Category Archives: Journal



note the smug, arrogant look, never mind about the glassy, half open eyes.

I started this blog about three weeks ago. Is there anyone on here who is able to give honest feedback on my posts? My writings sound good to me, but that is just ego. I need some real criticisms on my writings. So please, all Grammar Nazis, English Teachers, People that are on the same level as myself (although I don’t really know what that is), alcoholic, washed up writers (who happen to be my favorite). Even those wonderful, egocentric writers who loving nothing more than to bash amateur neophytes, like myself. Please feel free to comment on anything. I am looking forward to it.

Homeless Man and A Pigeon

I saw a homeless man punch a pigeon today. What would make someone angry enough to strike out at a bird? Were they fighting over the same scrap of food? Was the pigeon encroaching on the homeless man’s territory? Shouldn’t they get along considering they have to co-exist? Do they not rely on the same food source? The discarded leftovers of the populace at large?
It was one of those rare moments when I was angry, sad and laughing at the same time. But one thing it made me feel most, was complete indifference to the homeless man and his station in life. I also came to the realization that I would feed a bird before I would feed a homeless person.
It is my only hope that the pigeon will gather all of his friends, fly en masse, and shit all over him.
By the way, isn’t getting shit on by a bird considered good luck?

Another Senseless Blog

I am writing this blog with no idea on what to write about. Whenever I try to write about even the smallest thing, I feel the urge to put in so many details that something like walking down the street turns into a goddamn novella. Is it my ego? Am I afraid that if I do not extend a simple story int an epic that I may come across as inept or amateurish? I guess walking down the street is just that…walking down the street.

Sunday Morning

If you wake up in the morning and realized that you did not finish that last glass of scotch, DO NOT throw it away, it goes very well with your morning coffee, and it is not a bad way to start your day either. Sundays are special. It is the only day I can ease into. I have my coffee (see above), play some music, contemplate all of the events from the previous week (good and bad), and if all goes well, get some writing done.

“Maybe it’s a good idea we no longer communicate.”

…“Maybe it’s a good idea we no longer communicate.”
These were the last words he had ever received from her. As he read it, he felt as though his chest had imploded, he could actually feel his insides fall into despair. Could she really mean this? Was this some sort of practical joke? But he knew her all too well, this was no joke. What grievous error had he committed? Had he shared too much with her? Not enough? Many thoughts began to swirl around his head. There were far too many for him to focus on any particular one. He poured another drink; the alcohol gave him the calm reserve to deal with the flood of emotions he was experiencing. Had he come on too strong? He did, after all, send her a very heartfelt letter in which he had bared his soul. He had admitted to things that most men would not dare share with anyone else. He had shared with her all of his feelings of loneliness, fear, sadness the tears he had cried. Things he could scarcely admit to himself, let alone another human being.
Nonetheless, he wrote it all down, just for her.
But, it did not matter; it had meant nothing to her.
She recognized the letter as a sign of weakness. Who was this frightened little man who would waste his time chasing her, a woman well beyond his reach? Had he no shame? Had he no dignity? She could not be concerned with anyone’s emotions but her own, let alone a man with whom she had had a brief affair with so long ago. How pathetic that anyone would carry a torch for so long over something that meant so little. The feeling of disgust made her sick to her stomach. She could not even find pity for this creature, only contempt. She knew immediately that she would have to cut this malignant wound out of her life forever. It was then that she sent a text that would put an end to this once and for all.
…“Maybe it’s a good idea we no longer communicate.”
With the slightest smile on her face, she hit send. She was giddy with anticipation as to the devastation she was about to induce upon his weak soul.
…“Maybe it’s a good idea we no longer communicate.”
The only response he could come up with was
As you wish.