The Writer

Once upon a time, there was a writer...

Well, he wanted to be a writer, but he was never very good at it.  He'd just stare at a blank page all day, waiting for something to happen.  He continued to stare and kept hoping the words would spontaneously appear.  But sadly, they never did. 

The more he stared, the more frustrated he became.  There were so many wonderful, imaginative things he wanted to share with the world!  But no matter how much he concentrated, all those interesting things just cluttered up his mind.

So, he just sat there, staring...

Then one day, The Writer had a revelation. 

"What if I use my hands and fingers, in some way, to convert those thoughts into words..."

He was surprised he'd never thought of this before.  Of course the words won't magically appear.  You have to make some kind of effort!

The Writer was filled with optimism for this new idea.  This had to work!  Getting those things out that constantly swirled around in his brain was becoming a necessity.  An obsession. 

So The Writer took a deep breath, trying to determine the best way to begin.  He started gently at first, slowly gliding his hand across the page. 

Nothing happened.  He began swaying them back and forth, a bit faster.  He added some flourishes to the movements, trying to wave them around.  Nothing happened. 

"Maybe I'm not using my fingers enough", he thought.  So he started pointing and gesturing.  He began casually, but seeing the page was still blank, he became more frantic.  He started acting like a caged animal in his attempt to put something on the page, hitting and punching the emptiness pleading for freedom. 

But his efforts were in vain.  No matter how desperately he moved his hands and fingers across the blank page, nothing happened.  Covered in sweat, mixed with tears, he shouted in exhaustion.

Then suddenly, through his wild behavior, The Writer noticed he had cut his finger.  He cringed in pain, but froze when he saw something new: Blood.  He held his breath as he looked at the light streak of red across the previously empty page.

He turned to look at his finger, still in pain, and then back to the page that now clearly displayed all the emotions he was feeling.

"Is this the only way?!?" he shouted to the sky.

The deafening silent reply gave him the answer.

So through tear stained eyes, The Writer finally started to write...

Deeesher

Dark Streets

I had an interesting experience on my drive home tonight, and I wanted to share it with the world.  And this has nothing to do with aliens or chupacabra  or drugs or alcohol, which is very surprising for Florida traffic!  It's just about me... and another driver. 

The last couple miles to my apartment complex goes down a very dark four lane highway.  During the day, it's very peaceful with lots of big trees and it all looks very green.  But at night, it's just dark.  Even with my headlights switched to brights, you can just barely see what's right in front of you.  

Tonight, as I started down this home stretch, there was another car directly behind me.  I had my brights on, and with their lights in my rear view mirror, it was a very uncomfortable moment for me visually with the contrasts. 

Thankfully, the other driver seemed in a hurry and moved a lane over to pass me.  That's when something interesting happened...

Instead of passing me, this driver moved along side me, matching my speed, and flipped on their brights.

With the combined power of our headlights, I could easily see the entire road! 

For the next few minutes, I bonded with this stranger.  I have no idea who they were.  I don't know if it was a man or woman, (although in my mind, it was most likely a very attractive woman... who likes nerdy guys).  It was a simple, yet very meaningful relationship.  Even if it was temporary... we were one.

Sadly, it all came to an end when I had to turn for my apartment complex.  I watched them go alone without me, and I hoped they would be safe.  Perhaps they would find another partner.  I know they couldn't see me, but I waved goodbye as I made my left turn.  And so you understand, it was just something in my eye causing it to water... just a bit. 

As I parked my car, I realized, maybe this was a metaphor for life.  Maybe alone, the road is difficult to see, despite our efforts.  Maybe we think the people behind us are trying to annoy us.  But when you least expect it, maybe they will surprise you and pull up beside you to help.  Maybe with others, we can clearly see what lies ahead.  Even a passing stranger can make our journey into the unknown feel a bit safer.  Maybe we all need someone. 

Then again... maybe I was just hot, tired and a bit delusional.

Safe travels everyone,
Deeesher

Hate

It seems everyone is eager for me to hate something.  So fine, let's get it all out of the way...

I hate the dirt
I hate the air
I hate the smoke
I hate your hair
I hate your lip
I hate your teeth
I hate your voice
I hate you freaks

I hate the movies
I hate the news
I hate those people
that never lose

I hate the winners
I hate the score
I hate the player
and how you snore

I hate your music
I hate your beats
I hate that thing
between your teeth

I hate Politics
But why stop there?
I hate Republicans
I hate Obamacare

So what happens now
We hate it all
The only thing left
We watch it all fall!

We'll shoot your neighbors
We'll stab your friends
That's not enough?
We'll shoot them again

Let's burn it down
Let's blow it up!
There's panic there
Let's shut them up!

We can bomb it all
We can burn it down
Let's make sure
They hear our sound

We made our point
We're surrounded in death
What do we do 
When there's nothing left?

Only dirt remains
There's no place to walk
What's left to do
If there's no one to talk

So let's skip all that
And find a new start
Let's figure it out
And remember our heart

Deeesher

Crisis of Faith

Despite the title, this is not a religious rant.  This is about writing, which could also be considered a religion.  Specifically, it seems recently I'm filled with more insecurities and self-doubt than normal.

Some time ago, I wrote how important my writing is in helping me feel better about myself (here).  But am I writing for me, or is this all for you?  I do have a lot to say, and I want to get it out of my tiny brain, because there isn't much room.  But I also hate repeating myself when someone asks my opinion.  And I am eager for everyone to be entertained by my silly insights.  So maybe my writing is for both of us.

But am I "successful"?  And what constitutes success in writing?  Is it how many likes I get on facebook?  Or how many books I've sold?  How often people refer to my writing as a good resource?  How many followers I have in Russia?  I am most definitely unsuccessful if that's how you measure things today.  Although I have had over 600 people in Russia read my blogs, so to you, I say, здравствуйте, and спасибо.

I sincerely doubt I'll ever get rich writing (or make any money whatsoever), but occasionally I'll be proud of something I wrote.  And of course, I want my friends to enjoy what I say.  So maybe that's how I measure my own success.

But what if my friends don't care?  Or what if I am ridiculed for my opinions?  Or what if my writing was unclear, and I have to try to explain myself, or defend my views?  Then I'm filled with regret, and think maybe I should have just kept my big mouth shut... or my fat fingers still.  It starts to feel like I'm back at the nerdy table in school hoping the jocks ignore me during lunch... back when being nerdy wasn't so popular.

I can't expect everyone to agree with me, and that's never the point.  I just want to be "entertaining " and clear with my words, and I'm always open for discussion.  But why bother if I'm ignored, or told nobody cares what I think, or my views are constantly ridiculed, (all of which I've heard from others in the last few months).  Often, I think I should just keep my opinions to myself, because everyone has them, and who am I to try to express my views on anything.  Some of my friends have made it very clear, nobody really cares what I have to say on any given subject.

And sure, I can take a joke!  I often poke fun at myself, and sometimes people 'bashing' me in creative ways makes me smile, because sometimes it is genuinely funny.  So conversely, maybe I should just lighten up.  Maybe I take things too seriously, and I'm too insecure for my own good, (I can already hear a collective "yes!" from some friends).  After all, this is 'Merica, and we often poke fun at our friends for fun!  So of course, it's possible that I'm just too old fashioned and expect others to support and encourage each other in their efforts.  On a related note, I've heard the number one defense of a bully is to say, "I was only joking".  Personally, I could never do that.  It's just not in me to squash someone's talents, and maybe I'm just not a very good poker.  I might roll my eyes at their opinion or maybe give (hopefully) constructive criticism, but I couldn't mock anything they do, and I couldn't accuse my friends of shamelessly plugging their work, because self promotion is never so easy to do... unless you're a painfully arrogant ass.  

So maybe I should just become arrogant and that would solve all my problems.  Unfortunately, I've always been insecure and question everything I do.  I'll re-read things I wrote two years ago, not for arrogance, but looking for mistakes.  I always think, maybe there is a better way for me to express my thoughts.  So from time to time, I'll re-arrange a sentence, or delete an unnecessary word (looking for changes in previous posts is a fun game you can play at home!).  But my thoughts don't change. 

I should also add, I do have some people that genuinely enjoy reading what I write.  I am both amazed and grateful to all of you.  And every now and then, I'll find one of my posts on another site somewhere, which seems weird and cool (remember how I said I'm not making any money at this... so I'm not too concerned).

And I'm not posting this because I'm seeking any kind of sympathy.  Maybe like with previous posts I've written, I'll never know the right answer (the write answer?).  As I said, I do have a lot of things inside me, and sometimes speaking doesn't always happen so well, so I'm again writing my thoughts on a topic that bothers me.  And maybe some of you creative types have experienced the same frustrations in your work.  So do we just give up?  Maybe not...

I should just keep a private journal, and when I'm long gone, future civilizations can find it and read my words and figure out how to make a better version of me.

Deeesher

Something From Me

When I close my eyes

I dream the things  that no one seems to care

When I ask them why they all say

In these times life's just not that fair

Can't they see the way things are

Nothing is for free

But I'm their key and all they want

Is something new from me

I do their work quick as I can

Then there's ten more that wait

Or am I a jerk who just can't learn

And favors are my fate

I try to impress but I do too much

And no one ever does see

Doing my best is all that they need

And all they want is something from me

Do I have a friend I wonder

Is it all an act?

When will it end and what will it take

Before they stab my back

When can I say I need some help

If you could please

Maybe one day they'll tell me they care

And not just want something from me