Indiana Gone, Whisper Girl, and Cherry. I write about the things I would like to do to women and then crickets, tumbleweeds, utter silence. I would never consider silence as my fear, but people treat it as a sin. If I want to talk about sin, though, what about the things I do to myself. Hell, it’s why I’m still alive.

If I ever published a book or built a brothel? No Rest For The Wicked.

I Will Have No Fear

Lesson 314 ~A Prescription For Crazy~

Love is a pretty big topic amongst other things when did life get to be so complicated; it’s when people tried to explain it and not to mention pretty offensive, as the songs there are too many prophets here. “A Prescription For Crazy”

Friday, May 11, 2018

Lesson 314 ~A Prescription For Crazy~

Hey Lady Sophia,
Can You Love Me Again, well if it works for “some” teachers… but honestly I have never pictured myself as a teacher, how my dog got so smart is beyond me and the only training guide I wanted was “Command Performance” when I was a kid, only we went with the rolled up newspaper guide. Anyway, the thing is if I couldn’t learn how to train my dog correctly, and I love him like pancakes, how will I ever learn to become a writer about things beyond me; so I read this.

“The bigger the issue, the smaller you write. Remember that. You don’t write about the horrors of war. No. You write about a kid’s burnt socks lying on the road. You pick the smallest manageable part of the big thing, and you work off the resonance.” ― from Richard Price

Yesterday, for example, I wrote “Pockets Full of Miracles” and while I could be the stereotypical African-American male… my “meat is murder” by the way. Instead, I promoted safe sex, e.g., condoms. When I talk about bed it shouldn’t be about that queen size I have waiting for me but more the droop of my eyelids, every single step becoming harder than the last. “Indiana Gone,” asked me why I say, I love my dog like pancakes. I don’t have to speak how he’s my world but the way I now protect my pancakes is how I protect my dog, and I couldn’t love him more if I poured the Bisquick to make him; The Walking Dead, I’m a fan.

Speaking of love, I’ve been wondering how to tell my mother I love her without going broke, a Kindle with Black Panther, some great black writers, with her sorority, Alabama, and the Black Panther symbols on it? How about a Black Panther Mother’s Day basket; how often do I talk about spending money on women and I have a sister too that has my nephew. Wasn’t I suppose to be talking about writing, but that’s just the thing, with such subjects one could spend forever and a day writing and never cover it, so you start small, my bank account.

If I wanted to write what is wrong with my country, I could do that in two words, Donald Trump, and then you expand on it, racism, Nazism, lies, hate and the world practically builds itself for better or worse. You want to write about crazy; you don’t start carving out your skull first. You start with one pill left lying in the bottle, the bullet in the gun, the creak of a wooden chair.

I didn’t mean to get so morbid, but we can take this as another lesson in writing can’t we Lady Sophia, A Prescription For Crazy.

I Will Have No Fear